PART III:

THE NEED FOR A FINE LIFE

BY: PUNKEY NICHOLAS


I

Gypsy awoke with a start.  Sitting up, she listened for the noise that had aroused her but wondered if she really wanted to know.  It was very dark outside and the wind was blowing fiercely.  A system of storms had been milling around the north.  Philadelphia was getting  hit pretty bad, but this hardly bothered the newsies of Philly because floods and tornadoes make great headlines.
Finally she heard again the noise that had awaken her, and was instantly sick to her stomach.  It was the sound of Cheeks, another newsgirl, sobbing and pleading downstairs.  Gypsy lived in a small lodging house, the only Newsgirls Lodging
House in Philadelphia.  She had lived there ever since she had run away from the plantation in Georgia, late in the summer of 1899.  About a year ago.  Only a month had passed since the owner had sold the joint to a man named Anthony Matthewson.  He was a drunk, and often beat up the girls and molested them.  Cheeks was a regular with him.  Gypsy figured he'd gotten especially drunk that night, and when he'd gotten home he'd come upstairs to get Cheeks.  Now he was down in the lobby with her and Gypsy could hear her muffled yips as he smacked her.  Quietly she got up and padded into the bathroom.  There she threw up what little she had eaten in the passed twenty-four hours, and then washed her face.
"I can't take this no more!" she whispered fiercely.
Vomiting had become standard procedure these days.  Almost every night she was waken up by the stifled noises of girls having the soul beat out of them.  Anthony didn't mess with her, or hadn't yet, rather, because she was black.  But she knew her time would come, and she hated what he did to the others.  She knew she couldn't go up against him, he was too big.  He reminded her of the man who oversaw the labor in the fields back in Georgia, minus the southern accent.  She
also felt guilty that she was the only one he didn't touch.  All the other girls in the lodging house had been forced through at least two nights with him, most of them more than that.  Her best friend, Tommy, had been his favorite for a
long time, until one night she just died in her sleep.  She hadn't even gotten sick first, just slipped right out of life one night because there was no more spirit left in her.  Gypsy knew that's what would happen to Cheeks soon, and
whichever girl replaced her after that.  It was dominoes, and she had to get out!  She couldn't stand it anymore!
Gypsy remembered the last time these kinds of thoughts had been racing through her mind.  When she had made up her mind to runaway from the plantation.  She was African.  She'd been born in America, but her family was from Nigeria, and she considered herself an African.  She hadn't seen her mother or sisters in three years because they'd all been taken away from her at a very young age.  She'd been born an "indentured servant".  A slave in her book.  But this was the
Free North and selling "sheets", as they called newspapers, was better than tilling two miles worth of cotton field, no matter how crummy the pay!  However, she couldn't sell them here anymore.  Not with people like Mathewson lurking in
the shadows.
"I gotta get away from here," she said, as the sounds of Cheeks' cries echoed through her mind.  She had completely lost her southern accent for a Philly one, but she could still remember her mother singing African lullabies to her.  Those she would never forget.
The sun began to cast a gray light into the room.  Gypsy knew that the girls would wake up soon, and Anthony would be there to inspect them. She wanted to be gone before then.
She grabbed a canvas bag from under her bunk and began to stuff it with her dearest possessions.  Her savings of about eight bucks, her only book (a copy of Oliver Twist), and a wooden recorder .  The recorder had been made for her by an
old African woman she'd worked with and loved as a mother, back in Georgia.   Gypsy had seed her play one of her own and had liked it so much that the woman made Gypsy one for herself.  She'd taught herself how to play and had many songs she would play on it.  It was her most prized possession. Gypsy jumped into her clothes (some long pants, a faded white shirt, a gray vest, and a cap), and craftily climbed out the window with her bag.  Once off the fire escape and on the streets, she bolted.  She could run faster than the wind, and before the sun was all the way in the sky, she was out of Philadelphia and on her way to New York!

II
For two straight days Gypsy ignored her bodily need for sleep or food.  She traveled without rest until she arrived in Union City.  There she realized Manhattan was just east of her, so she gave into her heavy eyelids and her
howling stomach.  She bought a pretzel from a pushcart, and after it was gone she curled up on a wooden crate in an alley and went to sleep. Not two hours later she became aware of something jabbing hard into her ribs. 
She snapped awake to found herself looking up at two boys who were standing over her, sneering menacingly.  One had a baseball bat, thus the jab in the side.  They were both much older than her, and bigger.  She jumped to her feet with the
swiftness of a cat, only to be pushed to the hard ground.  The one with the bat moved toward her.
"Niggers ain't allowed in dis territory," he said, and brought the bat down on her.  She jumped back, but not fast enough.  The thick of the bat slammed  against her ankle.  She screamed like a banshee in agony.  The boys took advantage of her reaction and began kicking her.  The one with the bat was laughing hysterically as he whacked the invalid in the ribs.  She didn't yell again.  She wouldn't give them the satisfaction.  She just endured it.
When they finished with her they left, chuckling as they went.  Gypsy was very near unconsciousness, but fought the darkness that was slowly closing in on her.  She knew from the beatings she'd received in Georgia that it was useless to try to move, and that sleeping would ensure death.  She probably had a broken something or other.  Or two, or three.  She lay there, waiting for the haze in her mind to clear and her eyes to refocus on colors and details.
When Gypsy was finally sure of her mobility the sun was already setting behind the buildings of Union City.  She sat up, much to her body's very painful protests, and limped slowly out of the alley.
Now any normal person (like you or I, yeah right, like we're normal.  No newsies fans are!) would have knocked on the first door and asked for help.  But Gypsy had already made her judgments on Union City by the behavior of the two boys.  She was going to leave this city as soon as she could, which, in her condition, wasn't as easy as it sounded.
At about midnight the rain began to pour.  Gypsy usually loved the rain, but now it was a burden to her.  The rain soaked her clothes and made them hang heavily on her battered body.  Her joints grew stiff from the cold wetness, and this
made her hurt more all over!  But she limped on, brutally determined to reach Manhattan before daybreak.  Traveling during the day, in her condition, would only invite more trouble.
However, a few hours later it was still raining and Gypsy had about reached her threshold of pain.  She thought she would surely die if she didn't rest, but she had no idea how close she was to Manhattan.  She stopped and looked around her
for any signs of where she was.  She found none, so she began to debate knocking  on someone's door and asking for help.  Gypsy decided it didn't matter because  she felt like she was going to die anyway.  She limped over to a raggedy looking building and rapped on the door.  An old, kind looking man was suddenly looking down at her from inside the building.
"Can ya tell me how far to Manhattan?" she yelled over the rain, using her pain as fuel for volume.  The man looked her over.  What he saw was this:
A tall black girl, hunched over, and holding her right side.  A bad shiner on her left eye, and a busted and bleeding nose.  She was heavily favoring her left foot, and she was soaked to the bone.
"You've found it!" he said, pulling her inside.  He had told the truth.  She was in Manhattan, and probably had been for the passed half hour.
There were many kids inside the building, and all of them were staring at what was going on.  Gypsy really didn't notice them.  She was almost delirious, and her vision was blurred by the rain and sudden brightness of the room.  All she really knew was that she was inside, it was warm and dry, and she was being seated in a chair.  It hurt her side.  She winced.
"What's goin' on, Kloppman?" asked one of the kids.
"Jack," the man said, "go boil me some water, and," now he addressed the room, "I need some bandages, a blanket, and some of that soup...now!"  As he spoke various kids in the room jumped up to fetch the things he had ordered.  The ones
who were still seated were watching the girl intently.  Just the fact that she  was in terrible shape and soaked through was enough to get their attention, but the fact that she was a she and that she was black was irresistible  They just
had to stare.  They couldn't help it!  Kloppman went to work on the girl.  He poked and prodded, and thus found that
she had two broken ribs, a broken nose, and a badly sprained ankle.  Her shiner was among the least of her problems.  Kloppman removed Gypsy's over shirt so he could wrap her ribs.  She had on a t-shirt under it, and that, of course, was
let to stay.  He also bandaged her ankle very tightly.  Kloppman helped her back into her over shirt, and then she willingly accepted a bowl of hot soup that tanned-skinned boy with dark hair and eyes handed her.  This was Mush.
After about an hour Gypsy's head was clear and she began to look around at her surroundings.  Many of the kids in the room were sitting at tables, talking and playing cards or dice or arm wrestling, and they all looked very happy.  Gypsy
figured this was some kind of boarding joint for kids that had no place else to go.  The owner was a nice enough man, obviously.
She began to think about her job as a newsie.  She wondered if Manhattan had a lot of newsies.  If so, where did they stay?  She'd have to ask one of the kids...where...
But she didn't get the chance that night to ask anybody anything because she  fell asleep.  Kloppman noticed this first and asked two boys called Kid Blink and Racetrack to take her upstairs and put her in an empty bunk.  They did so, Kid Blink holding the arms and Racetrack picking up her legs.  It was quite a show to watch, but Gypsy wasn't heavy, so the trip was easy for them.  They laid her on the bottom of the bunk that Spot always used when he came up.  Spot liked the top bunks.  He hated sleeping on the bottom for some reason.  The newsies thought it was because he didn't like the thought of sleeping when you don't know if the bunk above you is going to fall on you during the night.  Of course, they wouldn't dream of voicing this in front of his face.  That would be  certain suicide!
Racetrack and Kid Blink went back downstairs, and were already talking about how long this girl was going to have to stay.  At least two months!  They might even have to adopt her permanently and teach her the newsie ways.
The newsies downstairs had segregated themselves into two groups; girls in one corner, and guys in the other.  The girls were playing a little game of Mou. 
*Author's note: If you don't know the game, don't ask!  It's too complicated for me to explain. -Punkey*  There were six girls in this Newsboys Lodging House. After the strike a lot of girls in Manhattan had heard about Tootsie Tellani. 
They had heard the story of her struggle for respect and friendship, and were inspired to stand up for themselves and show their true grit.  And believe me,
Tootsie wouldn't have had anything to do with them unless they proved they had that grit.  So now there were six of them.  Tootsie, of course, and then Alex, the toughest girl Tootsie had ever met.  She had honey blond hair, and she was
about Racetrack's height.  Kitten, so named because of her gray eyes and playful personality;  Alley, who's hair and eyes were darker than the darkest alley;  Nicki, who's real name was Nicole, had brown hair and hazel eyes;  And Sweetie, who was very sweet, but tough.  She had bright red hair and green eyes and freckles.
Now it should have been a pretty lively game of cards, but it wasn't.  The girls had just started, but were in what appeared to be a permanent Point of Order *Author's note: Again, don't ask!-Punkey* because they were all talking about the new girl.  They didn't like uninvited girls coming into their home.  They had earned the right to be here, and now there was this softy, embraced just because she was hurt!  But of course, they understood that until she was better,  she had to stay here.  They didn't mind that, they just didn't want this girl thinking that this was home.  If she wanted to stay here any longer than she had to, then she had to prove herself.
"Well Tootsie," said Kitten, "whadya thinkin' about dis girl?"
 "I dunno yet," said Tootsie, picking up Nicki's cards and studying them.  "I  think I's thinkin' she's gonna be here a while so...don't worry bout it, let's just play.  Un-Point of Order."  All the girls sighed and picked up their cards,
and they all got penalty cards for sighing at the dealer's indecisiveness, for Tootsie was the dealer.
Over in the boys corner of the lobby of the lodging house, games of poker were heating up.  The boys always played poker when they had a lot to think about.  It helped them clear their mind.  Jack, Racetrack, Snipeshooter, Specs, Kid Blink, and Itey were huddled around one table.  It was a pretty quiet game, for once.  There was no bickering, no sly glances at Jack's cards from Snipeshooter.  It was an unusual game, and Itey was about to clean up.  He almost had a  straight flush.  He really needed that ten however, and was probably going to get it any minute now.  He had an okay poker face, not as good as Racetrack's of course.  Nobody could ever tell whether or not Race had a good or bad hand.  He could have all Aces and his face would be as blank as a new sheet of paper.  There was no telling what he had.  Specs, on the other hand, had a terrible poker face.  You could read him like a book!  Snipeshooter was pretty good too. 
As good as Jack, which is saying a lot for a little guy!  Kid Blink was good at hiding his emotions too, but tonight he had a terrible hand and was making no effort to hide it.  It made no difference anyway.  He was going to lose. Suddenly they all looked at one another, and sighed as they threw down their cards at the same time.
"How can I perform as da truly great poker player I is under dese conditions?" moaned Racetrack, who hadn't had that great a hand anyway.  The conditions he referred to were the constant, nagging thoughts of the girl upstairs.  Itey showed the guys his hand and snickered.  Snipeshooter gave him a sassy face.
"Ah, shut up!" he said to Itey.
"Listen guys," Jack said, leaning into the circle, and lowering his voice, "we gotta decide right here and now whether what we got upstairs is a problem.  I  mean, I ain't got nothin' against black people but," he indicated to Boots who was sitting at the table behind him, playing cribbage with some other kids, "ya remember all da fights we had to bale Boots outta when he first became a newsie?"  They all nodded their heads.  Boots had been quite a handful before the word got out that if you messed with the 'little black boy' you would have all the Manhattan and Brooklyn Newsies on your case like a bad rash...a really bad rash!
"Well nobody said nothin' about her bein' a newsie Jack," said Racetrack.
"I know, but it's a possibility," he said.  "And until she gets better we won't really know who she is."
The boys were a little confused about what Jack was really getting at.
"Yeah," said Racetrack in his 'tell me something I don't know' voice.  "So what do we gotta decide anything now for?  Why are you makin' such an issue outta decidin' now?"
"What're ya really talkin' about Jack?" asked Specs.
"I'm talkin' about not gettin' attached," he said.  "While she's in bed, it'll be real easy to get to be real close chums wit her, but I don't want ya doin' dat."
The boys said nothing.
"Ya all know how women are," Jack went on.  "Dey's all manipulatin' little leeches...well most of 'em anyhow.  So no matter how nice dis girl seems while she's bedridden, she might turn out to be a snake, ya know?"
They nodded.
"Yeah," said Kid Blink. "I mean, she's already got into a fight.  A fight she obviously lost.  She might have deserved da beating she got, cus she might be a real pain in da ass.  Personally, I don't even think we should've taken her in."
"What!?" argued Specs.  "Ya wanna throw her out in da street, hurt like she is?"
"Nah, I'm just sayin'," said Blink, "who knows about people?"
"Exactly," said Jack.  "Who knows?  We won't until she gets better.  So what I'm sayin' is don't get attached boys.  Don't buddy up wit her until we know she's stayin'.  Cus if she is a real shit den I don't wanna nobody arguin' wit me when  I tell her she's gotta get out!  Ya understand?"
They all nodded their heads.  They could be nice, but they couldn't be friends. 
Meanwhile the girl's had been having quite a similar conversation.  Except that they had basically decided to ignore her completely.  Tootsie was the only one allowed to speak to the girl, but even she vowed to basically give her the cold shoulder.  She sent Alex over to Jack to spread the word.  Their game of Mou was exhausted finally, so they went upstairs to bed.  It was late, and a lot of guys were already up there, so they didn't turn on the light as they crept silently into their bunks.
"G'night Tootsie," said Kitten.
"G'night Kitten," she replied.
"Night Kitten, night Tootsie!" whispered Alley.
"G'night," they whispered back.
"Will you girl's shut up!" hissed one of the boys.
"Say it to my face, cheese-head!" Alex hissed back.
"Goodnight everyone," whispered Sweetie.
An onslaught of shushes. And so on and so forth!  Ya get the picture, I'm sure.
Not long after, the rest of the guys tromped up the stairs and made their usual mocho, grunty, "I'm such a big man I'm going to bed so late," noises!  You know the type.
Even with all the grunty noises and whispering and hisses from Snipeshooter for everyone to, "Shut up, dere's people tryin' to sleep," that circulated through the room, Gypsy never woke up.  She was out like a light.

III
When Gypsy did wake she was in a cold sweat.  She didn't remember for a full ten  seconds where she was.  Then everything came back, especially the pain.  It was hard for her to breathe with the tight bandages around her ribcage, but she knew the reason they were wrapped so tightly.  Kloppman had told her everything he was doing while he did it, so she wouldn't feel like she was being attacked again.  That had happened to Kloppman too many times before, and the shiners he'd gotten from the girls and boys that had slugged him because they thought he was attacking them had taught him a lesson.
Gypsy sat up stiffly, winced, and took a couple deep breaths (as deep as she could with two broken ribs) before she attempted to stand up.  She put one foot, her good one, on the cold floor, and balanced on it as she hoisted the rest of
herself out of bed.  She hated being trapped in one place, even if it was a bed. 
Gypsy didn't know these people, and didn't know if the rest of the residents of this place were as nice as the owner seemed to be.  She wanted to be up and out of here as fast as she possibly could.  She had to find the newspaper distribution place.  New York; home of the Journal, the World, and the Times!  The giants of newspapers.  Gypsy had always wanted to sell the World.  It sounded neat to be able to say, "I sold the  World!"  You know?
Gypsy began to limp around in the space between her bed and the bed beside hers, which just happened to be Boots' bed.  He was usually the first awake in the morning, but this morning he awoke to find the tall, thin girl limping around the bed beside him.  He got to his feet and kinda noisily walked over to her, so she wouldn't be startled when he tapped her on the shoulder.  He knew this girl was in really bad shape and didn't need to be walking around.
"Ya should stay in bed," he whispered, after she'd noticed him standing beside her.
"Ya think so?" she said in a sarcastic voice.
"Yeah I do," he replied, very matter-of-factly.  The sun wasn't really up yet but there was a bluish light in the room, enough for both to see the others skin color.  Boots thought it was pretty neat.  He'd lived in New York his whole life, so he didn't see many of his own race around.  Gypsy didn't think it was all that wonderful.  She had worked in Georgia on a cotton plantation.  She'd been around black people all her life, but she had to admit to herself, it had been a long time.
"Why don't you butt out?" she hissed.
"Damn, Kid Blink was right" he thought.  "She is a pain in da ass"
 "Cus," he said instead, "you's gonna be livin' here for a while, what wit yer condition and all, and dat means, for a li'l while, yer gonna be part of our family."
"Oh yeah?" Gypsy shot back.  "And what family might that be?  The family of dwarfs?"
Boots looked hurt.  He hated it when people made fun of how short he was.  He balled up his fists.
"No!" he said, "Da Newsies of Manhattan.  And if ya don't like it ya can shove it up ya nose!"
Gypsy sucked in a quick, shallow breath.  "These are the newsies?" she thought, "Nice job Gyp!  You just insulted one of the newsies!"
"I'm sorry.  That was really...mean," she sighed.  "It's just kinda hard for me to trust people, ya know?"
All the anger left Boots' face.  He was a kind hearted kid, and never could figure out how exactly one goes about holding a grudge against people.  "Dat's alright," he said.  "I understand." And he laughed, "Ya sure do talk funny!  Where ya from?"
"I talk funny?" Gypsy laughed.  "You talk funny!  I'm from Philadelphia, where people talk normal!"
"Yeah, sure dey do!" Boots said.  By now Racetrack was awake, which meant Tootsie was awake, which meant that very soon, everyone would be awake.  They had a system.  Everyone woke up one other person after they woke up, so that everyone would be awake before Kloppman came in.  If Klopp found somebody asleep, there'd be hell to pay.
"Huh-uh Boots," said Racetrack, shaking his head. "Ya ain't got time to be yackin' in da mornin'," he said, then he turned to Gypsy.  "And you gotta stay in bed, my deary."
"And who are you to tell me what I gotta do?" she asked him.
"I am da one and only Racetrack Higgins.  Who're you?"
It suddenly dawned on Gypsy that she didn't know who anybody was, and nobody knew who she was either.
"Um...my name's Gypsy," she said.
"Oh yeah!" said Boots, "And I's Boots!  Boots McAlleenan," he said.  Boots offered a spit upon hand to Gypsy.  She looked at it, wondering what to do.  Boots shrugged and wiped off his hand, and held it out to her again.  This time she shook it, and voiced that she was glad to meet him.
"Well now dat we all know each other," Racetrack said, "we's got work to do."
"Alright, alright!" Boots said, and sighed his way into the bathroom. Tootsie walked up to where Racetrack was standing next to Gypsy.
"Is it now da popular thing to stand around, wastin' ya time in da mornin'?" she asked.
Racetrack laughed, and smiled at Tootsie.  "Nah," he said, "I was just tryin' to convince um...Gypsy here, to get her rear back into bed."
Tootsie looked at Gypsy.  "I's Tootsie Tellani," she said.
"Gypsy," she replied.
"And I agree wit Racetrack," Tootsie went on.  "You's in no condition to be walkin' around yet."
"Sheesh!" Gypsy threw up her arms, and winced for it.  "Alright, already!  I'm goin'!  I'm goin'!"  And she was, just very slowly.  She got back into her bunk, and watched the Newsies of Manhattan go about their morning.
It was actually quite a show.  There was almost a constant argument about something or other.  Mostly about who was getting into that small bathroom next.  Gypsy was, more than once, seized by laughter at their petty bickering.  It reminded her so much of  the normal routine of the Philly girls.
Before they all left for the city, many of them had come over to her bunk and said their Hiya's to her.  She was kinda defensive at first, but she only put up as much guard as she was expected to.  If she acted totally accepting to them then they would think she was a pansy, or a wuss.  And she was anything but that.  She would tolerate the shallow, "just tryin' to be nice" questions, but  the minute the questions became personal, she would give the interrogator a cold look and ask them what business it was of theirs.  They understood.  She had  been through a lot, and probably didn't feel like answering a bunch of questions.  And besides, they had their orders not to get close to her.  Gypsy noticed that none of the girls, besides Tootsie, even acknowledged her presence.
Before the sun was completely in the sky, all the newsies had left the lodging house.  She was alone, except for Kloppman, but he was downstairs and probably wouldn't come up till about noon to check on her.
She quietly stood up, so Klopp wouldn't hear her creaking around.  She limped a  few steps, and then tried putting weight on her bad foot.  She hissed in pain.  Her ankle was definitely not ready for that.  Gypsy walked into the bathroom to wash up, but one look at the toilet brought back the still fresh memories of Anthony Mathewson and his escapades with her friends.
She doubled over and hugged the cold, white bowl for fifteen minutes, puking her guts out.  When she could stand up again, without the fear of her guts coming up, she washed her face and rinsed out her mouth over and over again.  Kloppman had heard her coughing and sputtering, and came upstairs to check on her.  He'd been standing silently in the room while Gypsy rinsed out her mouth.  She was fully aware of his presence, but at that moment she really didn't care. When she came stumbling out of the bathroom he asked if she was okay.
"Yeah, I'm fine, Kloppman," she said.  He nodded, and turned back towards the stairs.
"Kloppman," she said weakly.  He turned back around.
"Thanks," she said, "for helpin' me out."
The old man smiled at her.  "Don't mention it," he said.
"How can I repay you?" Gypsy asked, not liking to be in people's debt.
"Hmm..." Kloppman thought about that question, and smiled mischievously. "I wan you to do somethin' for me."
"Sure," she replied.
"Well, actually, two things.  The first, go back to bed.  And the second, give me yer name, cus yer gonna be stayin' here a while."
"Oh yeah!" she laughed, and offered her hand. "They call me Gypsy."
They shook hands.  "Well I need yer real name Gypsy," said Kloppman.  "For tha record, ya see."
Gypsy looked uncertain.  She didn't tell people her real name.  It was her only connection to her family.
"It's okay," Kloppman assured her.  "I understand that yer name is important to ya.  Don't worry, I'm not gonna run out and tell everybody or anything like that.  I know all their names."
Gypsy thought a moment longer, but then decided she actually had no choice in the matter, so she told him.
"My name is Adonie Obymsamo," she said.  Kloppman gave her a strange look.  
Gypsy laughed.  "It's African," she explained.
"Well you'll have to spell it for me later," laughed Klopp.
Then he reminded her of the other part of the favor.  She huffed, but got in bed as she was told.  Kloppman had been nice to her and the least she could do was get better soon, so she could be out of his hair.
He went back downstairs, but was back soon, holding a small tray of food.  Gypsy sighed and shook her head at him.
"That was not part of the deal!" she said.
Kloppman paid no heed to her protests, sat the tray down on the night table beside her.  She began to object, she was fine and take that food away, but he was out of the room and downstairs before she could say anything.
Though, despite all her protests, she wasted no time on that food.  Anything she'd eaten had come up during her reminiscence, and she was unsure whether the bacon, eggs, and toast that Klopp had brought her was going to stay down.  But it did, and made her very sleepy.  Well, that and the fact that her body was very tired from all the happenings that had taken place in the last forty eight hours.

IV
Gypsy slept all day, and was still asleep when Snipeshooter and Snoddy walked in late that afternoon.  They had sold pretty well that day, and had been hanging out together at Tibby's.  Snipes had suggested they start up a game of poker, but all the packs of cards were taken, so they'd come to the lodging house to get Snipes' pack.  Snoddy was talking about how he'd improved that really stupid headline about the disease that took the pigeons in Queens and made them
especially, er, regular in their bowel movements...all over the police station.
"So I says-" but Snoddy was cut off by a swift jab in the ribs from Snipeshooter.  He was about to ask what that was for but then he noticed Gypsy sleeping soundly in her bunk, and shut his yap.
Quietly Snipeshooter fetched his deck of cards and was tip toeing out of the room when he heard a girl's voice.
"Hey!" Gypsy piped, as if she had caught someone stealing cookies.  She hadn't met Snipeshooter yet, and didn't know about him.  At the sound of her voice
Snipes winced.  "Yeah?"
"Who are you?" Gypsy asked, not unkindly, but not as sweet as honey either.
Snipes turned around, "Da name's Snipeshooter.  I live here.  I saw ya last night, but didn't catch ya name...?"
"Obviously.  They call me Gypsy," she said as she slowly sat up.
"Oh..." said Snipes.  "How'd ya get dat name?"
"What business is it a yours?" she asked.
"None, really," replied Snipes, walking over with Snoddy on his heals.  He sat down on Boots' bunk, and Snoddy climbed up to the top and leaned over the side. 
Snipes went on, "But if I tell ya my name's origin, den will you tell me yers?"  Gypsy eyed him suspiciously, then nodded in agreement. "Alright," Snipes sighed and settled himself in for a long story.  Snoddy loved stories, and Snipeshooter was the best story teller in the lodging house.
"When I moved in here, da newsies was rackin' dere brains for a name for me, but dey couldn't think of nothin'!  One day, we was all down at Tibby's, and-"  He was interrupted by Gypsy.
"Tibby's?" she asked.  Snoddy jumped in.
"It's our favorite food joint, not too far from here," he said, and wiped his runny nose, thus the name Snoddy.  Gypsy nodded, and Snipes went on.
"Anyhow," he said, "we was all sittin' round Tibby's when Boots McAlleenan walked in.  I hadn't met him yet, and I started talkin' to him."
"Talkin'?!" cried Snoddy.  "More like you was pickin' a fight wit him!"  Snipes gave Snoddy a nasty look.
"I'm tellin' a story here Snot!" he snapped.  But Snoddy paid no attention.  He was on a roll now.
"Snipes' got a mouth like a sea-bound rat, dirty and offensive.  Him and Boots starts talkin', and not long after dat Boots is askin' him to join him outside. 
Well, Snipes ain't gonna back down from a fight, so dey go out dere and Boots starts throwin' punches.  Snipes dodges 'em, and pulls out a sling shot.  Boots backs off, and says it ain't fair fightin' to use weapons when da other guy don't got any.  Snipes don't care, and puts in a li'l, spiny rock like thing dat we New York kids call a snipe.  Ya shoot snipes outta a sling shot, or a snipeshooter, and it sticks inside da skin, and stings like crazy!  Well dat's when Jack says, 'He's gotta snipeshooter!', which ain't fair play.  So's a couple of da guys tackle him, and get da weapon away from him.  After dat he's free to fight Boots, and dey both lose cus dey's just alike."  Snipeshooter was blushing a little by this time, and retook control over the story.
"Yeah, well," he said, "they gave me back my snipeshooter after da fight was over.  And ever since den, dey always called me Snipeshooter."
Gypsy sighed.  She hadn't heard a good story in a long time.
"Yer turn!" said Snipes, and rested his elbows on his knees.
"Alright alright!" Gypsy picked up her pillow and set it up behind her so she could lean back on it.  "Well when I was sellin' sheets in Philly-"
"What's sheets?" asked Snoddy.
"Sheets?" Gypsy was surprised that newsie didn't know what sheets were. "Ya know...newspapers?"
"Oh..." Snoddy nodded.  "We call 'em papes here." Gypsy nodded at this.  It made sense.
"Anyways," she went on, "when I started as a newsie in Philly-"
"Yer a newsie?!" asked Snipeshooter.
"Yeah," she said.  "Why else would I be sellin' sheets in Philly?"
"Are ya gonna be one here too?" asked Snoddy.  Both boys were grinning at her.
"I hope to," she said.  "And if it's okay with everyone here, I'd like to keep on living here.  I'm starting to like it, ya know."
"Wow!" said Snipes.  "We'll have to spread da word!"
"Yeah you do that," smiled Gypsy.  "So's like I was saying, the girls in the lodging house started tellin' me where everybody's spot was.  Where I shouldn't sell, and where the best places are, but how I couldn't go there cus so-and-so had claim to that spot, and so-and-so had claim to this spot.  Ya know, real complicated.  So I says to them, 'Forget it!  I'll sell all over, and if I get in somebody's territory they can suck an egg!'  After I says this a girl they called Tommy says to me, 'Oh, so you sell like a gypsy, huh?  Well that's what we'll call ya then, Gypsy.'  Ever since that day all the newsies in Philly knew  me as Gypsy.  I liked the name, and I've gotten used to bein' called that, so that's what I wanna go by."
Near the end of the story, Gypsy's Philly accent was playing like it was falling off a cliff, and a New York accent was the one pushing it.  She didn't notice it  but Snipeshooter did, and he knew it wouldn't be very long before she was talking like she'd lived in Manhattan her whole life.
"Well," Snoddy came in, "Jack's gonna wanna give's ya a new name.  He gives all da new newsies a name, whether dey got one or not."
"Who's Jack?" Gypsy wanted to know who everybody was, and all about them so she would know who to watch out for.
"Jack's kinda our leader," Snipeshooter answered.
"Oh," said Gypsy.  "Well if he tries to give me a new name I'll chew him a new ass hole."
Snipeshooter laughed, "I doubt that.  In yer condition?"
Gypsy shrugged.  "Any other important names I need to know while we're talkin' about it?"
"Yeah!" said Snoddy, wiping his nose.  "Dere's dis guy who lives in Brooklyn, name's Spot Conlon.  He's da Brooklyn leader, and he's da toughest, most dangerous kid in all of New York City.  And kinda mysterious I think."
"Yeah, ya should really watch yerself round Spot.  Ya never know what he's gonna do till he does it." Snipes warned.  Then the two boys skitted off, calling back their see-ya's as they tromped down the stairs.

V
Kloppman had told Gypsy she wasn't allowed out of bed, except to go to the bathroom, for a full two months while her ribs healed.  Within a week she was able to put considerable weight on her left foot without wincing, but her ribs still smarted like crazy.  It would take them a little longer to heal.  Gypsy was convinced that two months was way too long to be bedridden, and she was  determined to shorten that term.
Whenever there was no one around, she quietly got up and walked around the room.  On these walks Gypsy looked at all the little odds-and-ends on the night tables.  She would quiz herself, and pretty soon she could tell which items belonged to which newsies.
She was constantly having little chats with this newsie or that newsie, but it was always the boys who talked to her.  Except for Tootsie, the girls pretty much kept to themselves.  Even so the only thing that linked Gypsy to Tootsie was the fact that Racetrack and Gypsy talked sometimes, and of course, Tootsie was Racetrack's girl.  Gypsy figured the reason the girls never spoke to her was because they were so close.  There were six girls in a lodging house with about twenty other guys, so they were very close knit.  Gypsy didn't question them about it, and just decided to wait for them to open up over time.
Yet even though the boys spoke to her, and would even have long conversations with her sometimes, she couldn't really say she had made any friends.  Just a bunch of casual acquaintances.  The only one she could've even considered her friend was Racetrack, but only because he spoke to her more than the others, and about more personal things.
"Okay it's been a month," said Jack to all his boys.  The newsboys were having a meeting down in the lobby one night, exactly one month after Gypsy came into their world.  The boys nodded.  "We've learned a lot about her, right?" he said. 
The boys nodded.  Jack kicked himself.  He hadn't learned anything.  He hadn't even formally met her yet.  "Well let's hear what you know boys!"
Racetrack piped up.  "She plays da flute!" he said.  All the guys sighed at him. 
They all knew she played the flute, or the recorder as she constantly corrected them.
"Race, Race," said Jack, "try to use yer brain here, please?"
"Okay fine," he said.  "I was just jokin'."
"Data Race!" Jack said.
"She was born in Georgia!" he informed them.  "She was one of dem indentured servants down dere, until she was uh...I dunno how old, but den she ran to Philadelphia."
"Thank you Racetrack," Jack grinned.  "I knew ya was good for somethin'!"
"She was a newsie in Philly!" said Snipeshooter.  "And she told me and Snoddy dat she wants to be one here too, and dat she likes it here and wants to keep living here."
"Hey now," nodded Jack, "dat is good work boys."
"And she said dat if ya try to give her a new nickname she'll chew ya a new ass hole!" cried Snoddy.  This brought a laugh from everyone.
"Oh she said dat?" Jack laughed.  "She said dat, huh?  Well we'll see about dat.  What else, somebody?"
"Well me and her talk a lot and she seems pretty nice to me," said Skittery. 
There were sounds of agreement all around the room.
"So she seems nice?" Jack said.  "Well dat tells me nothin', don't it."
"I like her a lot Jack," said Racetrack.  "I think she's a real nice person.  And I'd be her friend if ya weren't so paranoid!"
"I ain't paranoid!" argued Jack.
"Ya ain't even met her Jack!" said Kid Blink.
"What about you, Mr. 'I don't even think we should've taken her in'?" asked Racetrack.
"I've met her," said Kid Blink.  "She's real nice.  And she's honest, too!" More sounds of agreement all around.  Jack realized that he was the only one still wary of this girl.  She'd made quite an impression on the others.
"Alright," said Jack.  "Okay fine.  So do you's all think she should stay if she wants to?  All in favor says aye."
"Aye!" chimed the boys in unison.  "Damn!" thought Jack.  It was time to meet this girl.

When Gypsy finally did meet Jack Kelly, or the Cowboy, it was quite a little mess.
"So you's Gypsy?" he had asked her a few nights after his meeting with the boys. 
He sat down on Specs' bunk, who, as Boots and Kid Blink slept to her right, Specs and Itey slept to her left.
"Last time I checked," she answered, not unkindly.  She was playing solitaire on her bed, and did not look up from her cards when she spoke to him.
"I's Jack.  Jack Kelly," he offered her an open palm. She glanced up, and firmly shook his hand.
"Do ya gotta last name, Gypsy?" he asked.
"I do," she locked eyes with him in a challenging stare, "but I don't tell people about it.  It's the only thing of my family's I got left, ya know."  Jack nodded, and broke away from her penetrating eyes.  He got a chill.  Those eyes,
it was like she was staring right into his soul.
"Well, I heard dat ya used to be a newsie in Philadelphia?" he said.  Gypsy nodded, moving a card into the spades pile.
"Is dat where ya got yer name?" he asked.  She nodded again, still playing.  He didn't like talking to her.  It was like talking to a mime.
"And I also heard dat you's planning to be a newsie here too," he said.  She looked up at him now, her eyes again chilling him inside.
"Yeah I am," she said.  "Sellin' papers is what I do."
"I'm guessin' yer gonna wanna stay here, huh?"
"Is dat a problem?" she asked.  She was being sarcastic.  She really did want to stay in this lodging house.  She had no place else to go anyway, and she really liked it here.
"Nah dat ain't a problem," he said.  "Da guys, dey all like ya a lot."
Gypsy's eyes brightened.  "They do?" she asked.
"Yeah dey do," said Jack.  "Which got me feelin' like a real rake for not comin' to meet ya sooner."
"Well here ya are now," smiled Gypsy.  "Better late than never, says I." 
Jack grinned.  "So ya like it here, huh?"
"I do," she said.  "But it's easy to like a place when all ya ever do is sit on yer ass."
Jack was seized with laughter.  "Ain't dat da truth!"
"I can't wait to get back to work," Gypsy sighed.
"I hear ya like to play da flute, or somethin' like dat?" asked Jack.  Gypsy nodded, but corrected him, as she corrected everyone, that it wasn't a flute, it was a recorder.
"Ya mind playin' a little?" he asked her.  Gypsy's eyes widened and her face
paled.  "Whasamadda?" asked Jack.
Gypsy whispered, "I never played for nobody before."
Jack grinned wide.  "Hey everybody," he said loud.  "Who wants to hear Gypsy
play somethin' on her flute?"  Again, noises of agreement.
"It's a recorder!" said Gypsy.
"Play us somethin' gypsy girl!" encouraged Racetrack.
Slowly Gypsy pulled the recorder from under her bed, sat up very straight in her bed, placed the instrument to her lips, and began to play.  She played a slow African love song to them.  It was one that she'd learned from the old lady who'd made her the recorder, and it was the one she knew and liked the best.  As she played, she swayed slightly with the music, as if she was part of the music.  And she played it beautifully, which is saying a lot of the recorder, as it's not one of the prettier sounding instruments.  When she finished everyone clapped heartily.  She heard amazed voices talking back and forth about how wonderful they thought it was.  She was very flattered.
"That was great!" said Jack.  "And you was nervous about playin' in front of us."
Gypsy blushed.  "Thanks," she said, and put the recorder away.
Then Jack got more serious.  "Well Gypsy," he said, "I don't know about da girls, but speakin' for us guys, we would love for ya to stay here when ya start workin' again."
"Great!" said Gypsy.  "Hey Jack, why ain't da girl's talkin' to me?"
Jack knew why, but he wouldn't tell her.  He waved off her question.  "Ah, dat's just how dey are."  Gypsy nodded.
"Hey, ya probably noticed dat we all gots nicknames, right?" Jack said.  Gypsy looked at him blankly.  "Here it comes" she thought.
"Well it's so's da bulls can't identify who we really are," he went on, "and even though ya ain't gonna be on da streets for a while yet, I figured we may as well getcha a name.  I mean, yer basically one of us now, right?"
"What's wrong wit Gypsy?" she asked, staring at him coldly again.
"Nothin'," he shrugged.  "It's just dat we don't want nobody from Philly findin' ya here cus yer usin' da same name, ya know.  So we's gotta give ya a new one."
"Well, I already got a name.  Gypsy."  Her voice was growing colder and colder. 
The girls in the room recognized the change in her voice immediately, but Jack was oblivious to it.  They all hearkened more closely to this potentially dangerous conversation.
"Well yeah I know but-"
"But nothin'!" said Gypsy.  "I am and always will be Gypsy!"
Jack sighed exasperatedly.  "Look, it ain't like we's makin' a special policy, just to bug ya.  Likes I said, we all got 'em."
"Likes I said, Cowboy," she glared at him and leaned forward slightly, "da name's Gypsy."
Chills ran down Jack's back.  This girl reminded him of black ice.  Cold, hard, and you can't see it till you're right up on it, and by then it's too damn late, you've already slipped on it and fallen on your ass.
"I got a name for ya," he said, refusing to succumb to this girl.  "How's about Ice?"
Gypsy leaned towards him even more.  "Why ain't you gettin' it, Cowboy?  Ya hard a hearing?  I said," she spoke very softly, very slowly, and almost in a growl, "My name is Gypsy.  Gypsy!  You got it, Cowboy?"
Jack backed off then.  He may have been stubborn, but he was no idiot.  He'd heard too many girls talk like that before, and before he'd learned his lesson talk like that usually gave him a black eye if he persisted.
"Okay," he muttered, as he stood up.  "Okay, Gypsy."
Then he left her side.  So much for Gypsy being a nice girl.  Tootsie was worried Gypsy might have slugged him if he hadn't backed off.
About a week after this fiasco, Gypsy and Kid Blink were talking across their beds, and the subject of her healing ribs came up.  She was now good friends with him and many other boys.  But him and Racetrack especially.  Blink was genuinely concerned for her health, and he asked her when she thought she'd be able to get out of bed.
"Well," she said, sitting up straight, "Klopp seems to think it'll be another month, but," she raised herself from the bed, and stood with a good amount of ease, "as ya can see, I could go back to work tomorrow."  Kid Blink was amazed but very pleased.
Her secret walks around the room had helped her condition by leaps and bounds.  She could now walk smoothly without limping at all on her left foot, and her ribs had healed extraordinarily fast.
"Heya ladies and gents!" Kid Blink stood up, and got everyone's attention. 
"Looks like we's gonna have a new newsie in Manhattan!"  Everybody looked to see what he was talking about, and saw Gypsy was on her feet. She was immediately receiving pats on the back, and hand shakes from all the guys, even Jack.  Jack and Gypsy had come to an understanding.  The same kind of understanding one has with a wasp.  You don't bother it, and it won't bother you.
But still the girls kept their distance.  It was like Gypsy had some terrible disease that only other girls could catch, and she was extremely contagious.  She was kinda hurt that they still wouldn't so much as talk to her, except for Tootsie.  But even Tootsie only said a few words to her whenever Racetrack was talking to her.
Kid Blink convinced her to walk downstairs and show Klopp her recovery.  She just knew he'd be sore with her, but she went anyway.  Kloppman took one look at her and grinned widely.
"I'm sorry, Klopp," she said.  "But I just couldn't stay in dat bed no more!"
Kloppman nodded, "I know," he said.  "It's okay.  I didn't expect you to wait as long as I told you to.  You're tough, and your body has been healed for a while now, hasn't it?"  She nodded.  He just smiled at her.
Kid Blink put his arm around her, "See," he smiled, "I told ya he wouldn't be sore atcha!"

VI
The next morning, Boots woke Gypsy and told her if she wanted a turn in the bathroom to get up now.  She jumped out of bed, thrilled that she would finally be going back to work!  Boots also told her she had to wake up Racetrack.  Then he went into the bathroom. Gypsy decided not to wake Racetrack up until just before her turn for the bathroom came.  She had seen how ugly it could get if one's turn in the bathroom was taken, even if by accident.
Boots was out of the bathroom quickly, and Gypsy had Racetrack out of bed before she went in herself.  She had eventually gotten over the morning  puke-your-guts-out sessions, and now the toilet didn't seem a foe at all.  She was in and out in a very few minutes, for she didn't have to bother with changing.  She slept in her clothes.  Actually, they weren't all her clothes she was wearing.
Specs, who was about her height, had loaned her one of his spare shirts because hers had been all bloody and wet.  And Racetrack had given her his old vest, though it didn't look old.  It wasn't falling apart or anything, just a little faded of it's natural shade of silver, so it looked grayish.  She had to wear her undershirt and pants to bed, but she hung her vest, top shirt, suspenders, and hat on her backboard.
She was ready before everyone else, as she was quite the morning person, and didn't get into one argument with anyone.
On her way out the door that morning she handed Kloppman $4. 23.  She owed him last months rent, and hadn't paid this months rent yet, so that money covered her till the end of next month.  She still had plenty of money left, two bucks to be exact.  She had one dollar of that stuck down in the ankle of her black boots, where pick pockets wouldn't be able to get to it.  It was for papers and lunch.
On the way to the circulation office, Gypsy joked and played along with everybody else.  They looked like a parade of clowns the way they romped through the slow morning streets.  Gypsy was living it up, breathing deeply of the outside air that she hadn't smelled in so long, if you don't count the muffled breeze that came through the fire escape of the bunkroom.  She even showed off a little by performing cartwheels and back flips, which was really quite impressive considering she had just recovered from two broken ribs, a broken nose, and a badly sprained ankle.  Her nose, by the way, had healed almost perfectly.  It was hardly noticeable that her nose had been broken at all.  Kid
Blink was highly impressed by her tricks, but had a few to show himself.  He demonstrated  his round-off that had taken him months to perfect, and front flips, and attempted, with Gypsy spotting him, a back flip, but didn't do very
well at all.  Gypsy had to laugh when he fell flat on his back, the wind being knocked from his lungs.
"Sorry!" she laughed.
When they reached the circulation office, Gypsy took her place in line quickly.  From that moment she was all business.  She shoved her way to a spot close to the front of the line and impatiently waited her turn.  Snipeshooter was in front of her, and she would have pushed passed him but he was her friend and you just don't cut friends out of their place in line.  He bought fifty papes, for two bits. She had been over the prices for the World with Boots and Racetrack that morning, and she laid two quarters down on the table.
"A hundred," she said.  The man behind the window took her money.
"A hundred for the black girl!" he yelled to the boy behind him.
Gypsy's face turned crimson in rage.  She took her papers, and slammed them down
on the platform.
 "Da name's Gypsy!" she yelled at Weasel, grabbing the bars that shielded the window, as if she presumed to break them.  Her dark eyes flashed like lightning itself.  "And if you need me to do so,  I'll come through dis glass, and s'plain it to ya real nice, fist-to-face like!" Weasel was startled for a minute, but gained composure quickly.
"Really?" he asked, challenging her.  "Is that a threat?"
Racetrack had heard the whole thing, and now stepped out of line behind her and between Gypsy and the window.
"Gyp," he said, "will ya let me handle dis?" She searched his eyes, and finally nodded.  Racetrack turned back around to Weasel.
"Good morning, yer honor!" he said, and placed a quarter on the table, "Fifty papes, please."  He had his papers shortly, and then asked the man, "Now, see dere?  Yer such a reasonable man.  Why'd ya have to give me friend here a disrespectful handle.  Let me tell ya Mr. Wheeze, Gypsy is more dan just some black girl, she's a workin' employee and one a me good friends.  Now how's 'bout callin' her by her name from now on, huh?"  Weasel glared at Racetrack, but nodded, and yelled for the next newsie.
"Thanks," Gypsy walked down the steps with her papers and off the platform beside Racetrack.
"No problem," he replied, smiling.  "What're friends for?"
She smiled weakly as he walked off towards Central Park.  Everyone was heading for their beat, except Kid Blink.
"Hey," he smiled at her as she walked up to him.
"So where's yer spot?" she asked him.
"Me?" he said, as they began walking out into Newspaper Row, "I sell over on Park Ave.  Where you gonna go?"
Gypsy thought a moment.  "I dunno," she shrugged.  "It never occurred to me, but I really don't know my way around dis city.  I guess I'll learn as I go."
On hearing Gypsy say this, Kid Blink shook his head determinedly.
"Oh no," he said.  "Ya'll either get lost, or soaked again, and I can't let dat happen, ya see."
"So whadya gonna do about it?" Gypsy asked him, grinning.
"I's gonna give ya an escort," he said, his sparkling blue eye smiling.  "Real fancy, ya know."  He motioned over to Tootsie.  She had been talking to Racetrack, but was just about to leave for Brooklyn Bridge.  She saw him and walked over.
"Whasamadda?" she asked as she approached him.
Blink smiled and pulled Tootsie to the side.
"Would ya mind showin' Gyp da city, today?" he asked, "I don't want her gettin' lost, ya know."
Tootsie could see Blink was concerned for Gypsy, and agreed.  She needed some time alone with their new girl anyway.  With that Kid Blink winked at Gypsy, and headed for Park Avenue.
"So," Gypsy turned to Tootsie, "what do we do now?" 
"We sell papes," Tootsie said.
The two girls walked out into the city in silence.  Tootsie hadn't even glanced at the headlines, but Gypsy was reading as they walked.  She found a pretty potential story, and changed a few words here and there on the headline until it was ready to sell.  Without even slowing her walk Gypsy broke the quiet between the two girls, and yelled with the voice of a true newsie.
"Gang violence strikes again!!  Read all about it!" she yelled, waving a paper above her head.  "Get yer paper folks!  Mere boys kill in da streets!!" Many people on their way to work took notice, and before the two made their first stop on Wall Street, Gypsy was down to 82 papes.
"Ya pretty good at dis, ain't ya?" Tootsie asked her.
Gypsy shrugged, "I guess.  I sold papers in Philly, so I know how it's done."
Tootsie nodded.  "Well," she said, looking around, "Dis here's Wall Street.  Folks here's always busy cus of da stock market and all.  Ya ain't gotta have real great headlines to get one of dese fellas to buy a pape.  Dere da kinda people dat gotta have one, no matter what da cost.  And da best part is dat dey's in too much a hurry to argue wit yer prices...which I noticed dat yers are a little high."  Tootsie was right.  Gypsy's prices were much higher than hers.  About three cents higher!  Where Tootsie had to practically steal for a nickel , Gypsy charged just that for all her papes.  The weirdest part was that the people buying from her gladly paid a nickel for the paper they wanted.  Maybe it was her 'Happy to do business with you' smile, or maybe it was her headlines, but whatever it was, it was going to make Gypsy a very wealthy newsie among newsies.
"It ain't me that makes the papes expensive," Gypsy said.  "It's da folks dat are willin' to buy at da first price I throw at 'em."  Gypsy had completely lost her Philly accent, and now she spoke as though she was a born New York streeter.
Tootsie thought about her philosophy, and decided it was a good one to have for someone who charged as much as she did, and actually got away with it.
"By da way," Gypsy asked, "were you one a da newsies in dat strike last year?"
"Yeah," Tootsie smiled.  "In fact, yer lodging wit da very newsies dat were in charge a da strike.  Racetrack, Kid Blink, Jack, Boots, Mush, me.  All of us!"
"Gee whiz," Gypsy said.  "Us Philly girls heard about dat, and we thought how brave it was a dose New York kids, and how scared dey musta been of losin' dere job for good.  Dat was somethin'!"  Tootsie shrugged and decided they'd wasted enough time that day talking.
She suggested they spilt up, one on either side of the street, and sell for about ten or so minutes, then meet back there.  Gypsy agreed, and ran across the street to sell her papes.
Soon the calls of newsies blended with the murmur and hubbub of Wall Street.  Gypsy and Tootsie yelled about the gang crime, and the theft in the Bronx, and how the police were completely stumped by this mystery arson who kept on lighting buildings on fire in Brooklyn, and they yelled about a lot of things  that weren't even in the papers. In a moment or two they had met again on the sidewalk where they'd split up, and each had about the same amount as the other.  Gypsy had 61, and Tootsie had 64. They repeated this procedure all over Manhattan island.  Gypsy loved the Bowery, with all it's cafés and enticing attractions, even though they didn't sell too well there.  However in Longacre Square they sold about thirty papes each! *Author's note: Longacre Square is what Times Square was called before the New York Times building moved there in 1903.  Just a little history for ya! -Punkey* Tootsie figured the way they were selling today, they'd been done extraordinarily soon.  Each was down to around fifteen or so papes, and it was only about two o'clock.
The next place they stopped to sell was Broadway.  People usually weren't interested in the news of the World around here, but they didn't need a really good sell here.  Just a few people who weren't too wrapped up in their career on the stage would do.  They hawked all up and down Broadway, and met on 42nd  street, where each stood paperless!
"So what do we do now?" Gypsy asked for the second time that day.
"Now we walk back to Tibby's, and we get ourselves some grub."
"Tibby's?" Gypsy asked, eagerly.  She still hadn't been to that place. It was a pretty long walk back to Tibby's but they had plenty of time.  They met up with a couple newsies on the way, who were still selling.  They stopped to chat, but never stayed long.  Gypsy was anxious to see what was so great about this restaurant.
Finally the two girls walked into the famous Tibby's.  It was cool inside, and Gypsy liked the casual atmosphere of the place.  When she got a look at the menu, she found the prices were nothing to turn your nose up at either.  She ordered a cheeseburger with everything, and glass of water.
"Holy Jesus!" Gypsy exclaimed when she received her order.  "This sandwich is as big as my head!"  Tootsie laughed at her.
"Dey don't mess around when it comes to food, ya'll find!"
"No kiddin'!" Gypsy and Tootsie sat down at a table more or less in the middle of the room.  The table had room for about two more people to sit there, but by the time all the newsies had flocked into that restaurant there was about eight other people sitting with them.
Kid Blink was sitting on the other side of Gypsy, and Racetrack was sitting on the other side of Tootsie.  Then Boots sat down across from Gypsy, and soon after that Snipeshooter and Snoddy had seated themselves with the crowd as well. 
Specs and Itey sat down beside Boots, and by that time they figured they had enough people for a rousing game of Mou!  Boots and Snipes gathered together four packs of cards, as you need about that many decks for a good game of Mou.
Just then a guy Gypsy had never seen before came in.  He walked in alone, but the minute he showed his face in his brown cap and pink suspenders, newsies all over the place were inviting him to come and sit with them.  Gypsy thought she heard someone call him Brooklyn, and another call him...what was it?  Spot.
"That's Spot?" Gypsy asked herself.  "He doesn't look that dangerous to me. Handsome, but not dangerous."
Spot waved off the invitations, for he had spotted the group in the center of the room.  There sat all the people he wanted to talk to.  Racetrack, Boots, and Tootsie.  He squeezed his way into the chair that Snipes had pulled for him and asked how things were rollin'?
"Okay," Racetrack reported.  "We's just about to start a game of Mou."  He handed Spot a cigarette.  Spot took it.
"Anybody got a light?" Spot looked around.  Not two seconds later, four lighted matches were being held in front of his cigarette.  He casually took the one Boots had offered, "Thanks," he nodded, and went on talking to Boots.  "Got'ne shooters for me, Boots?"
Boots' face lightened.  "Yeah!  I found 'em today on Canal.  Somebody's lost dere marbles!"  This last corny statement emitted a laugh from everyone at the table, except Spot.  He hadn't even flashed a grin since he walked in.  Boots brought out the bag of marbles.  Spot took it and looked over the contents of the small leather sack.  He nodded and pocketed a handful of the useful weapons before handing the bag back to Boots.
Boots owed him some shooters cause Spot had loaned the boy his slingshot when the bulls were really out to get him one day last week.  Boots had given the slingshot back to him three days ago, but had still been in debt.  Those shooters bought him off free and clear.
Spot now turned to Racetrack.  "Sure bet, Race?" he glared at the kid across the  table from him.  Racetrack went cold.  He could no longer feel his feet from panic.  However his face remained calm.  Obviously Racetrack had given Spot a hot tip, sure thing, and Spot had lost some money. Racetrack avoided Spot's eyes.  "Listen, it ain't my fault da horse gots cold feet!  Sorry Spot.  Won't happen again, trust me."
Spot nodded, and stared at Racetrack.  "Ya lucky I don't go by jest word-a-mouth when I's wantin' to win."  Racetrack's eyes filled with relief.
"Good," he thought.  "He ain't gonna soak me."  Race really didn't know if he could whoop Spot in a fight.  If he was mad enough he could, but he really didn't want to find out.
Two down, one to go.  Spot looked at Tootsie.
"Listen Toots," he said, his voice softening, "I heard dere's some people lookin' for ya."
""Kay, ya got me attention," she leaned forward.
"Dey's real bad kids.  Sick kids.  Dey hang out in da Bronx.  We call 'em da Chain Gang, cus dey don't use brass knuckles, dey use chains...thick chains.  Dey came to Brooklyn lookin' for ya, and I told 'em I ain't never heard a ya,
but I don' know if dey believed me."
"Why would anybody be lookin' for me?  I ain't got no enemies." Tootsie leaned back in her chair thoughtfully.
"I dunno," Spot said.  "Jest watch ya back me toots."  She nodded that she would.  Tootsie and Spot were very close friends, and it almost made Racetrack jealous that Spot was so close to her.  Racetrack knew that if he hadn't asked
Tootsie to be his girl, Spot would have.  What he didn't know was whether or not Tootsie would have said yes to Spot.  He didn't like to think about that, though.  Racetrack and Tootsie had a very close relationship.  More than just a relationship...they had love.  That would never change. Now that Spot had taken care of business, he looked at the only face at the table he didn't know.
"And who is dis?" Spot asked about Gypsy.
"Gypsy," she answered for herself.  "You must be da infamous Spot Conlon."
"Dat's me," he nodded.  "Nice to meetcha."  They shook hands across the table. 
"How's about startin' dat game a Mou, huh?" Spot said, and smiled for the first time.  Gypsy was taken aback.  He had such a handsome smile.  He should've done it a long time ago, in her opinion.
Snipeshooter brought out the decks of cards, and Spot was dubbed the dealer.  He began handing out cards, and the table fell silent, as those are the rules.  Dealing starts-talking stops.  Soon everyone had their seven cards.
"Play will begin to da left of da dealer," Spot confirmed.  Snipeshooter looked at the card laying beside the tall stack on the table.  Clubs was the suit.  He laid down a jack of clubs, and everyone sighed.
"Have a nice day," Snipes mumbled.  "Point-a-Order!" he added.  Everyone put down their cards, as it's against the rules to touch your own cards during a  Point-of-Order.  Snipes went on, "It ain't my fault," he said.  "Dat was all I had!" (You see, when one lays down a jack in Mou, one has to say 'Have a nice day,' and then everyone after that has to lay down a jack as well, or draw a penalty card, and they also have to say 'Have a very nice day'.  However many jacks have been laid down after that first one earns a 'very' to add on to the
'Have a nice day'.  It's complicated, like I said before.)
"Dat's alright Snipes," Spot assured him. "Un-Point-a-Order!"  Everyone picked up their cards once more and the game went on.  It didn't end until Spot called another Point-of-Order to tell everyone that he only had one more card left, and to watch what they're doing.  The game ended with Spot as the winner, as it always was.  You play Mou with Spot, you're going to lose.  That's just the way things were.
Racetrack pulled Spot to the side before he left Tibby's that night.
"So whadya think a Gypsy?" he asked.
"She's okay," said Spot.  "Listen Race, I got a bad feelin' about dis gang goin' after Tootsie.  I don't think ya should let her go out alone for a while okay?" Racetrack nodded, but inwardly thought Spot was overreacting.  He asked him if he would be taking his bed in Manhattan that night.
"Yeah," Spot said. "Is me bunk open?"
"As always," Racetrack said. "Gypsy took over da bunk under ya though." 
Spot shrugged.  He didn't care who slept under his bunk.  "I's serious bout keepin' a close eye on Tootsie, Race," he added.
"Okay, I got it!" said Racetrack.
The two then walked out of Tibby's, and the site that met them outside made Racetrack laugh out loud.
A wooden crate had been set up between Mush and Tootsie who were sitting on their knees, glaring at each other.  Itey was standing beside the crate, going over the rules of settling a dispute by way of an arm wrestling match.  When he was finished, he held their clasped hands, and sounded the call to begin.  Then he turned to Racetrack and Spot.
"Mush got stupid and challenged her to pinochle, and when he lost he accused her a cheatin' just cus he ain't got the dough to pay up.  I guess she's in a good mood or somethin' cus instead a knockin' da shit outta him, she just challenged him to an arm wrestlin' match.  Da loser's gots to pay up." Itey explained the whole mess to the two boys, and glanced over to the wrestling party to make sure nobody was cheating.  Right before his eyes, Tootsie slammed Mush's arm down on the crate, with a triumphant "Ha!" She stood up, smiling.
"Damn!" thought Mush.  "What was ya thinkin'? Ya know ya can't beat her at pinochle...or arm wrestlin', obviously."
"Nice job, Toots," Racetrack said, slipping an arm around her waist.  She smiled, and replaced a stray hair back into her long, brown ponytail.
"Uh, Tootsie," Mush mumbled, "can I pay ya back tomorrer?"
"Don't worry bout it Mush," she laughed.  "I ain't goin' nowhere.  Pay me whenever ya can afford to.  No rush!"
The night was becoming very dark, and the bulls would be getting real pushy here in a minute.  This was the newsies' cue to get indoors.  The group of Manhattan Newsies, and one Brooklyn, walked back to the lodging house and regrouped in the lobby.
Tootsie walked in and immediately gathered together her girls.
"Tonight's da night, girls," she whispered.  They all knew what she meant, and they slowly made their way up the stairs and onto the roof.  Some of the boys saw them go, and spread the word to stay downstairs until they got the okay from
Tootsie.  Racetrack sighed when he saw the procession.  He was playing poker with Bumlets, Skittery, and Specs.  Tootsie came over and interrupted it.
"I'm sorry Race," she whispered in his ear.  "I love ya."  She gave him a kiss on the cheek and then went upstairs with the rest of the girls. The walks through Central Park that Racetrack and Tootsie went on every night were very important to him.  It was the only time they ever got to be alone.  He abandoned his game, and walked outside to sit, alone, on the front stoop.  His friends knew better than to follow him.  Racetrack didn't get angry often, but when he did he was a dangerous person to be around. Tootsie saw him go, but she had business to attend to.  Racetrack should understand that.  She walked up to Gypsy, who was having an ice spitting contest with Snipeshooter and Boots out the back window.
"Gypsy," she caught hold of the taller girls arm, "hate to interrupt but, uh...da girls and me wanna talk to ya, 'kay?"  Gypsy crunched on the ice she had in her mouth, and nodded.
"I'll finish wit you's guys later," she warned them, as Tootsie led her up the stairs. She brought Gypsy up to the roof, where the rest of the girls at the lodging house were sitting.  They were arranged in a semi-circle, and looked quite
intimidating to Gypsy.  She balled up her fists, and tensed up.  Tootsie noticed this, and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.
"Hey," she said, "it ain't like dat, Gypsy." Gypsy didn't relax, but followed Tootsie into the group.  Tootsie turned around and looked at her.
"Gypsy, ya probably noticed dat we's da only girls in dis joint, and we've been ignoring ya.  Sorry bout dat.  We's just real close, ya see.  We don't let just
anybody into our family, so's any new girl who comes here we always ask to tell us her story, so's we know who we're dealin' wit."  She sat down with the other girls, and motioned for Gypsy to sit, too.  "We's waitin'," she said.
"Ya want me to tell ya all about my past?" Gypsy crouched, but didn't sit completely.  Tootsie nodded.
"Alright..." Gypsy took a deep breath, and began her tale.  "I was born in  Jakin, Georgia, if ya know where dat is.  I was born what white people call an indentured servant, which to me means the same thing as a slave.  My parents had  been slaves, but my father's dead, and I had been taken away from my mother when I was very young.  I don't really remember her.  I worked on a cotton plantation with a whole bunch of other black servants from the time I was old enough to walk.  From long before sunup to sundown we all picked and sowed and plowed under da hot southern sun, and if we didn't work hard enough we got beat up.  When I turned thirteen I left.  I wasn't allowed to leave, cus I was supposedly workin' off da debt my family owed to da owners, so I had to sneak off at night.  I took da old trails dat da runaway slaves used to take to get to Pennsylvania.  When I got dere I got a job as a newsie in Philadelphia.  I stayed dere for a year, but den da owner sold da joint to a drunk, who was always beatin' up on us girls, and makin' us do stuff wit him, ya know?" she paused to take another deep breath.  "Den I ran away from dere, and set out for Manhattan, New York.  In Union City, I think it was, a couple a guys jumped on me wit a baseball bat, and beat me up pretty bad.  I limped da rest a da way to Manhattan, but I didn't know I was dere when I got dere, so's I knocked on a door and asked a man how far to Manhattan.  He told me I found it and pulled me inside, doctored me up, and gave me a warm bed to sleep in.  So...here I is."  She finished her story, and sighed.  Tootsie nodded.
"We know dat probably wasn't easy for you," she said, and noticed Gypsy had completely sat down and looked relaxed again.
"Well..." Tootsie turned to a girl that was sitting behind her, "Nicki, you's da newest girl, besides Gyp, so I guess it's yer turn." With that they carried out the night.  When Nicki finished her story the next to newest girl told her
story, and so on and so forth, until it Tootsie finished her story. At this, Tootsie got up and walked over to Gypsy.  It was very, very late in the night, and Tootsie knew most of the guys were asleep, but that all of them were still downstairs.
"Gypsy, now dat ya know about everybody, and everybody knows about you, yer stuck wit us.  Cus we don' want ya goin' off and tellin' da whole world our pasts, and ya probably don't want us to do dat to you," she said.  "But, uh...now we wanna ask ya to do somethin' else.  Tomorrer, we want ya to go to Brooklyn...as a guy." Tootsie braced herself for an outburst of incredible language, but there was none.
Gypsy was just sitting there, dumbfounded.  She almost didn't believe what Tootsie had told her to do.
"It's kinda like initiation, ya know?" Tootsie went on.  "We gotta find out if yer tough enough to be called a Newsgirl of Manhattan.  Brooklyn is da perfect place to test how tough ya are."
Gypsy stared at them.  All the girls were waiting to hear what she was going to do.  If she refused to go, then Tootsie had plenty of persuading tactics to con the reluctant into agreeing to the impersonation in Brooklyn.
"Well...?" Tootsie leaned forward.
Gypsy sighed, recalling Tootsie story and how she'd had to do it too.
"Alright!" she threw up her hands. "Alright, I'll do it!"
All the girls grinned and knew they were in for quite a show.
"What do I do?" Gypsy asked.
Tootsie flew into action.  "Okay!  Well, we'll have to loosen ya shirt, to cover curves, but...well, ya got a lot more curves to cover than I first did.  Hm...um, I'll bet we could wrap somethin' around dere to smallerize 'em a
 little, like we did for you, Alex." The short blond girl she referred to nodded her head and suggested the bandage
Klopp had used to wrap her ribs with.
"That'll work perfect," Tootsie said.   And Gypsy was told that Sweetie would wake her up the next morning, and that she had to be gone before any of the boys woke up.  Nicki, told her that if she sees Spot, which she probably would, to repeat a phrase to him.
"Tell him ya left ya stuff at Tibby's and won't be around long, 'kay," said Nicki.  "Now repeat it back to me, in a guys voice."
"I left all me stuff at Tibby's, so's I won't be around long," Gypsy said, lowering her voice a little.  Tootsie heard this and told Gypsy that she had a deep enough voice and not to try to lower it any.
"Ya think ya can member dat phrase?" Nicki asked her.  Gypsy nodded.
"Ya think she should cut her hair?" Kitten asked. Gypsy's hand flew to her braid, protectively.  She shook her head.
"Ain't nobody comin' near my hair," she said.
"Nah, don't worry bout it," Tootsie said.  "She can just tuck it under her cap, no problem."
When Gypsy knew everything she needed to know and all the plans had been made, she was allowed to go to bed.  Tootsie walked quietly down stairs to let the boys know that they were finished.  They were all sleeping in chairs and on top of tables in the lobby.  It made Tootsie grin to see how cute they all looked, snoozing like babies in the most uncomfortable looking positions you could imagine.  She nodded to Snipes and Itey, who were the only two still awake. 
They, in turn, woke up everyone else and told them it was safe to go back upstairs.  Slowly and crankily, the boys tromped upstairs and retired to their beds.  Racetrack was still mad as a hornet, so Tootsie avoided him by pretending
to be asleep.  It didn't fool him for a second, but he figured he could talk to her tomorrow.  It could wait until tomorrow, or so he thought.
The next morning Sweetie woke Gypsy up as promised.  They were all awake, and they silently congregated in the bathroom, locked the door, and went to work on her.  They wrapped her chest, and braided her hair tightly so it wouldn't bulge through the cap when folded under.  Alley smudged up her face a little to hide some of her feminine features, and loosened her shirt.  Finally Gypsy was ready. 
She was dressed in her normal clothes, but the reflection she saw in the mirror looked like a teenage boy who had spent his night in a gutter! Quietly she slipped out of the fire escape and sped off for Brooklyn.  The sun had barely risen when she arrived on the other side of the Brooklyn Bridge.  She asked a nice enough looking man where the newspaper distribution center was.  He directed her and she soon found herself in line with a bunch of other guys and a few girls who were all waiting to get papes.  She had about two dollars in quarters.  She bought fifty papes, and started inconspicuously looking around for Spot.
She didn't find him.  He found her. She was walking along a pier when suddenly the tall, street-wise boy jumped seemingly out of nowhere, and stepped right in her path.
"What streeter, kid?" he asked, quietly. (All this means is, 'What street do you live on?')
"Uh," Gypsy was quite intimidated by him, even though he wasn't any taller than her.  This dangerous looking boy was not anything like the fun-loving kid she'd met at Tibby's.  "I ain't from around here," she muttered.
"Oh yeah, no kiddin," he sneered, sarcastically.  "Dis is my territory, and I know all who's from around it.  I don't know you, though."
"Dey call me, uh," she stopped short.  Who could she say she was?  Gypsy racked her brain, "um...dey call me Bolt," she mustered, finally.
"Bolt?" Spot laughed out loud, and then suddenly was all glares as he took a step towards her.  "And why's dat?"
"Cus," she stuttered, "I's fast."
"Well Bolt," Spot laughed again, "ya betta be fast gettin' outta Brooklyn, cus I don't like sissy ass boys in my territory."
"Right," Gypsy faltered, guessing she should tell Spot now, before he punched her lights out.  "I left all me stuff back at Tibby's in Manhattan, so's I ain't stayin' long."
She looked at Spot to see if he understood.  She couldn't tell.  If he did know what she was talking about, he made absolutely no sign of that knowledge that she could see.
"Good," he growled.  "Now beat it!"
Gypsy turned and walked briskly away from him.  She was so scared she could have wet her pants right then and there, but didn't like the thought of committing suicide that way.
The girls had told her this was to test if she was tough enough to handle Brooklyn, and now she was beginning to wonder if she was.
She spotted a boy standing near the entrance to the pier, selling his papes.  He  was kinda tall, taller than she was, and looked like he could probably pound her.  Gypsy began forming a plan in her mind.  'Time to pick a fight, Bolt,' she  said to herself.  She flashed a quick half smile, and walked passed the boy, but stopped not five feet from where he sold.  She dropped her stack of papers on the floor of the pier and picked up the top pape.  Gypsy held it above her head, ready to shout to the people about it's stories, when she felt a firm hand close over her raised wrist.  She closed her mouth and turned around to face the assailant.  It was the boy, of course.  Perfect!
"Whadya think yer doin' shrimp?" he asked her, gruffly.
"Sellin' papes, mama's boy," she sneered.  "Whadya think yer doin'?"
"Dis is me spot, shorty," he gritted his teeth, and tightened his grip on the smaller boy's (girl's) arm. "Beat it!"
He threw away her arm, nearly ripping it from it's socket.  It hurt a little, but no pain showed on her face.
"I don't like dat tone in yer voice," she straightened herself to full height, but even as tall as she was, the boy was still half a foot taller.
Spot had been keeping a watchful eye and ear out for the Manhattan girl, and now stepped in between the two newsies that were obviously about to fight.  He pulled Gypsy to the side.
"Give it up, girl," he whispered.  "I don't allow boys to hit girls in my territory."
"Spot," she whispered back, "I's genuinely touched by yer concern, but lemme handle dis, please." Spot shook his head, but reluctantly released her.
Gypsy turned back to the boy, ready to challenge him for the selling spot, but received a blow to the gut before she knew what was coming.  She was quite shocked at his strength, but straightened herself before he could get in another punch.  She snatched him quickly by his collar, moving with the speed of an angry cat and leaving no reaction time for her opponent.  She slammed him the nose, almost smiling at the sight of blood gushing from it.  She still had a  firm hold on his collar, and decked him in the jaw.  His head snapped to the side, and he received a blow to the stomach as well.  Then he was released.  Gypsy shook her right hand and winced.  It hurt bad, but probably not as bad as the other guy.
The other guy was all crouched over, holding his nose with one hand and his stomach with the other.  He began staggering around close to the edge of the pier.  His eyes were shut tightly, and he was paying no attention to his situation.  Promptly he tumbled into the waters of the Hudson.  Gypsy saw him fall, as did Spot.  He ran forward to jump in after him.  Butcher, as he was called, was one of his best friends.  Spot was about to jump in when he heard a splash to his right.  Gypsy had already slipped off her shoes, her hat, and her vest, and jumped into the freezing water after the boy.  Spot didn't know how she had moved so quickly, but he thought that the name Bolt, no matter how silly it sounded, sure would fit her.  That is, if she didn't have already have a name.  (He'd heard about her little escapade with Jack.)
In seconds she appeared on the surface of the water, holding Butcher firmly with her left arm, and swimming like a muskrat with the other.  A brief look of relief spread over Spot's face.  It wasn't often he let his real emotions show, so the expression only lasted for about a half-second before he realized it was there, and wiped it off.
Gypsy pulled the boy up onto the pier with one hand, and pulled herself up with the other.  She made sure the kid was breathing, and then stood up to wring the water from her braid.  By now a lot of people were crowded around, and saw she was a girl.  They began to whisper, and she noticed many eyebrows raising at her.  She promptly put back on her vest, shoes, and hat, not bothering to tuck her braid under this time.  She turned to leave, figuring her cover was blown and she had ruined the mission.
Spot stopped her, "Hey, uh, Gypsy," he said quietly.  She turned back to him.
"Thanks," he said, "for goin' in after me boy, like dat.  Ya didn't have to, I know."
Gypsy smiled, "Don't mention it," she said, and stared to walk away again. 
Again Spot stopped her.
"Hold it," he said.  "I's gotta make it up to ya somehow."  Spot hated to owe people or be in people's debt.  She stopped again and shrugged.  Spot checked his pocket watch, and looked back up at her.
"How's about I treat ya to lunch?" he offered.
She smiled, "Dat'll do!"
Spot took her to his favorite restaurant, and wouldn't let her spend any of her money.  Many boys, and a few girls, were in there, and they all knew Spot.  He introduced Gypsy to the curious kids, and told them how she'd soaked Butcher and
then when he'd fallen into the river, she had jumped in and saved his life.  All the kids he told were highly impressed that she'd soaked Butcher, cus most of them had been soaked by Butcher, but then again, to save his life after that was
hero-stuff.  They were all terribly impressed with her.  She was very modest, and said over and over that it was nothing, but nobody listened to that part of the story.

VII
Gypsy and Spot spent the whole afternoon together.  He showed her around Brooklyn, and showed her his favorite view of the Hudson River.  Spot's feelings about her changed that day.  She was no longer just "okay" and he actually
trusted her, which surprised him.  Gypsy thought him a very nice guy, but would never forget how frightening and intimidating he could be.  Snoddy was right. 
He was kinda mysterious.
It was far into the night by the time he walked her back over the Brooklyn Bridge.  Spot didn't like the thought of her walking around Brooklyn...alone...after dark.  So he decided to personally escort her over the bridge.
"See ya later, Gyp," Spot said, and smiled as they spit shook.
"Bye," she called, and turned away from him to make the long walk back to the lodging house.  She sighed contentedly, and thought about her new...well, she guessed she could call Spot her friend.  What  she didn't know was Spot was thinking the same thing about her.
Gypsy whistled a little tune while she walked, and felt that all was right with the world.  It was one of those nights when one feels like everything is right, and nothing is wrong!  Or at least, that's how she felt.
She burst into the lodging house, and expected to be blown away with the noise  and smoke and cheer that always filled the lobby.  Instead, she found the room dead silent.  Gypsy's smile faded, and chills ran down her back.  Something was
terribly wrong.  She looked around at the faces of the newsies she had grown to love as her family, and found the saddest, most vacant expressions on them. Kitten whizzed over to her, and grabbed her arm.  She led Gypsy over into a
circle of crying and sniffling girls.
"What's goin' on?" Gypsy asked.  Kitten had been crying hard, and her face was all red and puffy.  Nicki wiped her eyes, and tried to calm her shaking voice.
"Tootsie's dead," she muttered.

Part 4