"I told you I knew what I was doing!" Racetrack Higgins bragged as the extra coins in his pocket gave a jingle.

"I never said you didn't," his friend groaned.

"Ah-but it ain't something you said. It was in your eyes! You was doubting me, then I showed you up real good!"

"You're makin' things up," Spot rolled his eyes.

"You can say what ya want pal, but I know it's just your pride talkin'."

"Is it now?" Spot hummed.

Race gave a nod before his foot caught on something and sent him sprawling across the ground. His eyes darted up and caught Spot's smirk. "You-you tripped me!" He sputtered.

"Who? Me?" Spot asked as innocently as someone like Spot Conlon could.

"Who else would I be talkin' to?" Race glared and got back on his feet. He brushed at the front of his shirt as he tried to clear off all of the dust. "Look at me, Spot! I was tryin' to stay clean! Me and the boys were goin' out to see Medda tonight!"

Spot snorted. "It don't matter if your shirt is clean or not; you'd still look like a mess."

"Well it don't hurt to try!"

"Whatever you say," Spot shrugged.

"Hey, hows about you come with us! It'll be great, you like Miss Medda!"

"I'm busy tonight," Spot turned down the offer easily.

"You're always busy! Have some fun for once!"

"I am having fun tonight!"

Race stopped in his tracks. "You've got a date?" He asked with a grin. "She pretty?"

Spot shook his head. "You're always saying stuff like that and you know it's not the reason."

"Then what are you doing?" Race pressed.

"I promised Dimples that I'd take him to Coney Island. He's never been on the carousel before, and he kept askin' and it's only a nickel for I ride so I thought I'd take him. I just--stop smirking at me!" Spot exclaimed.

"I ain't smirking!"

"You are too! This is why I didn't want to tell you!"

"I'm sorry," Race tried to cover his smile, but was unsuccessful and soon enough he was laughing. "I'm sorry! It's just that you're going soft!"

"No I'm not!" Spot insisted. He was Spot Conlon of Brooklyn. He wasn't soft. No, he was tough and harsh and a bit mean, but definitely not sweet or soft or kind.

"Don't worry, your secret's safe with me," Race promised. "Have fun with the kid."

Spot smiled. "I'm sure I will."

"If he don't talk your ears off," Race added.

"I'm sure he won't. I've had practice all these years dealing with you!"

***

Romeo knew he was lucky when it came to selling. With a decent headline, he could sell out within a few hours. That was uncommon, especially for a boy nearing seventeen.

He almost thought it was a bit unfair, how he could sell thirty papers with minimal effort and some of his friends would spend the whole day and come back with five or six papers left.

He'd always offer to help--no payment accepted--but they'd always turn him down. Of course he understood; they wanted to show they could make it themselves. It would hurt their pride to accept help.

But still he offered.

It was a typical day and Romeo had, as usual, sold out by two. He didn't want to go back to the lodge just yet. He knew that he'd be there alone for at least a couple of hours and that was less than appealing.

None of the boys would be back yet, except maybe Race. With little thought Romeo figured that Race was finished by now, as they had both been blessed with the natural charm it took to sell. But Race would always head to Brooklyn when he was done, so Romeo supposed didn't matter.

With plenty of time on his hands and nothing better to do, he'd spent the last hour just roaming the streets. He considered stopping and finding some of the boys--even if they didn't want help they might let him stick around to cure his boredom--but quickly shook that thought off. They didn't like to be bothered while working.

So he kept walking.

It got a little later and a lot colder, and a gust of wind sent chills into his bones-reminding him of the impending winter and the misery it was sure to bring. Romeo hated winter more than anything else--and that was saying something.

He could handle the Delanceys and the trouble they caused, he could tolerate the burning summers that left the whole city stinking-a stench so bad it could leave you gagging and make your eyes water.

To him that was far more tolerable than winter. Winter that brought snow and ice and a cold that'd freeze you down to the bone if you weren't careful. Winter meant lodging houses filled past capacity, sometimes three to a bed, and all of the children packed closely together with no spare blankets to be found.

Winter meant kids with no place to go, with no space for them in the lodges, being left outside to curl up together by grates on the driest spot they could find; hoping that their eyes would open come morning.

It meant selling into all hours of the night and less money when it got too cold for the normal customers to be roaming the streets. It meant staying out past midnight when the temperatures dropped and only returning home when you shook so badly you could barely walk. It meant purple fingers and chapped faces and dark eyes and sickly skin and hollow cheeks.

Worst of all, in Romeo's opinion, it meant sickness.

Sicknesses which preyed on the smaller, weaker boys. Crutchie was sure to catch something this year; he always did. And Tommy Boy and Sniper would be targets too; Romeo had been around long enough to know that.

He used to be one of them after all, and had caught one devastating bout of influenza six years ago. He hadn't been in the lodging house back then--he'd been at home--but even with special care he'd nearly died.

No, winter was most definitely the worst thing he could think of.

His dread for the oncoming months of darkness and cold drove him to start the search for something very important: a new coat. He'd had his for three years, but the sleeves were far too short now and he might as well have rolled them up for all the good they did.

He knew where he was going; he'd been there several times. It was where he'd gotten his last coat--it had only cost a dollar fifty and Romeo was hoping for another good deal today. The shop he was heading for wasn't the nicest clothier in the city, but he had no doubt he'd find something he could afford with ease.

Along the way Romeo's eyes had caught on signs for some of the other clothiers. They all looked so nice with their elegant script and gold lettering. Every once in a while he'd imagine what it would be like if he could shop in a place like that.

He'd have his choice of the best materials and color wouldn't be limited to the drab grays and browns that he was so accustomed to. He could get something green or blue. He'd even settle for a sharp black coat. The boys working in there would measure him up and fix his coats up proper and the people passing by would see him as more than a street rat. They'd look at him as a rich man.

Romeo shook the thought off almost as quickly as it'd come: what did he want to be a gentleman for?

Still, he couldn't help but linger by the windows to the upper crust clothiers with his eyes catching hopefully on the word 'Sale'. His heart fell a bit when he saw the numbers; these stores considered four dollars for a sack coat to be a sale? That was nearly two weeks of wages for him, before he took out expenses for food!

But his mind still tried to concoct a plan for how he might save up the money... if he started now and put a few pennies away each day, by early December...

"What are you doing?"

Romeo was sucked out of his daydream of strolling down 5th Avenue in a finely tailored suit and was brought back to reality by a portly man with a red face.

The man was standing in the doorway and shot a glare at Romeo. "We don't appreciate loitering."

"I'll have you know that I was not loitering," Romeo stood up straighter, trying to meet the man's height. "I was observing, just perusing the merchandise."

The man raised an eyebrow. "And what would you be doing that for? You've got no reason to be here. That means you were loitering."

"I was not!" Romeo argued. "I did have a reason. I was inspecting the goods with intent to purchase!" He was pretty proud of himself for that-he thought it sounded pretty professional and educated. All the time around Katherine must've been rubbing off on him.

The man looked him up and down, his nose crinkling at the holes in his vest, patches littering the knees of his pants--one of his few skills aside from his charm-- and the ill-fitting coat he wore atop it all. The man stared in disgust and shook his head.

"I don't see this as being your type of establishment. We produce high-quality items here, and you wouldn't be able to afford anything we're selling.
Now move along before I phone the police! You're disturbing our other customers!"

Romeo's jaw dropped. Of course he was used to this kind of treatment, but it didn't mean that he was never surprised.

He shrugged off the negative feelings; this wasn't the first time he'd heard something like that and it certainly wouldn't be the last. Any remnants of his foolish dreams from earlier were wiped away as he continued to the shop he could afford.

It was only a few blocks that he had to walk before he reached it. It was a place that was very popular with the newsboys: A. Bloom's Menswear.

The lettering was done in chipped brown paint, not the shiny gold like the others, but Romeo tried not to make too many comparisons. This was a place he could afford and he should be grateful that it was there. Still, he wondered if the man from earlier would consider this to be his 'type of establishment'.

A. Bloom's Menswear was a clothier that specialized in menswear, as the name suggested, but was not one of the fancy tailors that the wealthy men went to. No, this was a second hand shop, but Mr. Bloom sold quality clothes at a price the boys could afford.

It may not have been as fancy as the other places, but Mr. Bloom ran an honest business and Romeo knew his place and limitations-though he sometimes pretended otherwise.

He walked in and immediately headed to the back-right where he knew the coats were. He was disappointed to find that they were all either too small or too worn to be of any use.

Romeo sighed and gave the coats one last look, hoping beyond anything that he'd skipped over something, but still came up empty handed.

"Maybe next time," he muttered as he braced himself to step back out onto the street.

He wasn't exactly surprised, nor could he find it in himself to be very disappointed. All he could do was hope he'd have more luck the next time he dropped in or else he'd be stuck with freezing this year and he could forget about handing his coat down to Sniper.

It seemed far colder now than it had been when Romeo had gone into the shop and he made the easy decision to take the shortcut back to the lodge.

It took him past a few factories, mainly cigar rolling and canning, and the sight of people lined up outside hoping for a job wasn't new, but today was different.

A familiar head of dark hair was stood near the door.

"Jack? Is that you?" Romeo called.

The man tensed then turned around. "Romeo! What are you doing over here?"

"I was wondering the same thing," Romeo said. His eyes caught on the paper in Jack's hand--the card that one hoping for employment would fill out for the foremen to look over.

Jack shrugged and his cheeks flushed a bit. "I'm just looking, enjoying the city, you know."

"Oh, okay," Romeo agreed with a nod. "That makes sense. For a minute I thought you was trying to get a job here."

Jack let out a nervous laugh. "That's crazy, Rome. What would I be doing something like that for?"

"I don't know, that's what got me so confused. You already have a job," Romeo responded.

"I was just curious about what people was willing to do to work in a place like that," Jack lied and stuffed the card into his pocket.

Romeo raised a brow skeptically and Jack knew that the boy didn't believe him, but appreciated the way the younger boy refrained from questions. He knew Jack would tell him when he was ready.

"What do ya say we get back to the lodge? Miss Medda's got a show tonight," Jack suggested and Romeo was quick to change the subject to one of his favorite topics.

Jack was just glad he'd have more time to think before telling anyone.

***
I know that this kind of a short chapter for me, but I figured I needed to get something posted ASAP and I'm getting back into the swing of it.

I know it's not too good yet, but I'm thinking that the more I write and get rid of the rust, the better it will be.

Again, sorry about this only being a filler, but lots of stories have to start with them.

Thanks for sticking with it,
Anna