Phony Headlines in The Harbor (Dreamer)

[Anthony Higgins]

"Extry, extry! Orphanage robbed! Children left destitute!"

There was, in reality, no such headline in today's afternoon edition of the New York World. The real headline was "Funds For Orphanage Collected." It was all a matter of interpretation, Racetrack Higgins thought smugly as a lady bought a paper off him. He quickly moved away, pocketing the penny, before she could realize the story wasn't in the paper.

The harbor was a good place to sell, Race thought. There were always dock workers and stand operators who needed something to read during rather extensive break periods, and sailors who needed to know what was going on. Of course, reading the paper would tell them what was happening. Listening to the cries of the newsies wouldn't. It was rare these days that the headlines were interesting enough to actually be hawked as they were. A good newsie had to know how to lie and get what he needed, and in the process not get caught.

Racetrack considered himself a good newsie.

After selling three more papes and suckering a dock worker out of a nickel by insisting he didn't have any change, he made his way down the wharf, trying out a new headline: "Apartments on Broad Street Catch Fire!" he cried, waving the paper around. The real story was on page five. It had nothing to do with a fire. As he looked over the shoulder of a vendor who was pulling a penny from his pocket, he saw another Manhattan newsie selling. Wondering what they were doing here and worrying they would steal some of his customers, he strode over. "Whaddya hear, whaddya say?" he called by way of greeting.

[Dreamer]

Timid Dreamer stood on the Harbor in Manhatten with a bunch of papers in her hand. She had never really done this before. Lying just to earn a penny for a newspaper. She held one up, shifting the weight of 25 papes in her other arm, and yelled out the headline. The real headline.

"Extra! Extra!" she shouted, but not so loud. "Read all about it! Funds For Orphanage Collected!"

No one was listening to her. She sighed. She knew she wouldn't do such a good job selling newspapers. Suddenly, a boy who looked a bit more nicely dressed to be a newsie (A/N: For some reason, Ractrack always seems to be dressed in nice clothes), came up to her with papers in his arms, as well.

"Whaddya hear, whaddya say?" he called by way of greeting.

Dreamer, being a brand new newsie, was puzzled by this greeting.

"Excuse me?" she asked

[Anthony Higgins]

"Excuse me?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Did I go into Greek there for a second?" he said with sarcasm. "Or did I not talk loud enough for ya?" He didn't know a newsie who wasn't familiar with the colorful language they used. Most of the lower-class kids in New York used phrases like that. He had to wonder what this girl was doing selling papes. Didn't she have a nice home or something? He rephrased, "That was a hello, kiddo."

He had heard the headline she was hawking and had to smirk. "Don'cha know, kid? You're not gonna sell nothin' if you tell people what's really written. Those news reporters don't think about us. All they want is to fill up the pages." He knew she was a Manhattan girl, but clearly she didn't quite know what she was doing. "You better find a new angle, kid..."

[Dreamer]

"Did I go into Greek there for a second?" he said with sarcasm. "Or did I not talk loud enough for ya?"

"Sorry," Dreamer cringed, her voice having a bit of wince in it

"That was a hello, kiddo."

"Oh,"

Dreamer felt embarassed that she didn't know the slang around Manhatten. Her cheeks were becoming crimson with heat.

"Don'cha know, kid? You're not gonna sell nothin' if you tell people what's really written. Those news reporters don't think about us. All they want is to fill up the pages." He knew she was a Manhattan girl, but clearly she didn't quite know what she was doing. "You better find a new angle, kid..."

"...What do you mean by angle?" Dreamer asked.

((Sorry for the delay. I kept getting kicked off, and I'm supposed to be grounded...))

[Anthony Higgins]

"...What do you mean by angle?"

Racetrack rolled his eyes and threw his hands up. "Yer killin' me kid!" he exclaimed. "Look...I don't know you from nobody. And I don't know why I should be helpin' you. But I hate to see a kid so lost she don't even know..." He stopped, shaking his head. It was apparent that no one had taught her anything. Most newsies had someone who had taught them the tools of the trade. Even Jack had a mentor when he was a kid. Race himself had learned from some of the other boys in the lodging house when he first started out. It was evident that either no one had bothered to help this girl, or she didn't bother getting help.

"Listen close, kid, cause this is the only time I'm sayin this. An angle...you gotta have one. You can't just hawk the headlines straight; that don't get you nothin'. Lousy headlines leave you with a stack of papes and no money. So you gotta make them good yourself." He held up the headline they had both tried hawking. "See this? No one wants to read about that. It's nothin' new, old news. Somethin' new, fresh, a scandal. That's what people like. And that's what you gotta hawk. An angle is how you go about it. Funds stolen, that's my angle. A fella coulds say the orphanage burned down. See? You gotta know how to do what."

[Dreamer]

Dreamer gave off a small winced smile.

"I really don't know how to do it," she replied. "I'm new...I'm a new newsie. It's my first day selling the New York World newspapers,"

[Anthony Higgins]

"I'm new...I'm a new newsie. It's my first day selling the New York World newspapers."

"Geez, and nobody bothered to tell ya nothin'?" Race rolled his eyes again. He hadn't expected to spend his day playing the tutor. But he had already gotten himself into this, and he wasn't about to leave this girl out cold. He considered for a moment, and looked at the pile of papers in his hand. He could sell while showing her, and there was always the chance she would attract him some customers as well.

"Okay," he said finally. "What's your name, kid? I'll try and let you know what ya gotta know, and after that, you're on your own. I got better things to do than babysittin', see?" The term wouldn't apply, perhaps, depending on how old this girl was, but Race didn't think of that.

[Dreamer]

"Geez, and nobody bothered to tell ya nothin'?"

"...Not much, no," Dreamer said embarassed

Her cheeks flushed. All Dreamer knew about a newsie's lifestyle is that they sold newspapers for a "penny a pape". That was all she knew about them. No one ever really took the time to teach her on HOW to sell them to earn those pennies

"Okay," he said finally. "What's your name, kid? I'll try and let you know what ya gotta know, and after that, you're on your own. I got better things to do than babysittin', see?"

Dreamer kind of felt angry and a bit hurt about the way this boy was treating her. Especially when it wasn't her fault she didn't know what to do. But she kept that calm, shy look on her face, and spoke in her usual quiet voice

"It's Dreamer," she replied. "...And what things to you have better to do than to 'babysit' me?"

...She kind of said that last part sarcastically, but she had not noticed until the last minute. Immedietly, she felt embarassed again, and kind of looked down.

"Sorry," she barely said

[Anthony Higgins]

"It's Dreamer," she replied. "...And what things to you have better to do than to 'babysit' me?"

Racetrack rolled his eyes, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "Play polo with the governor, that's what!" he exclaimed. He had no patience for people in general. "For cripe's sake, you better grow some brains, kiddo! Ya see this?" He brandished his stack of papers. "Ya gotta sell 'em. When ya got 'em, nothin's more important than sellin' 'em. And while I'm helpin' you earn your money, I could be out earnin' my money, see?"

He stopped. He suddenly realized how embarassed she looked, and he thought he heard her say sorry. He rolled his eyes again. One of the reasons he hated girls was that they knew how to make him feel like a jerk. "Alright, alright...quit that. I don't need you turnin' on the waterworks on me. Now listen. The first thing I'm tellin' ya is that you get tough-skinned. Ain't no way you're gonna be a good newsie if you get scared when somebody yells at you. Got that?" He couldn't stand little girls who tried to be newsies. Girls who could keep their own, fine, but the feeble little things who could barely hold their papes irritated him to no end. And the less of them around the street, the better.

[Dreamer]

"Play polo with the governor, that's what!" he exclaimed. He had no patience for people in general. "For cripe's sake, you better grow some brains, kiddo! Ya see this?" He brandished his stack of papers. "Ya gotta sell 'em. When ya got 'em, nothin's more important than sellin' 'em. And while I'm helpin' you earn your money, I could be out earnin' my money, see?"

Dreamer stood open mouthed for a second, and then she too started yelling.

"I'm sorry!" she shouted. "I'm doing my best here! It's not like I've done it all my life or anything like that! I know I have to sell them! I have to otherwise, I won't get money, and I would like something to eat for a change! And what about you? I'm pretty sure you weren't just born and turned into a professional newsie all in the course of one day!"

Dreamer stopped herself, realized how angry she had gotten, and turned back into her meek and mild self again

"Alright, alright...quit that. I don't need you turnin' on the waterworks on me. Now listen. The first thing I'm tellin' ya is that you get tough-skinned. Ain't no way you're gonna be a good newsie if you get scared when somebody yells at you. Got that?" He couldn't stand little girls who tried to be newsies. Girls who could keep their own, fine, but the feeble little things who could barely hold their papes irritated him to no end. And the less of them around the street, the better.

"...I don't get scared when somebody yells at me," she protested quietly. "Just when they yell at me for no reason. And yeah. I do get it,"

Dreamer sort of glared a bit, which was most unlike her.

"Thanks for the advice," she mummbled sarcastically. "...And what's your name, Mr. I'm-So-Great-At-Selling-Newspapers?"

[Anthony Higgins]

"And what about you? I'm pretty sure you weren't just born and turned into a professional newsie all in the course of one day!"

Racetrack had been expecting her to get a little hot under the collar. But he was used to being yelled at by people. He mouthed off a few times too often, and people gave him what-for. It didn't phase him too much anymore, though, and he would just wait it out until he could get a word in edgewise. "Ya done?" he said finally, and didn't wait for a responce. "Good. Now nobody knows how right away. Got that? Otherwise we wouldn't be havin' this conversation. But everybody got someone to tell them what to do, how to do it. Neither of us were born knowin' how to hawk headlines and sell papes. But I'm damn sure I been doin' it longer than you have, so if I act like I know somethin', it's because I do."

"...I don't get scared when somebody yells at me," she protested quietly. "Just when they yell at me for no reason. And yeah. I do get it,"

She was quiet again, all of a sudden. Why did he always run into the odd ones? But he just nodded his head. "A'right, a'right. Well, the point is, people are gonna yell at ya. Coppers, old maids, other kids...especially coppers. An' you can't show 'em you're scared at all." Growing tired of this conversation, he shifted gears quickly. He knew that he should probably be on his way, but at this point he more or less made a commitment to her, as much at he hated to. So he decided to stick with it. Maybe demand a small commission for his trouble. "Alright, Dreamer. So let's get down to business. How many ya sold so far?"

[Dreamer]

"Ya done?" he said finally, and didn't wait for a responce. "Good. Now nobody knows how right away. Got that? Otherwise we wouldn't be havin' this conversation. But everybody got someone to tell them what to do, how to do it. Neither of us were born knowin' how to hawk headlines and sell papes. But I'm damn sure I been doin' it longer than you have, so if I act like I know somethin', it's because I do."

"Oh really?" Dreamer mocked sarcastically.

"A'right, a'right. Well, the point is, people are gonna yell at ya. Coppers, old maids, other kids...especially coppers. An' you can't show 'em you're scared at all."

Dreamer wished she could tell the guy that her worst fear was strangers, especially when they yelled at her. But it seemed he really didn't care about that, so the only way to stand up for herself was to fight back.

"Alright, Dreamer. So let's get down to business. How many ya sold so far?"

"You tell me, if you know so much," Dreamer snapped, getting fed up with this guy almost crticizing her. "...I didn't sell any papers today yet. Not one,"

[Anthony Higgins]

"...And what's your name, Mr. I'm-So-Great-At-Selling-Newspapers?"

He laughed, despite the nature the question was posed in. Racetrack knew she was being sarcastic, but he knew that the best way to make a sarcastic person mad was to pretend you didn't get the sarcasm. "I'll be takin' that as a compliment. Higgins' the name. Racetrack Higgins." He tipped his cap jauntily. He'd succeeded in putting himself in a good mood. When the people around him were less than agreeable, he always tried to make it so he was chipper. It got people mad, for some reason, when he was happy and they weren't.

"You tell me, if you know so much."

"I ain't psychic, kid. I just know about selling papes," he replied cooly.

"...I didn't sell any papers today yet. Not one,"

He nodded, almost sympathetic. "Well that's somethin' you gotta fix. Just remember this. You're sellin' the pape. Not the headline. You gotta lie a little to get your way, unless you get lucky and the headline's about a dream come true. Now you'se Manhattan, right? Right. So we both got the same headlines. Now I'm almost sold out. That's proof...in this business, lyin' gets you somewhere."

[Dreamer]

"I'll be takin' that as a compliment. Higgins' the name. Racetrack Higgins." He tipped his cap jauntily.

"Flattered," Dreamer said sarcastically.

It wasn't Racetrack that was getting Dreamer sarcastic, which was most unlike her. She was just having a bad day.

"Well that's somethin' you gotta fix. Just remember this. You're sellin' the pape. Not the headline. You gotta lie a little to get your way, unless you get lucky and the headline's about a dream come true. Now you'se Manhattan, right? Right. So we both got the same headlines. Now I'm almost sold out. That's proof...in this business, lyin' gets you somewhere."

"Yeah," Dreamer commented about the lying getting you somewhere. "It's called jail. Don't you think that once the customer finds out that there's no headline we made up, we'll get caught?"

[Anthony Higgins]

"Don't you think that once the customer finds out that there's no headline we made up, we'll get caught?"

That was actually laughable. Racetrack let out a guffaw and said in a low voice, "That's the best part 'bout people. There's a sucker born every minute." He held out the paper to show her. "All ya gotta do is do it smart. Like this time...We is lookin' at a nightmare of a headline. Funds for Orphanage Collected. So I figured...collected. That got more'n one meanin' don't it? So it ain't bein' funded. The place was robbed. The funds, collected. Ya get it? An' then when someone comes after you, all you gotta do is act like it was an accident."

He looked beyond her at an imaginary customer. "Ya mean that wasn't the story? Gee, mister, I'm sorry..." He looked at Dreamer again. "Play dumb. Or else tell 'em they made a mistake printin' it. There's lots of ways to lie and not get caught."