The strike had happened not that long ago, it was just a day and a half after. You were a worker at a bar and suddenly saw a bunch of newsies at the tables, slumped in defeat of losing the strike battle. You served them water, sighing as they begged for Seltzer they couldn't afford. You knew they probably wanted rum or whiskey instead, but that's something they actually knew they couldn't afford.

You felt horrible denying them. They groaned and drank their water, giving you a dirty look. You left to get more water for a few minutes, when suddenly you heard screaming, laughing, etc in the room they sat at. You questioned if you gave them water or wine, looking at your drinks laid out on the shelfs before sighing in relief knowing you didn't mess up the order. However, you went to check on them and try to stop the noise.

Suddenly, you were yanked in, almost dropping your tray. A bunch of newsies were cheering, for some reason bombarding you and not someone else with yells an screams of joy. You got pulled left and right, until suddenly a paper was slapped against your chest a couple of time by one of them.

"Look, I got the front cova' on one of them papes!" He smiled, as one of newsies cheered his name, Henry.