October 1902
"Let's go! The presses are rolling!" Kloppman's ancient voice never tired of the same phrases. Every morning, though the bunks might be littered with newer and younger faces, the song remained the same. The old man carried his weight heavily upon the wooden floors partially due to age and partially on purpose to wake the slumbering children.
"Let's go! Sand!" He hollered passing by the sandy haired boy. He smacked the bare foot covered in soot at the end of the bed, sending the young man into a sitting position.
"I didn't do it!" Sand shouted. Kloppman smiled. The song remained very much the same. Newsboys were forever carrying guilt, forever prepared to defend their innocence even in their sleep.
"Didn't do what, selling papers? Time to get up Sand." The old man urged the boy to get out of bed. Rubbing the sleep out of his ocean blue eyes forcefully the boy jumped down from his bunk in a swift movement. Sand trotted past several bunks only stopping at the bunk located in almost dead center of the room. He stretched out his arms far above his head, letting his body prepare before he climbed up to the top bunk. Holding his body up by wrapping his entire arm around the post, Sand used his other hand, clenched in a fist to bump against a sleeping Snipeshooter's shoulder. A set of curls grated against the pillow in agitation before a freckled nose turned to face the punching culprit.
"Whatdoyouwant?" A slur of words came out of Snipeshooter's mouth. Sand smiled running his tongue over his dry lips before speaking.
"We got some headlines about crooked politicians today." Sand laughed. The younger boy was mocking his leader, for Snipeshooter was notorious for hating headlines about politics at all these days.
"That ain't a headline." Snipes grumbled and tried to turn back around.
"Headlines don't sell papes." Boots grumbled as he walked past the two towards the washroom.
"Newsies sell papes. Damn it. Kelly haunts me even in my sleep." Snipes grumbled. He grudgingly swung his legs over the side of his bunk. Sand released the bedpost and let his body drop down with a loud thud. If it hadn't become routine for the little boy to climb up to wake Snipes, the drop would have shocked the bottom of his bare feet more but his small body had become accustom to the harsh landing.
"Maybe cause you're sleeping in his bunk?" Tumbler suggested walking out of the washroom snapping at his suspenders.
"It ain't his bunk anymore. It's mine." Snipes snapped at the chipper newsie. Tumbler shrugged an apology to Sand.
"I'm not saying it's cause you ain't the leader of Manhattan. Just maybe cause his spirits in the bed somehow? I was reading this real scary tale yesterday about ghosts…" Tumbler started trying to defend himself.
"Shut up." Two-Bit shoved his hand into the other boy's black hair playfully. Two-bit placed a cigarette at the edge of his mouth before placing his hat strategically upon his head.
Snipeshooter had wandered into the washroom already in a half dazed sleep completely ignoring the morning banter of his newsies around him. He washed and dressed in a completely daze to his actions and surroundings. Not until he had stepped out into the morning sunshine and chilly winter air did he truly wake.
The Manhattan newsies still took the same path to the selling docks every morning that their predecessors had taken. Snipes kicked at the mud underneath his worn out shoes as they walked past the brick walls that were the background to his existence for so many years. He was moody and hungry and the cold was not making it any better. Sand followed his leader like a shadow, never moving more than two steps away. The younger and shorter boy was alert and full of energy the perfect compliment to the hunched over disengaged morning person that Snipes tended to be. The nuns weren't out this morning likely because of the rain the night before, so Sand knew that it would be at least another few blocks before Snipes got into a better mood. The newsies would snatch various objects off the delivery wagons this morning. Something they hadn't often done under the direction of Jack Kelly but times had changed.
Not that Jack hadn't been a thief, he had been. Jack Kelly had been a good thief and a great liar, but his intentions were never anything but good and his loyalty won over each and every person that came across his path. Also just because he had been those things, didn't mean that he had ever encouraged or even allowed his boys to be thieves or liars. Snipes was still young, still inexperienced and still didn't care enough in the morning to be the leader that Jack Kelly had been before him. But, one day he might grow into the shoes that had been left for him to fill.
Fighting, the struggle to prove themselves and the bitterness of an early winter this year had made the Manhattan newsies a little less jovial than they had been previously. It was a cycle, though the boys themselves were unaware, times of prosperity often came before and after times of struggle. Snipeshooter might never realize that Jack Kelly had also struggled to be noticed and to matter in a world where who you were could save your life and earn you an extra penny.
A quiet had taken hold of the city, a silence that quivered with warning. No one was picketing, no one was campaigning, and no one was saving souls. The newsies barely made it out to scout headlines and even at that most were only selling twenty of each edition. But the quiet suited Snipeshooter just fine, gave him time to recover from the fights that secured his place as a leader. The silence of the city gave Snipes time to feel like maybe, maybe Jack Kelly would stay gone long enough for everything to go back to normal. Though the young leader was never sure what his desire for normal really meant anymore.
Arriving at Horace Greeley Square, Les Jacobs appeared in the square wearing a blue shirt that had once been David's and a grin of reckless abandoned that was less Jacobs and more Kelly. Les no longer carried a wooden sword or hid in the shadows of his older and wiser big brother. He had grown taller and lost the innocence from his face just as Snipeshooter had. The two boys had once equally idolized Jack Kelly and equally detested the fact that the missed the old newsboys leader. It was a weekday and Les Jacobs' should be in school during the morning edition, but none of the boys were surprised to see the youngest Jacobs. In the last weeks, Les had started skipping out on lessons in favor of making a few extra cents during the day. Not everyday, but everyone knew it would only be a matter of time before little Les wouldn't ever go back to lessons and books.
Les quietly walked up to stand near Snipeshooter at the selling gates. He pulled out a piece of bread and handed it over quietly knowing full well that the leader of Manhattan wouldn't speak before eating something. Snipeshooter grunted and nodded thanks as he ripped the roll in half and handed it to Sand.
"The headlines are weak again. Stupid storm." Grumbled a newer newsie named Humble.
"Headlines don't sell papes." Les preached to the younger boy. Snipeshooter shot him a murderous glare and Sand leaned over to whisper.
"He's a little touchy about Jack this morning." He warned.
"He don't even know who Jack is…" Les argued. He jutted out his chin before speaking to Humble again. "You know who Jack Kelly is?"
"Ain't he the one that rode around this square with Teddy Roosevelt after the strike? He was one of the strike leaders wasn't he?" Humble's face brightened with the enthusiasm of the story.
Sand laughed a bit and winked at the boy before waving his hand to signal the kid should scatter. Snipeshooter glared at Les, who was shrugging apologetically.
"All right, so maybe it's too soon for no one to know who he was. Want to hear how they're doing? We can't do anything about you not being Jack Kelly anyway. I mean if you really think about it Jack Kelly was barely Jack Kelly, his real name being Francis Sullivan and all…"
"Just tell us what Mouth wrote you, I think we should call you Mouth from now on." Snipeshooter rolled his eyes.
"That was what they called Dave though!" Les snapped indignant. Everyone had a shadow to get out from under.
"He's right there Snipes, we should really call him something different. I mean you want to be different don't you?" Sand nodded vigorously.
Somewhere from inside the selling docks they could hear the bells and the announcement that it was time for selling. The trio moved towards the docks in a fluid movement of a group that spent too much time together. Les having never lost his childish vigor for speaking up quickly gave updates about the old leaders.
Out of the three newsboys, only Les dared to purchase 50 papers to sell for the morning. Having learned everything from Jack Kelly himself, Les Jacobs was one of the best newsboys on the Manhattan side of the East River. The three boys walked out of the selling docks, Les still excitedly telling them whatever western adventure David had written about.
"Corpse found by the train yards!" Les shouted, joining the array of voices.
"A corpse?" A young man asked excitedly stepping off the sidewalk, in a blatant disregard for his suit and the mud of the streets. Les nodded vigorously keeping a serious set to his mouth and holding out the folded paper to the businessman.
"That's a good headline." The young man smiled brightly and the words echoed back in Les' mind as familiar.
"A good story mister," Les nodded pushing out the paper further to the man.
"A good story, she would like that then…" The young man dug out a nickel from his jacket pocket. He took the paper from the boy before dropping the glittering coin into his outstretched hand.
"I ain't got any change yet Mister, you're my first pape…" Les began to explain.
"No. No, no, keep the change boy." The tall gentleman winked mischievously as if Les had made his entire day by selling him an overpriced paper. Suddenly Les felt guilty for improving the headline the man seemed so interested in.
"Thanks." He said quickly before his conscience decided to kick in too much. He turned back to his companions and the man folded the paper into his jacket and out of sight. As if it wasn't even a morning paper he had purchased for himself.
"Corpse huh?" Snipeshooter asked as he was reading well into the middle of one of his own papers.
"It said one dead." Les nodded.
"A dog was dead." Sand laughed.
"That's a corpse, ain't it?" Les shrugged.
"Come on let's go down to central park today." Snipeshooter suggested leading the way.
"You know, Dave asked about Laces… I don't know what to tell them. I haven't seen her in at least a month." Les looked to Snipeshooter and Sand hopefully. Both boys shrugged and shook their heads. The boys of Manhattan liked Laces well enough but they no longer had a vested interest in her like Jack and the others once had. The emotional attachment only existed for Brooklyn now who still lived and fought for their precious gal. Laces was no longer the key between Brooklyn and Manhattan, she no longer possessed anything that fancied the mellower borough of the two. Even their third ally, Decker from the Bronx had more of an investment with Laces than the boys of Horace Greeley Square did these days.