"Les."

"Hmm?"

"Wake up."

Just seconds earlier, it seemed, I had been lying comfortably on my back, closing my eyes, scratching my head. Now, six hours later, I was on my stomach. My right arm was touching the floor, and my pillow was now under the bed completely. I wasn't a still sleeper.

I looked up. It was Rum. "Go away." I closed my eyes and covered my head with my arms.

Rum slapped me. "You're already gonna be at the back of the line. Get up."

"If I'm gonna be at the back, let me sleep," I muttered. I heard Rum walk away, and I sighed contentedly. He was finally going to give me the rest and relaxation that I deserved.

Or maybe he wasn't. I felt cold on my back, which splashed onto my head, and dripped down my sides.

"Son of a bitch!" I yelled. I got up too soon and fell right onto the floor, while Rum laughed and dropped his bucket. "I'll murder ya!"

Rum just smiled and ran a hand through his hair. "Put some clothes on, Jacobs. It's time to make some money."

He threw me a towel, and I growled. Most morning usually started off this way, sans icy cold water. That only happened occasionally.

I was too late to get the usual breakfast, which consisted of coffee with bread from the nuns. Quickly I made my way towards the distribution center for the New York World. The line to buy papers was backed up near a half block, and I hated to wait in line. So instead, I gazed up at the headline board.

"THURSDAYS FOR LADIES ONLY AT BROOKLYN SAVINGS BANK"

"GEORGE COLLINS DEATH ACCIDENTAL"

"FREED PRISONER BACK IN COURT"

I grimaced. It was bad enough that good headlines couldn't sell, but when they gave us that junk? I might as well not even try.

"Anything good this morning, Les?"

Johnny Slye stood next to me, hands in his pockets, cigarette between his lips. "Not looking too good, Johnny," I replied. "Might be able to change a few things on that freed prisoner one, but other than that, things look pretty bad. I'm looking at thirty papes this morning."

"Go thirty-five, Les," Johnny said as he took a hand out of his pocket, grabbed the cigarette, and exhaled. "You learned from the best, right?"

"The best," I echoed.

...you learn from Jack, you learn from the best.

...thousand papes a week.

...buy me last pape, mister?

Johnny handed me his cigarette, and I took a good long drag before giving it back. He reached into his pocket and pulled out half of a bread roll.

"You was sleeping' when I left. Figured you wouldn't eat."

"Thanks."

We walked to the line and waited.

Johnny had been my best friend ever since I first arrived at the lodging house. His parents were long dead, and he'd been living on the streets as a pickpocket and a thief until the strike. After he'd seen what a thousand poor kids could do, he figured he'd join up.

With a name like Johnny Slye, you can pretty much figure that he'd be a natural-born leader. Johnny was just that. His style was different from Jack Kelly or Spot Conlon, however. While Jack was commanding and Spot was articulate, Johnny seemed like he just didn't care. He did, though. He hadn't earned his leadership at any certain point in time. Over the years, he just became respected, and seemed like somebody you can trust your life with.

"Hey Les, you in for poker tonight?" Johnny asked. He threw his cigarette butt to the floor and smashed it with his toe.

I was never very good at poker, or any other card game, for that matter. My father had always told David and I never to lie, cheat, or gamble. I'd only learned the game because Johnny had told me that it was just something that every newsie knew. But when I played, I lost. That's all there was to it.

"Don't think so," I replied after a few seconds of actual consideration. I grinned. "You just want me to play so you can make a few cents."

"I never said that," Johnny said with a sly smile. "Just...show up to the game, all right? From what I hear, Six is bringing along that pretty cousin of his. Don't want to pass that up, now do you?"

I didn't have luck with girls. But, even so, "I guess not."