By Zea
Chapter Two
Tricks of the Trade
Not far away, in Central Park, two lone figures sat on a secluded bench, resting out of reach of the strong wind. They were dressed in ragged clothes: their pants were worn, their shirts were patched, and their boots were scuffed. One wore red suspenders, the other blue. They both wore cloth cabby hats and had stacks of newspapers at their feet.
They were the newsboys of New York, better known as newsies. They peddled the newspapers on the streets for a penny a piece. They supported themselves, and had to make enough money to eat each day, and buy more papers the next. They were common in most parts of town -- and looked down on by most of society. They were known to be poor runaways who indulged the few cents they earned in gambling, betting, and drinking.
Just a few weeks ago, the newsie strike had ended. The newspaper tycoons, Joseph Pulitzer and William Randolph Hearst had raised the price of papers from fifty cents per hundred to sixty. All the newsies in all of New York banded together to fight the price jump, and they were successful. They didn't change the price, but they could sell back any papers they didn't sell and be reimbursed. The strike had given them attention at the time, but the media coverage had ended as quickly as it began. Now they were back to being the outcasts of society, forced to live on the streets, or in one of the lodging houses made for them.
This particular pair was finished with their rest, but seemed to be having a hard time selling their papers. Finally the one with blue suspenders said, "It ain't woikin', Tiger. We gotta go fer sympathy."
His companion sighed, but said, "Dat's da t'ird time dis week. Don't anybody want papes no more?"
With that, the newsie took off his hat, and a long blond braid fell down his back, revealing the figure as one of the few girl newsies. She undid her braid, and let her curls fall loosely past her shoulders. She then pulled a red bandana out of her pocket and tied it around her head like a headband.
Meanwhile, the boy dropped most of their papers behind the bench, out of sight to the passerby. He then laid down on the bench and closed his eyes.
Soon enough, a wealthy couple strolled by, arm in arm. The girl named Tiger ran up to them, and began her sympathy act.
"Please sir," she said desperately, suddenly Irish. "Buy me last pape?"
At this moment, the boy began to cough. It was a hacking cough, enough to shake him and the bench considerably. The girl turned around and gasped.
"Oh, Petey, don't you worry, we'll get you to a doctor. Just you wait, I'll just sell a few more papers."
The wealthy woman looked down on the girl with kindness in her eyes. "What's your name, honey?" she asked in a well-mannered, educated voice.
Tiger looked down pitifully. "It's Megan, mum."
"And who is that?" the woman inquired, pointing towards the bench where the boy rested weakly.
"That's me brother, mum. He's sick in the lungs."
"Oh, poor dear!" the woman exclaimed. "Of course we'll buy your last paper. Here," she said, fishing into her purse, "take a dime for it."
The girl smiled, saying "Thank ye kindly, miss."
"You're welcome, you sweet little thing, you. Now you run home to your mother and tell her to get something for that cough."
"Megan" let the smile fade from her face, looking down sadly again. "Me mum isn't with us any more, miss. She went down with the cough last year. It's just me and Petey since."
The woman gasped. "Oh, poor girl, you just take these quarters, then, and get your brother to a doctor, and you get yourself something to eat." She smiled, obviously pleased at her own show of goodwill. "Run along, now."
Tiger let a smile break full on her face, and said "Thank ye again, miss. God bless ye."
The woman smiled down on the girl in a motherly way, then, taking her companion's arm, they continued their stroll.
As soon as the couple was out of ear shot, the two newsies broke out into raucous laughter.
"Dey gets more an' more gullible ev'ry day," the boy said between chuckles.
"Good acting, Ash. I almost t'ought you was dying, meself."
He laughed. "And da same to you, Tiger." He then stood up, and stuck out his arm. In a rich, educated voice, he said, "My dear Tiger, would you care to accompany me to lunch?"
And, in an equally rich manner, Tiger replied, "It would be my pleasure, my dear sir."
And with that, they set off down the path, as dignified as the richest people in New York City.
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Well............... Chapter Two. Yeah. Anyway, if anyone is actually reading this, could you please review? Please? I didn't get any reviews last chapter, and I'm feeling slightly neglected........ Anyway, enough whining. Feedback please! Ha. Ha ha ha. All righty......
Toodles!
-Zea
