Snipeshooter glared at the snow flecked on his shoe, seeping as it melted without regard into his sock. When, he wondered, did falling snow turn from white to gray? If it kept snowing the newsboy might need new shoes. But the air smelled warmed, as if spring may come earlier this year than it had the year before. And it was unusually bright, which Snipeshooter might resent more if it hadn't meant selling through his papers before lunchtime.
In the sunshine, Tibby's looked a real green not the faded blackening ash of most of its days. Snipes snorted at the ridiculous idea that anyone in the city of New York would waste the time or money to paint in the winter. Snipes was sure that in his whole life the Jewish owner Aaron had never once spent a dime he didn't need to, especially not on the paint of his establishment. A newsboy rounded the corner, holding up a paper above his capped head, shouting a headline.
It was one of his boys, Freckles, just joined the lodging house last week. A burly 14-year-old that had appeared with a missing tooth and a shiner on along his jaw. Snipes didn't know where he had come from and didn't bother to ask, but being new explained the boy's appearance here. Most of the Manhattan newsboys avoided Tibby's, out of reverence or superstition no one was quite sure, but it was a place of the old regime. Everyone that is, except for Les Jacobs when he was struck with being nostalgic.
Through the front door window, Snipeshooter caught the amused and mischievous grin of the youngest Jacobs. The door swung open, the tiny bell ringing, as Les throw out his hand in an exasperated manner.
"Are you just going to stand there glaring with your ugly mug, or are you gonna join me?" Les demanded. Snipeshooter rolled his eyes, Les had asked him here to meet him for lunch after all, but the newsboy jogged to the open door.
"Do you even pretend to still go to school?" Snipes as a way of greeting. Les shoved his shoulder into his friend, before pulling the door closed.
"The only person who believes I still go to lessons every day is Davey, and as he's a world away, I think it's easier just not to mention it." Les shrugged at the easy deception. Les maneuvered his way through the bustle of Tibby's, settling into one of the booths against the window, and threw himself into one side bench.
"Good selling today?" Snipes dropped into his own seat, with only a degree more care than Les.
"Best headlines we've seen in weeks, if the evening World is just as good, I might go to a flicker tomorrow afternoon. There's a new one, something about firemen." Les lit up excited about the prospect of catching a flicker. But Snipes preferred spending an extra nickel or dime on a good cigar, over some flashing photographs. Les scowled at him.
"You are thinking about a cigar. There are other things in life Snipes."
"So you say," Snipeshooter shrugged and glanced up at the same wallpaper he had stared at in much more excitement during the strike. "This place hasn't changed."
"Some places don't." Les pulled out a worn letter from his coat pocket, unfolding it. The impatient newsboy also tugged out a single sheet of one of his morning edition, a crushed finger length of yarn, a rock and half a cigarette.
"Some people don't." Snipes agreed laughing. "What's in that part of the paper?"
"Notice about the Arion Ball." Les murmured, tearing at the edges of the paper to keep only the notice. An elderly man sighed loudly to the left of the boys, impatiently looking at them as if they would never order anything.
"A hotdog please, and some water?" Les requested politely.
"The roast beef and a water." Snipeshooter added, fidgeting with two nickels between his fingers to prove the boys had the money to cover the food. The elderly man nodded and shuffled off. Les was working to wrap the notice around the rock with the yarn.
"Where's Sand?" Les asked suddenly, glancing to the right of Snipeshooter where Sand usually sat quietly.
"Selling down by the bridge today, think he's finally figured no one is going to try to beat me up and leave me for dead anymore." Snipes pulled out a tiny gray feather from his pocket, and flicked it at Les.
"We aren't caught unawares much these days." Les laughed as he tucked the feather under the yarn, slipping the oddly wrapped parcel into the window sill.
"Do you think we could do it, lead a city-wide strike and beat Pulitzer?" Snipes asked suddenly, starring at the table he once watched the very Jack Kelly lay upon holding a paper with his picture on it.
"We have." Les laughed shoving Snipes playful across the table. Les fidgeted like a seven-year-old for a moment before pulling out a folded-up piece of letter. "Want to hear about them?"
"Isn't that why you told me to come to lunch in this place?" Snipes demanded impatiently.
"I like it here, they've got good hot dogs and comfortable seats." Les winked as he kicked up his feet, stretching out on his side of the table to read out loud from the latest letter from David.