"Oh, hang whatever Nat says. I ain't never listened to him - so why're you? You're pretty stupid to be listening to him and messin' wid me," Commodore spat at the boy standing across from him.

"Hey, listen Commy, all I'se lookin for is a new spot. Nat said try down here." Michael glared at Commodore from under his hat.

"Is that right? Well, here's news: Nat's stupid,dumb, half-witted, and ugly. You still going to come down 'ere and sellin' your papes? I don't think so. Maybe I should knock you about a bit and see then where you stand on the matter. What do say, eh?" A strong fist came flying at Michael's face and caught him squarely in the jaw.

Michael flung down his papers. "Fine! I didn't mean to start anything. Just trying to make some money - don't tell me you ain't doin' the same. I'm outta here."

"Jack-ass," Commodore muttered. "'Dis is my territory." He jammed his gray hat down on his curly black hair. The sun beat down ferociously, and his green eyes crinkled into a squint.

Commy walked out of the little alley where he and Michael had had their squabble. In front of him lie a bustling street in the heart of New York City. Commodore hefted his papers onto his shoulder, and started yelling out the headlines across the street.

That night, Commy sat outside with his cigar, brooding over the day. He hadn't been able to sell all 150 of his papes. 17 remained, and he'd had to get rid of them - no refunds, of course. Nine cents gone right there! Would have been enough to buy him dinner. Or at least a better cigar - this one tasted like cardboard.

Commodore stood up and sighed. He walked down the streets, coming to the Brooklyn Bridge. Leaning on the side railing, he stared into the black water below him. Taking a last puff his cigar, he chucked it over. It was kinda neat to see it fall, leaving a trail of smoke behind it.

"Well, if it ain't the Commodore. Thought you was cuttin' back east to yer little island," came a sarcastic voice from behind him.

Commy turned around, spitting in his hand. He shook hands with the guy.

"I thought I told ya not to insult me homeland, Spot." Commy grinned. "'Sides, it's too hard to find a ship going back to Ireland. So I stays. I don't want to go back no more - I got a hang o' the business."

"You gotta rep now, too," said Spot, looking over Commy with steely-blue eyes. He smirked and tilted his head. "Yer still alone, though. I was goin' to seek you out and ask if you'd join me group. Then I heard you knocked some of me boys. I don't know if I like that," Spot said in a low voice.

"Don't get after me on some bloody territory swing. I'm on me own, so I defend me own. Your boys are eejits, that's all. I'll knock 'em flat." Commy's green eyes sparked and he doubled his fists.

"Yer gettin all ruffled, boy." Spot pulled the rim of his cap down, even though it was dark. "Just came to say hi and see how yer on. Don't be knockin' on me boys no more." He shook his gold-headed cane at Commy.

"Okay," Commy said resignedly. I've got to learn not to spout off at guys like him. He's got a whole army of boys behind him.

"You seen anything of Race lately?" Spot asked, offering his ciggarette to Commy. "I need to place a bet, but don't get down to the track. Wondering if he'd place it fer me." Spot half-smiled at Commy.

Commodore shook his head. "Hope you bet better than he does at times. I haven't been down in that direction. I'll go down, though. I don't got a place no more - I got kicked out. The curtains caught fire from a cigar I left burning. Maybe I could stay at the House," he said thoughtfully.

"Well, remember I took you on as me little borther when you came a floating 'ere. You can stay with us in Brooklyn if need be. I'll see ya." Spot turned, tucking his cane in his suspenders. He moved quietly, like a cat, and disappeared with a casual wave.

Commy looked out into the water again, Spot's cigarette still smoldering in his hand. Little brother, indeed! I thought we was equals. I'm moving more papes than him per week. And I'm 15- he's only got two years on me. Commy snuffed out the cigarette and put a hand into his vest pocket. He pulled out an ancient pocket watch - one of the few things he'd brought with him fom Ireland. He had always loved the sea and wanted to be a sailor. Whan he was 14 he was a stowaway on a ship that went to America. He was short for his age, but strong, and got a job selling newspapers under the direction of Spot Conlon.

The top of the watch was worn smooth. Flipping it open, the face still shone white and the hands still ticked. 10:45.

"Well, I suppose I should head back. But where? I'm out of room and board," Commy thought aloud to himself. "Looks like I'll be stopping in to see Race early."

Racetrack groaned inwardly as he counted out the change from his pocket. The winnings from the track a few days earlier were dwindling. He hoped he wouldn't lose the bet tomorrow. Odds were 5 to 1, and if this was a good horse he'd pocket 5 bucks tomorrow night. Race plucked his hat off his head. He was ready to sleep - it'd been a hard selling day.

*PING,PING,PING* Race looked at the window. Someone must be out there, he thought as he crawled off his bed. Poking his head out, he looked down into a well-known face of all the New York newsies.

On the fire escape was Martin McNautish, or Commodore as everyone knew him. His face was always serious, and everyone steered clear of him and his temper that had a tendency to lash out unexpectantly.

"Uh, heya Commy. Whadder ya doin' here?" Race asked.

Commy hoisted himself into the bunk room and nodded his head at Race. "Wonderin' if there was a place fer me. I'll need it a while."

"Yeah, sure." He looked around the empty room. "Everyone's out. Place a few blocks away was havin some blowout, so they'll probably be out most of da night. I was at the track and didn't particularly want to go." Race looked at Commy's face. "Sometin' the matter? Ya look bummed."

"Yeah, well, life isn't as easy as it could've been. I'm still tryin' to decide if I belong here of if I should go somewhere else. I heard Australia was nice."

"Australia! Gag me . . . although some nice horses come oudda there. Are you sick or something? Why shouldn't you stay here? You're making a few bucks, and it might be slow but you can make good money."

"Yeah, right. Who's the last ex-newsie millionaire you've met? Besides, I'm not comfortable in one place - I'd rather be able to move around and be on a ship." Commodore's eyes got a dreamy look. "Just like you and your ponies - me and the sea. That's what I should be doing, instead of hanging around here."

Race sighed. Obviously, the guy was crazy. A sailor! But, if Commy did become one, he could at least bring Race a few nice race horses from Ireland and England. "Look, bunk down here on bed. He hasn't been here in weeks. Just seemed to disappear. Jack thinks he went west, Blink thinks he went overseas, and Mush thinks he's dead. There's optimism for ya, huh?"

Race and Commy threw a couple of blankets and pillows on the bed, and both retired into their own thoughts for the night.

"Go away . . . all I wan to do is sleep . . . .you bugger - back off!" Commy pulled a blanket over his head at the pounding of Blink.

"You shoulda been there! They had this band, and the only song they could play all the way through was the Maple Leaf Rag. It's a good one though . ..why didn't you come? I thought you went to all the good places! There was free food, and sodas, and cigars - cheap ones of course." Blink kept on talking, although no one in particular was listening. The whole room was buzzing. Mush was talking to Crutchy and Snipeshooter, and Jack was talking to Race. Evidently the party had been good.

Commy flipped open this watch under the covers. 4:50! A late party too. Might as well get up - he wasn't going to be able to sleep.

Jack sauntered over. "Hi. Didn't expect to find ya here. Spot asked if I'd seen ya. He said he had a business proposition for you. Wants you to meet him at Tibby's on Tuesday, 1:00. Says he's sure you'll go for it." Jack looked down at Commy sitting on the edge of the bed. "What did you do now?"

"Hey! I didn't do nothin'. And 'sides, last time I got in trouble with him was when I made a move on his girl. He changes so many times I didn't know who he was with." Commy stood up and pulled his suspenders onto his shoulders, then ran a hand through his hair. "Did he tell you anything about what it was about?"

"No," answered Jack, over the hubbub of everyone else getting ready for work early. "Tell me how it goes though," he said as he walked off towards the bathroom.

"Ug." Commy stretched, accidently wacking Mush in the face.

Mush turned to see who it was. "Hey, Commy! Why is such a well-to-do like you doin' here?" He grinned.

"Well-to-do. Huh. You're probably better off then I am. Most people are. I'm so poor, I'll ask you here and now to spot me ten cents to buy my papes."

"Why don't you just sell 100 like the rest of us? Then you wouldn't be in the hole all the time."

"Habits are hard to change," Commodore said, putting on his cap as everyone went down the stairs to lounge around on the streets before the distibution office opened.

Commy sat in a booth of Tibby's for an hour before Spot showed up. He sat there thinking of what was going to become of him. He couldn't stay a newsie forever, like Spot could. He just wouldn't settle for that. Commy looked around and spotted a clock. Spot should show up within the next few minutes.

"Cut the cable me lads, me boys,
And we'll sail to far away
We won't be back to the bonny port
For many another long day," he hummed to himself softly. His mum had taught him to love singing, and it always calmed him. Especially when he felt like a caged animal in the big dirty pen of the city.

"And if your lassie frowns, my boy
And scorns your jacket blue,
Go to another land
To find a maid more true."

A waiter passed Commy's table and shook his head. He had seen this kid around before- half of the time fighting, half of the time with the bulls on his tail.

The bells on the door rang softly. In stepped Spot with his cane and a few big lads around him. He spotted Commodore in a back booth and nodded to the gang behind him. They dispersed quietly to the bar where they could watch anything that happened.

"Commy, me boy, how are ya?" Spot smirked as he slid into the booth opposite Commy.

"I's fine. From your face I'd guess you were too," Comy replied, tilting the brim of his cap back a little to look at Spot squarely.

"Yeah. had a bit of a row earlier, but soaked em." Spot leaned back and lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke towards Commy's face.

"Stop it you mutt. You wanted me here, so I came. Talk," growled Commodore.

"Kay. Here's the deal: I has a friend down at the docks. They's lookin fer a replacement second mate onboard de Sea Dragon. Other one caught pnemonia. I'm willin to get you on if I get fifty percent of the pay for yer first three sailins. You can start in two weeks, when they go to Morocco.Til then, you's goin to werk fer me, and under my name. Sound fair?" Spot looked hard at Commy, looking for some reaction.

Commodore's heart had lept when Spot first mentioned replacements. He kept a hard face though, detrmined not to show any signs of how much he wanted to go.He waited a few minutes until he answered-being too eager is a weakness. He pretended to contemplate for a bit, and then answered. "Sure. I guess I might as well. There's not much for me here." He leaned across the table and shook hands with Spot, who was grinning and looked once again friendly.

Commy got on board as second mate and was never happier. He paid Spot, and they remained good friends. The crew found out how sea worthy Commy was , and he was promoted to first mate. After years of hard work, he had enough money to start his own shipping business, starting with a few ships. Business grew, and he became one of the most well-known captains and businessman in the North. He traveled everywhere, and brought back many wonderful things. He also took things places- Commy took Race to Australia, where he got started in the horse business. A few were even Triple Crown runners. Commy married a woman from Italy, and they happily lived together traveling the world. Often after that, Spot could point out Commy as the only an ex-newsie millionaire.