Disclaimer:

Okay, so this isn't exactly Newsies fan fiction, but it's related, so I put it here. This is my version of what happened during the strike. Not as funny or clever as Newsies, but hey, nothing is as funny or clever as Newsies. I borrowed a few things from Disney and I improve the truth a little, but I'm not making any money, so please don't sue me! (You wouldn't get much from me anyway) This is my first fanfic, so please read and review!

In case you didn't know this: Morris Cohen started the strike, Racetrack was really a Brooklyn newsie, David's last name was Simons, and Pulitzer was incapacitated by 1899 and had no contact with the newsies.

Chapter One

"Hurry up!"

The running newsboy fumbled in his pocket, feeling for pennies. "I can't run no faster!" he cried. Finally, he pulled four pennies from his jacket pocket and held them up to the man.

The man reached for them. Just as their hands were about to touch, the boy tripped, landing hard on the cobblestone street. The noisy trolley disappeared around the corner as a tall, lean figure stepped from the shadows, looking down at the fallen newsie. "How much you get?"

Jack Sullivan lifted his head, blue eyes shining and flashed a triumphant grin at his friend. "A nickel."

Morris Cohen grabbed Sully's hand and hauled him to his feet. "Pretty good."

Sully dusted himself off. "Well, that was my last pape." Morris nodded and the two boys began walking into the twilight. "Morris?"

"Yeah?"

"D'ya ever feel guilty? Y'know about takin' `em like that?"

Morris stopped and nodded. "Yeah. Sometimes I do."

"Stop!" a voice yelled from behind them. They spun to see the man from the trolley running down the street.

Eyes wide, Morris and Sully darted looks at each other. "Cheez it!" they yelled in unison and ran down the street.

They'd lost the man blocks before, but they didn't stop running until they'd reached Duane Street. By then they were out of breath, but laughing. Pushing open the door of the newsboys lodging house, they entered the home they shared with nearly thirty other boys.

"Heya, Mr. Wiesel," Sully said cheerfully, heading for the staircase. Author's note: Couldn't resist!

Weisel shot them a sour look. "Hold it boys. Rent's due."

Morris and Sully stopped and backed up to the desk. They both dug into their pockets and forked over the week's rent: forty-two cents. They both turned to go when Weisel stopped them. "This ain't enough."

Morris turned. "What are you talking about? Count it. Forty-two cents a piece."

"Rent's up. Seven cents a night."

"What?" Sully demanded.

"I got to eat too. Now hand it over, or get another place to stay."

Sully looked at Morris, who nodded imperceptibly. They both slammed down seven cents and turned back to the stairs. "Lousy bum," Sully muttered.

"I heard that!" Weisel called after them as they climbed the stairs to the bunkroom.

They entered it solemnly. "Hey, guys," Morris called.

He got a few grunts from the boys sprawled out on the bunks. One of the boys nearest the door raised up on his elbow and shot them a sullen, angry look. "I suppose you heard about the jack up."

"Yeah, Huey, we heard."

"These bunks ain't worth seven cents a night," Kid Blink, a skinny black-haired boy wearing an eye-patch over his left eye, called out.

Sully grinned and climbed onto his bunk. "They ain't worth six cents neither, but they got that from us."

"Lights out, boys!" Weisel's voice yelled from below them.

Morris dropped onto his bunk, then noticed the empty bed across from him. "Where's Davey?"

Blink answered. "Aw, he's probably out with his goil."

That led to snickers all around the room. Except from Morris, who stared quietly at the ceiling.