Disclaimer: This is a non-commercial work of fanfiction. Anything recognizable from Newsies belongs to Disney and not to me.


Chapter 69: A Simple Solution

Race sidled away from the circulation window, stowing his stack of just-purchased papers into his newsboy bag with the exception of one copy which he'd tucked under his arm. Opening it up, he hunkered down on a nearby crate and began to peruse the headlines.

Automobile Accident Injures Four….Giants Shut Out Phillies at Polo Grounds...Deadly Tenement Fire Displaces Twenty Families, Arson Suspected…

"Not bad today," Artie remarked, coming over to stand by Race, his own copy of The World in hand. "Better than the snoozers we was gettin' all last week."

Race agreed. Fires and accidents were generally workable material, and having both a fire and an accident in the same edition meant that improving the truth would be easier than normal that day. Glancing at the sky, he saw that there was not a cloud in sight, which was another good sign, as the sunny weather would improve selling prospects as well.

Jumping to his feet, Race announced, "I got a good feelin' about today - think I'm gonna get myself another thirty copies." If he was able to move the added papers quick enough and make some extra dough, he could skip out on selling the afternoon edition altogether and head to the track instead to spend the rest of the day betting with the small surplus of money he'd saved up.

"Sounds like a good idea," Artie remarked. "Might join you in that - maybe only half that count, though. I don't think I'd be able to handle the extra weight of thirty."

"I ain't plannin' to go far to sell," Race shrugged. "Headline like this shouldn't be too much trouble to move. You's welcome to sell with me if you want, and then we can go along to Sheepshead if there's time." Most of the newsies had already set off for their usual selling spots, and generally they didn't hang around the distribution center anyway, so Race and Artie would probably have a good chance of controlling the area as long as no one else got the same idea.

Artie enthusiastically agreed to the plan, and the two of them got in line behind the last few newsies who were waiting to purchase their papes. Crutchie, at the front of the queue, had just purchased his usual quota of fifty, and Race was about to dig into his pocket for his coins, when he heard Davey step up to the window and request sixty-five.

Race glanced around to see if anyone else had noticed the unusual behavior, but the only ones still in line were Artie and Tucker, and they hadn't been with the newsies long enough to know the difference.

After the two ex-scabs had paid for their papes, Race purchased his additional thirty, then, tucking the bundle under his arm, walked over to where Davey was arranging his own allotment before preparing to head out to sell. Artie tagged along behind Race, his own smaller stack of papers under his arm.

"You must be feelin' lucky today, Dave," Race grinned, coming to a stop in front of his friend. "Don't think I've ever heard you take sixty-five."

Davey tucked the last paper into his bag, adjusting it on his shoulder. "I need some extra money," he explained, "and the headlines didn't look too bad today, so I thought I'd go for it. If I can't move them in a timely fashion, I'll sell them back."

"Your pa doin' okay?" Race asked, trying to suss out the reason for the sudden lack of funds.

"He's fine, thanks." Davey didn't sound worried - in fact, he looked almost eager to get to selling, and that was another first. "We're all fine; I just have something I need to buy, that's all." He gave Race and Artie a small smile. "Good luck today," he added, with a nod. "I'll see you fellas around." And then he turned and walked away, calling out the headline (the actual headline) as he hurried down the street.

Race watched him go, perplexed.

"That seemed a little strange," Artie remarked.

"Yeah."

"Think he's hidin' somethin'?"

Race scratched his head. "Davey usually ain't the kind to hide things," he opined. But secretly he thought that it had been a little odd that Davey hadn't just explained what he needed and had hurried off so quickly. He didn't seem like the type to easily ask for help (Race could still recall the protest he'd put up that first day at the circulation gate when he'd almost rudely rejected Jack's offer of an additional fifty papes), but there was no shame in admitting that your family was down on their luck. Davey had been around long enough to see a few of the boys benefit from collections taken up on their behalf or dip into the Newsie Fund for situations involving their own needs or the needs of their families, so he should have known that such a thing was to be expected. As Jack was fond of reminding everyone, being poor was no crime. The newsies were there to help each other and to receive help in turn if and when the time came.

"Must be hard for him to come up with the money by himself with his pa bein' outta work and Les only sellin' on the weekends," Artie remarked.

"Yeah...he said his ma has a job too, but I don't know how well it pays," Race said absently. He shrugged, grinning at Artie. "Well, it ain't nothin' to worry about. If Dave says he's fine, we might as well take his word for it." He hefted his stack of papers onto his shoulder. "You ready to get to sellin'?"


The street lights were winking on all over the city by the time Davey stopped beneath the glow of the nearest one of them to count his earnings. Evening had fallen and the temperature with it, and people were hurrying past on the streets, hunched over with their arms curled around themselves or huddled together to stay warm, caught off guard by how quickly the moderately temperate day had turned to a chilly dusk once the sun had gone down.

It was a sure sign that colder days were coming.

Davey finished tallying up the money, dropping the coins back into his pocket with satisfaction. It had been a particularly favorable day for selling, and the surplus of change in his pocket was proof. He'd managed to move his entire allotment of the morning edition despite the fact that he'd taken more papers than usual, and he'd enjoyed moderate success with the afternoon edition as well, though he still had a few copies left in his bag to sell.

Shivering, Davey rubbed his arms briskly, trying to ward off the chill. He, like many others out this evening, had not expected the sudden dip in temperature, so he hadn't brought a jacket along with him, and the cold was beginning to seep through the thin fabric of his shirt.

Nothing for it - the sooner you finish selling, the sooner you can go home to get warm.

Forcing himself to keep moving, Davey pulled another paper out of his bag and began walking down the street, calling out the headline. It didn't help that most of the people he passed were in just as much of a hurry as he was to get out the cold. Hardly anyone spared him a glance.

Normally he would have been done selling a while ago, but the extra copies of both the morning and afternoon edition had set him back, and though he didn't regret the choice and was thankful that he'd managed to earn the extra money he'd been hoping for, he found it hard to ignore his steadily-growing fatigue and the dull hunger pangs in his stomach.

It's worth it. It's completely worth it, Davey reminded himself as he kept trudging down the street. He made a mental note to wear a jacket the next day and to pack himself a snack in case he ended up selling late again. At the rate he was going, he would have enough money to purchase Sadie's birthday gift by the following week, but he wanted to try to earn a little extra even beyond that since he hadn't been able to locate his copy of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. If he couldn't find it soon, he'd need to figure out another present for Abby.

Davey continued to walk. He drew near a theater, and as luck would have it, a show had just ended. Patrons were trickling out, and he mustered up the last bit of his enthusiasm and made himself approach them, paper in hand, doing his best to highlight the most interesting headlines without fabricating the facts. He sold several copies this way, and by the time the crowd had completely dispersed, he was down to his last edition of The World.

Deciding that he'd head back towards the tenement and hopefully sell the final copy on the way, Davey turned towards home. He was about four blocks away from his destination when he caught sight of a familiar well-dressed lady walking down the street, her white hair noticeable even in the dim lighting.

"Working late tonight?" she inquired as she drew within earshot.

Davey nodded. "A little later than usual."

"Are folks only wanting to hear the sensationalized version of the headlines?" she asked sympathetically.

"Actually, selling's been pretty good today," Davey acknowledged. "I just had a larger stock than usual. I'm trying to earn a little more money to buy a gift for a friend." He wasn't sure why he'd chosen to disclose that detail, but disclose it he had.

"Well, that sounds like a worthy cause to support," the woman smiled. She reached into her handbag and pulled out a dime. "I'll take a paper, and keep the change." She didn't even bother to ask about the headline this time.

Davey gratefully handed over his last copy. "Thank you, Ma'am," he smiled. "I appreciate it." It was on the tip of his tongue to protest her insistence that he keep the change, but he didn't want to seem ungrateful for her generosity (and the extra money really would help him out), so instead he said, "This is the last of my papers for today, so I'll be able to go home now."

The woman nodded, looking pleased. "Get along, then. I hope you'll be able to save up the money that you need soon."

"This will help a lot," Davey held up the dime. "I'm grateful for your generosity, Ma'am."

"Well, you remind me of my son," the woman confided. "He started out selling for The World when he was fifteen. My husband's business hadn't yet taken off, so money was tight at the time, and everyone had to pull their weight to make ends meet. My son is married now with a family of his own, but I still vividly remember his time as a newsboy in Lower Manhattan. Those were dismal years for our family, living day to day, but we got through them to brighter times eventually."

She paused, then added, "My son always told me that the worst part about hawking headlines was having to resist the temptation to lie about what he was selling so that he could stay competitive with the rest of the newsboys. He'd often sell fewer papers than the rest of them or would take longer to finish selling because he tried not to embellish things." She gave Davey a thoughtful look. "That's why, now that I can afford it, I try to support the newsboys who have chosen to assume the same disadvantage. I'm sure it isn't easy when you're trying to turn a profit."

Davey nodded in agreement. It all made sense now, why she'd repeatedly chosen to purchase papers from him and why she hadn't seemed to care much about the actual headlines.

"Well, your mother must be keeping dinner warm for you," the woman said, breaking into his thoughts. "You'd better get going."

"Yes Ma'am." Davey touched his cap respectfully. "Thank you."

"Of course. And you may call me Lorina," she added.

"I'm David," Davey smiled. "Good evening, Lorina." The elderly woman returned his adieu, and they parted ways, Davey dropping the dime into his pocket along with the rest of the change as he walked towards his family's tenement.

It had been a pleasant way to end his day of selling, and he found himself feeling more lighthearted as he climbed the stairs to the tenement two at a time, all the way up to the second floor. He would have never expected that forgoing the practice of improving the truth would have given him an advantage in any way, but clearly it had in this instance, and he was grateful for it.

Reaching his family's apartment, Davey unlocked the door and stepped inside, glancing at the clock on the kitchen wall as he did so. He would need to make quick work of his dinner; it was almost time to meet Sadie for tutoring.

His family was already well into the evening meal, and they greeted him as he came over to join them at the table, his father inquiring how selling had gone that day, his mother setting a still-warm plate of food in front of him and ladling an extra spoonful of stew onto the top of it for good measure, and Les wanting to know if Jack or Race or any of the newsies had done anything exciting that day. Davey answered the questions as succinctly as he could while trying not to bolt down his food, appreciative of the warm apartment and the warm meal as well as the brief respite before he had to rush off to the next activity of the evening, but soon it was time for him to head to the landlord's office.

After thanking his mother for dinner and receiving permission to be excused, Davey procured his schoolbook and slate and quickly made his way up to the third floor of the tenement. As he stepped onto the landing, he saw the Becker sisters making their way over from their family's apartment. Abby waved and Sadie smiled at him as they arrived in tandem at the landlord's office.

Sadie reached out to unlock the door. "How was selling today, Davey?" she asked.

"Better than usual," he replied, waiting for her and Abby to enter before he followed them into the room. "The headlines weren't bad."

"How's your reading group going?" Abby asked as she and Sadie moved about the room, turning on the lights.

"It's going well," Davey answered as he took his usual seat at one end of Mr. Becker's large desk. He'd told Abby not long ago about how he'd started reading The Jungle Book to Tucker, Elmer, and Jojo. "We're already on chapter six. The boys are really enjoying it. How are you liking The Adventures of Tom Sawyer?"

"It's good so far," Abby said approvingly. "I think I'll be finished by next week." She settled down in the office armchair and pulled said book out from the end table that sat nearby.

Perfect timing, Davey thought to himself. If he could only find that copy of Huck Finn…

"I have an important question to ask you before we begin," Sadie announced as she took her seat at the desk. "Abby reminded me about it just before we walked over." The younger Becker sister glanced up from her book long enough to give Sadie a grin. "It's probably rather impolite to put you on the spot, but we're both impatient to know if you and Les will be able to come to our birthday party."

Caught between her eager look and Abby's excited smile, Davey found himself responding before he'd adequately thought through his answer.

"We wouldn't want to miss it," he said quickly. "And we're both hoping to be there. It's just that...well, we have some out of town visitors who are coming to Manhattan that day. They're family friends, and my parents want us to make it a priority to spend time with them since it's been a while since we've had the opportunity."

"Would you like to bring them along to the party?" Sadie asked. "It's going to be a picnic at the park with lots of food and some games, but there's really nothing scheduled or formal about it - just an opportunity for people to eat and enjoy each other's company. Your friends would be more than welcome to come, if that would be agreeable to them and if it would allow for you and Les to both be present."

"That's kind of you," Davey answered, thinking to himself that it might actually be a good solution, but feeling uneasy at the thought of imposing on the Beckers. "I'd have to talk to my parents about it, but I'm sure they'd be grateful for your generous offer...though I'll probably get an earful for even considering something as impolite as bringing uninvited guests along to someone else's party."

"Just tell them it was my idea," Sadie suggested cheerfully. "We Beckers are a celebratory type of people - a few additional guests won't put us out in the slightest. 'The more the merrier,' as we always say."

"It would be just two others besides Les and myself," Davey clarified. His parents would likely want to take the opportunity to catch up with Mr. and Mrs. Lieberman while the rest of the family was at the party. "A pair of siblings, Ruben and Rachel. They're around our age."

"How do you know them?" Sadie asked curiously.

"I went to school with them when my family lived in Brooklyn. We got along well, and our parents eventually became friends, so we've kept in touch over the years even after my family moved away."

"What brings them to Manhattan?"

"Their father is a businessman - a pretty successful one, actually. He owns several factories all over New York, and he's got business partners here that he meets with on occasion. Their family is well-off enough to afford frequent traveling, so they'll sometimes turn business trips into family vacations and will visit their friends in whatever part of town they're staying in."

"So they won't be staying with you, then?"

Davey shook his head, smiling a little at the thought. "They're going to stay at the Waldorf-Astoria."

"The Waldorf-Astoria!" Sadie exclaimed, and Davey could tell that she was impressed; the establishment was one of Manhattan's newest and most upscale hotels, after all. "Well," she said jokingly, recovering from her surprise, "I can't say that the Waldorf-Astoria has quite the charm or character of the swanky Becker Tenement, but to each his own, I suppose."

"The Becker Tenement is definitely superior where charm and character is concerned," Davey agreed. "But we can't all live like kings. For some, the Waldorf-Astoria will just have to do."

They shared a smile.

"Well, I'll certainly be eager to meet your friends if they do decide to join in on the festivities," Sadie said, opening up her school book to the evening's lesson. "But now that we've found a possible solution, perhaps we'd better get to our studies."

It seemed almost out-of-character that she was the one drawing them back to their task, and Davey found himself, by contrast, rather reluctant to end their lighthearted conversation in favor of focusing on the lesson, but he shook off the thought and opened his book as well. He wasn't sure where the feeling came from or what it meant, but Sadie was right - they had a lot to cover, and he would do well to focus on what was right in front of him.


A/N: Dear readers, next week (pending any writer's block or unforeseen difficulties with the editing process) you are cordially invited to a birthday party in honor of Sadie and Abigail Becker. We hope that you will grace us with your presence at the festivities. Please note that gifts are not necessary, but if you are so inclined to leave a review with any of your thoughts on this latest installment (whether long or short), know that such a contribution would be most happily and enthusiastically received by the writer. Thank you! ;)