Another day, another dollar. That's how most of the days went in the lives of the newsies in New York City. Most of the days were fairly dull, except for the occasional cop whistle echoing through the streets. Some days, on the other hand, were much more eventful than others.
       This particular day, a new newsie was among them. She'd joined them at Newspaper Row that morning. None of the others had really noticed her then, except for one girl, Lys. Lys had greeted the new girl shortly after she'd walked through the gates.
       "Hiya! Da name's Lys," she introduced happily. "It's short fer Lysa," she added.
       The girl looked at Lys nervously. "I'm Dorothy," she mumbled.
       Lys smiled. "Ah, Dixie, glad ta have ya wit' us," she grinned, giving Dorothy an instant nickname. "Come sell wit' me fer a while. I'll show ya how it goes."
       Dorothy smiled. "Thanks, Lys," she replied, still smiling.
       The two of them became fast friends. Lys showed "Dixie" around the city and exactly how to sell newspapers properly. Lys wasn't the best newsie, not by far, but she made a comparable profit every day. Dixie learned quickly.

       That evening, at the Newsboys Lodging House downtown, the newsies were milling around, chatting as usual. Several were engaged in a poker game in the corner. A few more, the younger ones, were playing marbles across the hall in the other room. The rest were having various conversations around the room. When Lys walked in with a companion, most of them looked up to see who she was.
       "Hey, Lys, who's yer friend?" a cowboy asked, wearing a goofy grin. All the boys began mumbling and asking questions at the same time. The girls just observed carefully and quietly.
       "Fellas!" Lys yelled loudly. They all quieted. "Dis heah's Dixie. She's new; treat 'er nice now. If ya don't, I'll soak ya," she announced, quite serious.
       "Aw, come on, Lys. All we want's some fun!" a smart-aleck Italian called out from his poker game. They all laughed.
       Lys crossed the room and popped the boy upside the head. "Shuddup, Race!" she scolded. Everyone laughed again.
       Race wasn't all too fond of that. He scrambled to his feet and grabbed hold of Lys's waist, pulling her to the ground. The two of them wrestled for a little while. While this spectacle was going on, Dixie leaned over to the cowboy.
       "D'they do this often?" she whispered.
       "Aah, don't worry 'bout 'em none. Dey's like bruddah 'n' sistah. Da name's Jack Kelly. Nice meetin' ya," he said back.
       Just then, another commotion erupted in the corner. Everyone turned. They saw a tall boy with blond hair and pink suspenders and a dangerous look in his eyes glaring at a smaller boy with brown hair and brown eyes. The brunette stood with his back to the wall, a few feet from it, that is. A smaller boy with fair hair hung on the brunette's leg.
       "I didn't do nuthin', Spot," the brunette protested.
       "I saw ya do it, Dime. Ya pulled a cawd outta ya sleeve. I seen it. I don't like cheatahs. I soak cheatahs," the taller boy threatened, very serious.
       "Conlon, ya touch one hair on either a their heads, I swear I'll kill ya," came a voice from the doorway. Everyone in the room looked over to see who'd spoken.
       A woman three inches shy of six feet stood in the doorway. She wasn't gorgeous, but she sure was easy on the eyes. She had beautiful Irish auburn hair and strikingly brown eyes. Her hair went to about the bottom of her shoulder blades, but she usually had it tied back somehow, sometimes a braid. She wore black pants and a dark navy blue tank top fitted to her body. She had a silver chain around her neck, the pendant concealed under her shirt. Her arms were particularly muscular. She was thin all over. She ate just enough to get by. She carried herself powerfully, like she knew who she was and what she was doing. She looked to be about seventeen or eighteen, maybe.
       "Who's zat?" the new girl, Dixie (on account that she was from Georgia), inquired, whispering to her companion.
       "Dat's Abigail," the five foot tall brunette named Lys replied. Dixie shook her head. "Abigail O'Connah. Now, she's a handful, real feisty. If she 'n' Spot wasn't enemies, dey'd make a real nice pair," she whispered.
       Abigail hadn't heard this small conversation. She just walked over to Spot and the two boys he was threatening. The smaller boy clung to his brother's pant leg. Abigail knelt down to him.
       "Ducky," she began, addressing him by his nickname, "why don't cha 'n' Dolly go play marbles on da roof." She touched his head and rested her hand on his hair.
       "Ya gonna be awright, Abby?" the boy of seven mumbled, releasing the pant leg he clutched, the one belonging to his twelve-year-old brother.
       "Yes, Ducky, now, go on wit' Dolly," she instructed.
       Ducky threw himself at her and wrapped his arms around her neck tightly. Everyone in the room gasped. No one breathed. Abigail hugged the boy back. Still no one breathed.
       "Go play wit' Dolly," she repeated, pushing him away, and smacking his behind to send him on his way.
       Ducky giggled and ran across the bunkroom. He and Dolly scampered out of the room and up the stairs to the room. They both laughed happily. Everyone in the room could hear the laughter until the door to the roof slammed shut. They all turned back to Spot and Abigail.
       Abigail rose slowly and turned to face Spot even slower. He was clearly agitated. "Don't think I won't live up ta dat threat, Conlon," she commented.
       "Whatta ya got wit' dese kids, O'Connah?" Spot demanded.
       "Dey're ma bruddahs," she stated.
       Everyone gasped again. Then they all started whispering.
       "Shuddup!" Spot bellowed. Everyone clamed up immediately. "Dey's yer bruddahs?" he asked, more like ordered actually.
       "Yeah, Abigail, Michael, and Roreigh, all membahs a da O'Connor family," she answered. "Ya evah touch ma boys, I swear ya won't live long 'nuff ta regret it."
       At that point, one of the others felt it necessary to intervene. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, fellas," the cowboy began. Spot and Abigail glared at him. "Why don't cha take it outside. Kloppman'll kill us all if anyone 'as a fight inside. He hates cleanin' up aftah 'em," he reasoned.
       Spot and Abigail looked at each other. "You foist," he ordered, staring hard into her eyes with his own dangerously gray ones.
       Abigail sneered and left the room quickly. The others followed. The cowboy hung back with Michael (Dime). "Ya gonna be awright, Dime?" he asked, looking a bit worried.
       "I'll be fine, Cowboy. I jist don't want 'er hoit, ya know. She's me only sistah. She's strong, 'n' I doubt she'd lose, but she's still me only sistah," he mumbled.
       "Come on, Dime. I won't let Spot hurt Abigail none, not dat she can't soak 'im jist fine 'erself. She's pretty strong," he said as they followed the rest of the newsies. "Say, how come she's so strong anyhow?"
       "Uh, we lived in a minin' town a while back. Pop got hoit in da mine aftah a while. Abigail started workin' in da mine cuz 'e couldn't. Ducky 'n' me didn't though; we were too young ta work down 'ere. Abigail got mighty strong down 'ere. Dat's why she's so much stronger 'an a lot a folks," he replied.
       The cowboy nodded and continued out into the street. The rest of the newsies had gathered around Abigail and Spot. Spot glared at her, and she just glared right back. One of the other boys, Race, was taking bets on who'd beat whom. Most of the kids bet on Spot, seeing as how they knew his fighting techniques first hand. Only a few'd actually seen Abigail fight.
       "Ya actually think ya kin soak me, huh, Abigail?" Spot inquired, clearly mocking her.
       Abigail smiled and threw her head back in almost maniacal laughter. "Looks dat way," she mused. She suddenly became very serious. "Look, Conlon, ya touch Ducky er Dime, no one in Brooklyn, er New York fer dat mattah, 'll be able ta save ya. Dat I promise ya," she commented. She turned and began to leave. Everyone moved out of her way.
       "Ya cain't leave!" Spot yelled after her, angry.
       Abigail suddenly stopped in the middle of the crowd. She turned to face Dixie, studying her for a moment. The crowd became a little edgy. "Yer new, ain't cha, kid?" she asked, addressing Dixie straight on.
       Dixie glanced at the newsies around her. "Yes'm, they call me Dixie," she mumbled.
       Abigail held her hand out. "Abigail O'Connor," she introduced. Dixie looked very nervous. "I ain't gonna bite," she laughed, "well, maybe him." She nodded back to Spot, who was fuming behind her, and smirked.
       Dixie extended her hand and shook Abigail's. "Ni- nice meetin' ya," Dixie whispered back.
       "Look, Dix," she put a hand on Dixie's shoulder, "ya evah need a friend er protectin' er anythin', ya come on up ta Harlem. Ask any a da newsies; dey'll point cha ma way." Abigail smiled and headed on her way. "See ya 'round, Dime. Oh, give dis ta Ducky," she yelled over her shoulder. She tossed a small leather bag back over her shoulder. Dime caught it.
       "See ya 'round, Abigail," Dime yelled.
       "I hate dat goyl!" Spot announced loudly.
       The newsies all groaned and meandered inside. One of the others spoke to Dixie as they all walked inside. "You'se real lucky, Dixie. Abigail in'erduced 'erself ta ya. I nevah hoid a no one dat she done dat ta. You'se real lucky, Dixie. Abigail O'Connor likes ya," the girl commented with a grin.
       "Ya really think so, Lys?" she asked, still nervous.
       "Oh, shoah, Dixie. I mean, ya got Abigail O'Connah on ya side, nobody'll evah touch ya. I mean, dat's like havin' God 'isself backin' ya!" Lys said with a strong smile. Dixie smiled, and they followed the rest of the newsies inside.

       The next day was fairly uneventful. Dixie learned a few more tricks at selling the newspapers. Ducky spent the evening playing with the new bag of marbles Abigail had given him. Dime just sold his papers like usual, keeping an eye out for either his sister or Spot Conlon. Jack, the cowboy, sold with his two partners by day and charmed his girlfriend by night. Spot sold his papers in his usual spot in Brooklyn all day. Abigail sold her papers up in Harlem, getting quite a few extra coins just for her looks. Another day, another dollar.

Part 2

© 1997 Birdie Kelley

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