A/N: And I quote myself from my last post: "I'll update soon." That was November. This is May. I have a strange- no, I have no- concept of time. Anyway, I could give excuses, but they'd probably be lies, so, here is chapter six of my still untitled story. Please R+R.

Chapter Six

Morning dawned bright and clear, filling the boys with new promise. They were up with the sun, planning and ready for anything else the papers could throw at them. They were going to win. Every single newsie knew it, felt it in their bones.
Spot was true to his word. At dawn, a couple of Spot's boys were over from Brooklyn, to help with organization, muscle and morale. Spot's second in command was the leader of the little delegation. Racetrack Higgins was a smart mouthed Irish kid, tall and lanky, with light red hair and brown eyes that might have looked solemn if not for the smattering of freckles across his nose. He loved gambling, especially poker and the horse races, hence his nickname.
Planning had always been Race's strong suit. His reasoning ability was what made him nearly unbeatable in a poker game. It wasn't luck, it was logic. Therefore, he reasoned, to unite the newsies to strike, they needed to get them together in the same place. A rally.
David alone was skeptical. "We don't have the money for that, Race. We don't have anywhere to hold it…"
Race smiled. "You heard of New Irving Hall? That place on Broome?"
"The one that looks like it's about to fall down?" Annie replied.
"That's the one. I can get it for Monday night."
"Gonna use that famous Brooklyn charm, Race?" David asked, smirking.
"The owner owes me money."
"Does anyone in New York not owe you money?"
Race grinned, boyish features lighting up. "Spot. And yer boy Morris."
Annie's eyes fell at the mention of Morris and Race instantly realized his mistake. No one in the Manhattan lodging house had seen or heard from Morris since Sully died. Not even Spot or Race had seen him since the day after. He'd borrowed some clothes from one of the Brooklyn boys and took off, not telling anyone where he was going. He hadn't returned home, not even to get his own clothes. His stuff had almost been thrown out; would have been, if Spot hadn't paid Weisel to hold the bunk and locker. He'd done it quietly and out of sight of most of the newsies, either to save Morris's face or to keep up his 'hard as nails' Brooklyn leader image. Only Annie had seen him do it and it made her wonder just how much the two really hated each other.
Everyone knew that the leaders of Brooklyn and Manhattan didn't get along. It was an established fact. Brooklyn was the more powerful of the two, so they came to Manhattan whenever they pleased. Visitation from Manhattan was reserved strictly for special occasions. The leaders stayed away from each other.
Only Manhattan's leader was gone.

Little Italy was not the healthiest place for a Jew to stay. It was mostly Catholic, and Jews named Cohen and Catholics named Caspari generally didn't mix well in these parts. But it was the best place to get away from everything, and that was where Morris went after he went to Brooklyn to see Spot.
All he had were the clothes he had borrowed from some kid in Brooklyn that looked about his size, and the money that had been in his pockets when the riot had gone sour. The clothes he had been wearing, the clothes stained with Sully's blood, he'd thrown over the bridge on his way back.
He was almost out of money. Two dollars could only go so far, and he'd been away from the lodging house for three days almost. He had two quarters left, just enough for dinner, one night at the hotel, and breakfast Monday.
Morris wasn't paying full attention to where he was going and he nearly tripped over a little boy. He looked down at the kid, who couldn't have been more than seven and definitely was a newsie. He was skinny and wearing worn old clothes. The little boy half-smiled and asked, "Are you a newsie?"
Morris tried to smile back, but couldn't quite accomplish it. "I used to be."
The little boy thought for a moment, then nodded. "Good enough," he said seriously, pressing a flyer into his hand and turned to walk away.
"Wait a sec," Morris called. The boy turned and Morris handed him a quarter. "Thanks."
As the boy ran away, shiny quarter tucked safely in his pocket, Morris looked at the flyer the boy had given him. It read:
Newsies Rally
Monday, July 24, 1899
At New Irving Hall, 214 Broome
Come Support the Newsboys!

Morris stared at it so long, it began to blur before his eyes. Then he crumpled the paper up and tossed it to the ground, before striding away into the crowd.