A/N: GeekOnDisplay- Well, unfortunately, not everyone likes to read long chapters, but I hope this one has enough dialogue for you. Thanks; I try to keep my reviews in mind.

Disclaimer: See Prologue.

Chapter Three

(October 2, 1910)

"Extrie! Extrie! Bomb explodes in Los Angeles Times!" Michael's selling partner, Johnny, cried. Newspapers traded hands. "Thank you, sir. Hey, Michael, are you selling or what?"

"Right, sorry." He rubbed his eyes sleepily. "21 dead; more injured! Thank you, ma'am."

"That's the way. Times building blows up!" Johnny looked around. "We need a new spot. Looks like everyone here has a pape."

They ran off toward the nearby Central Park, pleased with their success. "I'm glad Mr. Conlon gave me that tip."

"Yeah, I guess he's not too bad for a Brooklyn copper. Hey, did yah hear that that lady journalist is coming back to work for the World again?"

"Nellie Bly?"

"That's the one. Betcha there are some more great papes in our future." He grinned lazily. "Good headlines do half the work for us."

"Hey, can we take a break? I'm dead tired."

Johnny groaned overdramatically. "Not again! You've gotta toughen up a little."

"I'm just not used to this."

"You've been saying that for a year."

"That's because I haven't gotten used to it yet."

"Oh, fine. You can. I'll keep selling, though."

Michael collapsed onto a bench with a stack of papers in his lap. "Maybe I should find a different job," he mused. He never would have said so to the other newsies; he didn't want them to think that he would abandon them. At the same time, he didn't think it would hurt to look around for other jobs.

"If you're so tired, we could get some lunch when we're done here."

"With what money? We'll barely have enough for supper as it is."

"We could hang around outside of Tibby's until your dad's old boss goes in to eat. When he sees us, he'll invite us to join him."

Michael frowned. "We did that last week."

"Yeah, that's how I know it'll work."

"I don't know." In a way, he felt like it was taking advantage of the man's kindness.

"Sure you do. You're as hungry as I am."

"Fine… We'll go now, but I don't want to do it again any time this month."

"It's a deal."

In the distance there was a loud bang. Michael jumped off the bench, and both ran to find the source. They weren't the only ones.

"It must be those unions again," one professional-looking man said to another as they ran out of a bank and into Times Square.

"It's like that newspaper article," Johnny whispered, staring at the paper in his hand. As in Los Angeles, the New York Times building looked severely damaged, though not to the same degree. Employees fled from the scene, minus the reporters, who were far too busy gathering any information that they could; onlookers fled toward it. "Guess what, Michael?"

"What?"

"We'll have another good headline tomorrow. Maybe we can afford to buy lunch for ourselves."