Part Two (continued) of A Newsie's Tale




Part Two (continued)

Back in the middle of the city, I was wandering through the crowd searching for scabs when, for the second time that day, I heard someone call my name. Not my newsie name, not Squeaker, but my real name.
"Peter? Peter, is that really you?"
I just kept walking at first. I figured that whoever it was was calling to another Peter, but the person, a girl, persisted and the voice got closer.
"Peter, please, look at me! Don’t you remember me?" I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder and turned around.
It was Izzy.
I could only stand there. It was as if my thoughts from earlier that day had materialized right here and now. "Izzy, I--"I stuttered.
"Oh, Peter, it really is you!" she cried and threw her arms around me. I held her awkwardly, not knowing what to say or do. Would she tell Papa and Mama where I was? "Why did you leave, Pete?" she asked after a moment.
"I had to," I told her softly. "You know dat. Woiking in the fact’ry was too dangerous, but Mama and Papa wouldn’t let me quit. I had t’leave!" I put my hand on her shoulder. "Youse understand, don’t you?"
Izzy looked at me with her dark brown eyes, the same eyes that I had, and brushed a strand of her hair back. That’s when I noticed that she was wearing the hair ribbon that I had left for her on the night I ran away. Its pink shine seemed to bring out some color in her lips and cheeks.
She was taller, I realized, and could almost look me in the eye. She still looked the same, only older, more mature. She had grown up so much in the year or so that I had been gone. It seemed as though my entire life was changing around.
"I understand," she responded finally. "At least I think I do, but, Peter, couldn’t you come back and live with us again?" she pleaded me. "Papa and Mama would take you back, I just know it!"
I sighed. "I can’t go back, Izzy. I have a new life here. I have a future!"
"You can have a future back in Brooklyn too!"
"No I can’t," I shook my head slowly. "Not in Brooklyn, and not back in the fac’try!" Izzy looked pleadingly at me.
"But we need you!"
"No youse don’t. I never brought in dat much money. Admit it, since I’ve been gone, youse guys have had more to go around, haven’t ya?"
Izzy didn’t say anything, but I knew by the look in her eyes that I was right. "You’d better get goin’," I finally said. She gave me a sad smile and nodded. On impulse, I leaned over and hugged her.
"I miss you," she whispered into my ear.
"I miss you too," I whispered back. "Youse take care of yerself, y’hear?"
"I will." She said with a smile that lit up her face, but not her eyes, and turned to leave.
As I watched her weave her way through the throng of people, I had the sudden desire to go with her. The urge was so great, in fact, that I took a few steps after her before I realized what I was doing. I stopped and shook my head. What was I thinking? I could never go back to Brooklyn, but as I watched her disappear, I was overcome by the thought that I would never see her again.
Laughing at my own foolish premonition, I turned to walk away. My friends and I had a strike to win.

* * *

"Squeaker!" Dutchy yelled out to me as soon as I got in the Lodging House. "Grab a brush an’ start paintin’ some signs for the rally!"
The rally, I had almost forgot about it. When we were almost done at Tibby’s, Jack had announced his plan to have a rally. The goal was to get the newsies together and the strike some publicity. I grabed an old, broken board and sat down next to Dutchy. Picking up a brush, I dipped it into the can of white paint that sat on the table and applied paint to the board. The result was no Mona Lisa, but at least I was able to spell ‘strike’ correctly. I was waiting for it to dry when Dutchy nudged me. I glanced up to see what it was.
It was Warden Snyder.
The room went silent as he entered, and every newsie there kept their eyes on him. He began leafing through the sign-in book, which Kloppman took out of his hands with an, "Exuse me. Can I help you?"
"You have a boy who calls himself Jack Kelly?" Snyder asked Kloppman. "I wish to see him." My gaze darted around the room, seaching for Jack, and I nearly sighed in relief when I didn’t see him.
"Jack Kelly... never heard of ‘im. Never heard of ‘im." Kloppman fibbed. "Any of you boys ever heard of Jack Kelly?"
"Dat’s an unusual name fer dese parts," Specs stated, his face innocent.
"Oh, you mean Jack Kelly," I heard Race say. "Yeah, he was here, but he put an egg in his shoe an’ beat it!" Everyone except Snyder cracked up at that remark, and I caught sight of Jack darting around the back of the room, always keeping out of Snyder’s sight.
"I have reason to believe that he is an escaped prisoner, possibly dangerous," Snyder continued earnestly.
"Oh! Dangerous?" Kloppman feigned startlement. Still muttering something to Snyder, he began to lead him out. For a second, it looked as if he would see Jack, but Racetrack and several others jumped up and held their rally signs, blocking Jack from view.
"Give to da Newsie Strike fund, mistuh?" Race questioned. Snyder hesitated for a moment, then held a nickel out to him before he left.
Once Snyder was gone, a gust of wind blew through the room as everyone sighed simultaneously in relief. Jack came out of his hiding place in the back. "Thanks youse guys," he told us. "I don’t have any idea how Snyder found out dat I was here!"
"Maybe dey got somethin’ outta Crutchy." I heard someone mutter softly. Jack apparently heard it as well.
"Crutchy’s no two-timin’, tattlin’ scab!" he vouched. "I know he ain’t!"

* * *

Jack didn’t sleep at the Lodging house that night. He left a few minutes after Snyder did, telling us that he would spend the night at David’s. He said that he didn’t feel safe here, and besides, he had some things that he wanted to talk to David about the rally tomorrow.
The rally. I couldn’t believe that we were actually going through with it! Newsies from all over were coming. Someone had managed to get us the use of New Ivring Hall on Broom street. I don’t how they achieved it, but they did. Medda, the Swedish Meadowlark, was going to perform for us. Racetrack had gotten back from seeing Mr. Devery, the chief of police, about getting a permit to hire a band just before Snyder had come looking for Jack.
"Hey, Race," Swifty called out, "whaddid Devery say ‘bout da band?"
"Sorry, fellas, but Devery won’t give us da permit," Race announced, "so we don’t got no band."
"Why not?" I asked him. "Did he say why?"
Racetrack chewed on the end of his unlit cigar. "Naw, he didn’t say." He snorted. "All he did really say was, ‘Go ‘way you slob!’"
"So we don’t have a band?" Snipeshooter asked sadly. He had been really looking forward to it.
"No, we don’t," Race lit his cigar and took a long drag, "but don’t worry ‘bout it. The rally will be just as excitin’ widout it."
Boy, was he right.

* * *

I was crammed in a sea of moving, talking, shouting humanity, with Specs on one side of me, and a boy I didn’t know on the other. Newsies all around me we pushing and shoving to get farther in. The heat was stifling, the noise was deafening, and it was wonderful! Jack sat up front with Spot, Dave, Les, and David’s older sister, Sarah. From the looks Jack gave her, I had a feeling that there was something going on there. The shouting rose in volume as Jack, Dave and Spot stepped onto the stage.
"Carryin’ the banner!" Jack yelled out, and the cheers grew louder still. He waved his arms, grinning, attempting to quiet the pandemonium he had inadvertently started.
"We’ve come a long way," he continued, "but we ain’t there yet, an’ it’s only gonna get tougher from here. Dat’s why we gotta start listenin’ to my pal, David, who says, ‘stop soakin’ da scabs!’"
Some of the crowd muttered at that, and the tension sprang up as Spot yelled out, "Any scab I see, I soak ‘em, period!" Cheers ran out.
"No," David yelled, stepping up next to Spot, "that’s what they want us to do! If we get violent, it’s just gonna play into their hands!"
"Hey, look, they’re gonna be playin’ with my hands, alright?" Spot retorted as he rounded on David. "’Cause then what they say is what we say, an’ nobody ain’t gonna listen to us unless we make ‘em!"
Thunderous applause broke out from the Brooklyn newsies and many more. The others all seemed inclined to agree with David, and they started voicing this to Spot’s supporters. Dissention ran among the ranks like wildfire.
Jack, until now, had been passively observing the debate between his two cohorts, seemingly willing to let them duke it out on their own. He held back no longer, however, and walked up front.
"You’ve got no brains!" He shouted at us, and was rewarded by a slightly quieter audience. "We’re startin’ to fight each other! It’s just what the bigshots wanna see, that we’re street trash! Street rats with no brains! No respect for nuthin’, including ourselves!" His hazel eyes blazed at us as he continued to chastise us, much like my father had done when my sisters and I had been disobedient and wouldn’t listen.
"So here’s how it is," he continued, "If we don’t act together; we’re nuthin’! We don’t stick together; we’re nuthin’, and if we can’t even trust each other; we’re nuthin’!" Jack glanced at us as we sat subdued.
"Tell ‘em, Jack!" Blink hollered out from the balcony.
"So, what’s it gonna be?"
"We’re with you, Jack," Race said stoutly. The newsies nearest him muttered in agreement, and everyone else soon followed.
With the support of the thousands of newsies watching, Jack turned to face Spot. "Whadda you say, Spot?" Jack asked him.
There was a pause as Spot scanned the audience around him. It occured to me then that Spot could probably leave the strike and take many of the newsies with him. I held my breath.
"I say, dat what you say," Spot began almost contemptuously, and paused while the tension grew. Then, that mischievous grin of his spread across his face and he finished, "…is what I’d say!" Cheering echoed throughout the hall, and grew louder still as Medda herself appeared from behind the curtain. I hollered with the rest as she broke into "High Times, Hard Times", a song I had heard several times before. I bellowed out the lyrics with the others as Medda danced around the stage and into the audience.

"High times, Hard times
Sometimes the living is sweet
And sometimes there’s nothing to eat
But I always land on my feet!"

I had never paid to much attention to the lyrics, but hearing them here, with thousands of other boys just look me, in the middle of the strike, they seemed to have some special significance. It was as if the author had written this song especially for us. I didn’t see how anything could go wrong at this point.
I was jostled from behind, and turned around just in time to see Spot shoving his way towards the back of the hall. His hat was pulled low over his face, and the grim set of his mouth made me uneasy. I was just about to call out to him, when the all too familiar shrill sound of police whistles broke through the crowd. The happy yells of comrades who don’t have a worry in the world, or about the World, turned into calls of fright and confusion.
"It’s da bulls! Da bulls! Run!" I hollered, as voices around me took up the clamor. Seeing the bulls weaving through the crowd, grabbing and hitting newsboys left and right, I turned around and fled towards the back entrances.
The bulls had those guarded as well, though, and I narrowly escaped one who made a grab at me. I lashed back out at him, knocking him back far enough to turn and run. My brain kept telling me that there wasn’t any way out, that we were all going to be caught. I told it to shut up and help me get out of this.
I broke into the main lobby and dashed outside onto the street. The policemen on their horses had formed a ring around the entrance, and were beating back any newsie who tried to break free. I skidded to a halt before one of the horses, so close that a blast of warm air from the beast’s nostrils hit me in the face. Reeling, I turned around once again when pain exploded in the back of my skull. I fell to the ground and everything went black.

* * *

Faces swam in my sight, and the road seemed to flow of it’s own accord below my feet. I heard a horse whinny, and a jab in my back. "Come on, you, keep moving!" Bodies crowded around me as I tried my best to keep walking. My brain felt fuddled, and I kept blinking my eyes, trying to bring my surroundings into focus.
"Squeaker, youse ok?" I heard a voice next to me, or was it far away, calling out. I nodded dumbly and kept walking.

* * *

I lay on the bottom of a bunk bed, staring up at nothing. My thoughts were more or less in order, and I could see straight, but there was a lump the size of an egg on the back of my head. I reached around and touched it gingerly.
I breath of air touched my cheek, and I turned my head to watch as Spot walked back across the room. He had been pacing for nearly an hour, like a cat trapped inside when it didn’t want to be there, muttering occasionally under his breath, and glancing at the door and windows every time he passed them.
Race and Blink had looked over the windows carefully as soon as we were shut in here. They examined every little crack and nail, hoping to find the one little weak spot that would set us free. They didn’t find it, though, and now sat despondently on their beds with the rest of us, watching Spot pace up and down the isle.
Step… step… step… step… Spot reached the window, took a quick glance outside, and whirled around. Step… step… step…
I saw Race reach into his pocket for his cigar before he realized that it was gone. "Dirty, scab-lovin’ coppers took my cigar," he muttered, and clamped his jaw shut.
Step… step… step… step… step… Spot reached the door, glared at it, and whirled around again, muttering something under his breath that I couldn’t hear, and probably didn’t want to.
Step… step…
"Dammit, Spot," Blink said finally, "stop that pacing before I go insane!"
Spot took two more paces, looking at Blink intently before he sat down on the edge of a bed, still fidgeting. "Sorry, Blink. It’s just dis damn Refuge!" He sprang back up and stalked over to the window. He wrapped his hands around the bars and stared out for a moment, then tugged futilely. "Hey," he exclaimed suddenly, a note of hope in his voice, "I think I see someone out dere!"
"Where?" Mush exclaimed as he crowded past Snitch and Boots to look. "Where?" He repeated. "Spot I don’t see no one!"
Spot peered intently for a second, then sighed. "Sorry, Mush, I was seein’ things. I was just hopin’ dat someone would…" He trailed off.
"No one’s gonna come." I stated flatly. "They’re all scared outta they’re minds of da bulls right now… Especially since Jack an’ Dave got captured too…"
"Dave got away." Race told me, still absentmindedly reaching for his cigar. "I saw Jack shove him, Sarah and Les out da back before dey conked me out. Besides," he added, "If dey had caught Dave, den why isn’t he hear wid us?"
"I thought maybe dey were keepin’ him separate from us, like dey’re doin’ with Jack." I said sheepishly.
"Don’t worry, Squeak," Mush said. "You got a big ‘ole bump on da head. Nobody expects you t’ remember anything." He grinned.
"We’d better get some shuteye," Blink told us, hauling himself onto an upper bunk. "We wanna be bright eyed and bushy tailed for our trial tomorrer."

* * *

"Are any of you represented by Council?" The Judge peered down at us from his high seat with a bored air.
"What’s a Council?" Specs whispered in my ear.
"I’ve got no idea," I whispered back. "Snitch, do youse know?" Snitch merely shrugged his shoulders, at as much of a loss as the rest of us.
What a rag-tag group we looked. Our hair rumpled, our clothes wrinkled, overall battered and bruised and puffy-eyed. My head ached, and I knew I had to have circles around my eyes. Despite Blink’s insistence that we all rest up, I wasn’t able to sleep at all, and my eyelids felt like lead.
"I object, Y’honor!" Spot stated. I berated myself for having let my mind wander and tried to pay more attention.
"On what grounds?" The Judge asked sternly.
Spot was quiet for a moment before he replied, "On the grounds of Brooklyn, Y’honor." Everyone started snickering, and after a moment Spot, unaware at first that he had made a joke, joined in. Judge Monahan did not look so amused, however.
"I fine each of you five dollars or two weeks confinement in the House of Refuge," he declared.
He had to be kidding: five whole dollars? Where did he think we would get money like that?
"Hey," Race cut in, "we ain’t got five bucks. We don’t even have five cents! Hey, Y’honor, how ‘bout I roll you for it: double or nothin’?"
"Alright, move along!" Judge Monahan declared over our chuckles. We were herded away from him, towards the exit. It seemed like I would be spending many more nights in the Refuge.
That’s when I heard the doors of the courtroom open, and a familiar voice saying, "Your Honor…" Denton pushed his way into the courtroom. "I’ll pay the fines," he stated, his face serious, "all of them."
I couldn’t believe our luck! It sure seemed like Someone was on our side in this. Now all we needed was to get Jack back.
Dave came in behind Denton, and came towards us. "Hey, fellas, you alright? Where’s, where’s Jack?" I glanced around, hoping that Cowboy would show up, but I couldn’t see much, and the bulls were still trying to get us out of the courtroom.
"Look, we’ve got to meet at the restaurant… everybody," Denton said as he came up behind Dave. "We’ve have to talk."
"Pay the clerk. Move along!"
We were finally starting to move, when I heard Jack’s cheerful voice ring out. "Hey, fellas!"
"Hey, Cowboy! Nice shiner!" Race hollered back.
I tried to stay back, to see what would happen to Jack, but the bulls would have none of it, and we were all firmly escorted to the exit. Judge Monahan’s voice following us out.
"Pay the clerk! Move along!"

* * *

I leaned heavily against a brick wall and sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm myself. Everything was going wrong, and I didn’t understand why. It had all looked so wonderful just a short day ago. All of the newsies were with us, we got our story in the papes, we managed to get so many kids together for a rousing rally, and now all this. The bulls broke up the rally, Jack was in the Refuge, and to add to our list of grievances, Denton just informed us that The Sun was sending him away as a war correspondent. What could go wrong next?
I just sat there, watching the sunlight get dimmer through my closed eyelids, and hoped against hoping that things would turn around.
Dave had gathered a group of boys and was setting off to spring Jack. I thought about going with them, but I knew that I’d just get in the way. I heard the murmur of people taking softly, then Skittery’s voice called out, "Hey, Squeak, you headin’ back to da Lodgin’ House? Kloppman’s gonna be closing soon, y’know."
I opened my eyes and smiled wearily at him. "Yeah, I know, but I think I’m gonna find me a nice alley t’night. I’m runnin’ low on money. Besides, it’s a gorgeous night."
"Well, see ya tomorra…"
The sun was down now, and the streetlights cast their glow over the quiet streets. I walked slowly, head down, kicking a small stone as I wandered. I glanced up, and was startled to find myself quite close to Pulitzer’s. This was as good a place as any, I mused, and settled myself down in a dark corner. I wondered how Dave and the others were doing.
No sooner had the thought came to my head, when I heard the clatter of someone, no, a couple of people, running, and two dark shapes dashed within ten feet of my corner.
"C’mon!"
That was Dave! Then the other person must be…
"You shouldn’ta done dis, Dave…"
I was right; it was Jack. I almost jumped up to join them, but something in Jack’s voice told me to stay where I was. I held my breath, wondering what else could possibly be going wrong.
"They could put you in Jail," Jack continued.
"I don’t care." Dave was obviously as confused about Jack’s attitude as I was.
"C’mere," Jack grabbed David and roughly shoved him against the wall. "What about yer family? What happens to dem if you go in Jail? You don’t know nothin’ about Jail. Now thanks for what you done, but you get outta here."
What was Jack talking about?
"I don’t understand!" Dave echoed my thoughts.
"I don’t understand either but just get outta here!" Jack turned and started to walk back. Dave just stood where he was, staring after him.
"No!" He yelled out, and started to go after Jack.
Jack turned around, the authority that had made him the leader of a ragged army of street urchins blazing through his eyes. "Go!"
They turned and stalked off in their separate directions, and I sat there, wondering about the site I had just seen.

* * *

We stood outside the gates, masses of us, chanting and threatening, just as we had been doing. Something was missing, though, and not even the densest of us had failed to figure out what.
Dave stood alone at the front. His face was grim and he looked as if he had slept as little as I had. He hadn’t told us anything that morning, and I didn’t have the heart to tell what I had overseen, but Jack’s absence seemed to speak for itself.
Amid the yelling, I heard Spot’s voice carry through, "Just tell me I’m seein’ things!" I looked up at him, and followed his gaze.
"Naw, you ain’t seein’ things," Race replied, "dat’s Jack. What’s he doin’?"
My heart sank at the sight of Jack, in a brand new suit, with a stack of papers under his arm, being led by Weasel. I felt oddly numb inside. I just kept staring at him, hoping that he’d look up at me, at anyone, but he kept his eyes down.
"Where’d he get dem clothes?"
"Mr. Pulitzer picked them out himself," Weasel told us smugly. "A special gift for a special new employee.
So this was why Jack hadn’t gone back with Dave last night. Yelling started up around me as newsies tried to shove their way through the line of cops. I wished I could be angry too, and let that anger burn inside me, like it did when the strike started, but all I felt was the hollow coldness of betrayal.
That’s when Spot lunged forward, cursing and swearing, and lunging at Jack. I came to my senses then. We’d need Spot and Dave to keep the strike going, but we couldn’t do that with Spot in jail. Jumping forward, I grabbed onto the back of his suspenders and pulled him back, still yelling and fighting.
"Spot, Spot! Calm down! C’mon, we can still win!" I yelled, trying to convince myself as well, but the words sounded hollow. Giving me a glare that told me I shouldn’t have held him back, Spot got himself under control.
"Oh, you wanna talk to him?" Weasel’s voice carried back to me. "Sure!" I glanced up to see David admitted through the row of police.
"So this is why you didn’t escape last night," David stated loudly, so we’d all hear. "You’re a liar! You lied about everything!"
Jack lied. He said he would be there for us, he said we’d win, he said all we needed to do was stick together, he said he was our friend. From what David was saying, he had lied about his family as well. I had always blithely assumed that Jack’s parents were out west. Well, there’s a saying that my father used to tell me: When you assume, you make an ass out of u and me. We had all assumed that Jack would stick by us, and look what asses we turned out to be.
"We don’t need you!" I heard Dave yelling at Jack. "We don’t need you!" He bent in closer to say something to him that I couldn’t catch, then turned around to look at us. Behind the anger burning in his eyes, I could see that same empty feeling of betrayal that I felt. We all watched him, waiting.
Dave slowly swiveled around to regard Jack once more. I could see Jack silently beckoning him to fight. For a moment, I thought David would just ignore him, but in one quick movement he lunged forward, only to be held back by the bulls.
"Maybe," Weasel was insinuating, "you’d like a new suit of your own, eh?" For a heartbeat I feared that he would take the offer, but my fears were scattered with his resounding,
"No!"
The bulls formed a tight ring around Jack then as they led him through the crowd of yelling, lunging strikers. We continued to glare at him even after he was out of reach. "He’s foolin’ ‘em!" Les’ hopeful voice broke through. "So he can spy on ‘em or somethin’!Yeah, yeah, that’s it! He’s foolin’ ‘em!"
He sounded like he was trying to convince himself, and he sure wasn’t convincing any of us.

* * *

The next morning, I wasn’t startled to discover that Spot and his newsies had gone back over to Brooklyn. They were still in the strike, I was assured. None of them had turned scab and started selling papers again, but at the same time, a lot of the energy and enthusiasm had drained from them, and us as well.
It was an all together dejected group that met at Tibby’s after Jack’s breach of faith. We filed in, sat down, and waited.
"Well," Race finally broke the silence, "what do we do now, Dave?"
"We keep striking," Dave said, trying to force some energy into his words. "We keep striking, we don’t give into them for a moment, and we will win!"
"Even without Jack?" Someone, I think it was Snipeshooter, said softly.
"Even without Jack." Dave stated, his voice and features firm. "We don’t need him," he repeated the words he said a short while ago. He seemed to have trouble believing it himself, but he shook his head slightly, and repeated, more firmly, "We don’t need him.

* * *

"Hey youse guys, wake up!"
I woke up groggily, still tired from my light sleep. I could have sworn I had just fallen asleep, but the voice kept persisting.
"Wake up, now! We need youse!"
That certainly didn’t sound like Kloppman. In fact, it sounded like… like… I opened my eyes. Was it really?
Dave, Jack and Denton stood at the door, waiting for us to rouse ourselves. I shook my head, this just had to be a dream.
"Well, look who’s back," Blink drawled. "What kind of a joke is this, Cowboy?"
"Who’s side are you on?" Racetrack blinked in the lamplight.
Jack’s face was serious. "I’m sorry, youse guys. I know you don’t have any reason to trust me right now, but youse gotta believe me. Pulitzer was threatening to shove all of youse, including Davey, into da Refuge if I didn’t go along with him. I couldn’t do dat to youse all.
"Isn’t dat touching?" Blink’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
"I believe him," David said softly. "The Delancies were beating me up in the alley, and Jack came in and soaked them. He didn’t have to."
"I can’t be what I ain’t." Jack looked significantly at Dave.
"Boys," now Denton was breaking in earnestly, "we don’t have time to argue about this. Jack’s back, and he’s on your side, like he always was. We have a plan, but we need all of you."
We all scrambled out of bed and clambered back into our clothes. A quick glance out the window informed me that it wasn’t all that late yet. Meanwhile Denton was quickly explaining his plan.
He, Jack, Dave and Sarah would sneak into the Circulation building, making sure not to wake Weasel, and down into the basement where an old printing press was left over after the newer ones had been installed. They would compose and print a newsletter that explained the exploitation of child labor and what was wrong with the Refuge. From there, they would pass the stacks out to us. It was our job to get those newsletters to every person we could. The goal being a city wide strike of all child laborers. Denton seemed to have someone else in mind as well, but he kept this to himself.
I followed them out with everyone else, past Kloppman, who was grumbling about how it was too late to go galavanting around, although he had a gleam in his eye and a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. We halted just outside the back entrance of Newspaper Alley.
"We’re already borrowin’ old man Pulitzer’s press," Jack grinned as he whispered softly to us, "so I don’t think he’ll mind to much if we borrow his wagon and horse as well. Why don’t youse go around and get ‘em ready." He jerked his head towards the nearby stables then turned to help Sarah sneak through the window.
We scattered, some boys dashing around to different parts of the building and street to keep watch, and others, myself included, ran off to get the horse. As soon as I passed through the stable doors, my nose was filled with the scents of hay, manure and horse. I nearly jumped out of my skin as Race struck a match next to me and lit a lamp. Fiddling with the nob, he adjusted it so we had enough light to see by, but not enough that a passerby might notice.
Mush, Dutchy and Specs ran over to get the harness while Jake, Snitch and Pie Eater started to pull the wagon out. I followed Race over to the horse. He murmured softly to it, gently stroking it’s soft nose and letting it get accustomed to his scent. I held out my hand as well, feeling it’s warm breath and whiskers as it sniffed my hand. Taking a gentle hold of it’s halter, Race eased the horse out of its stall.
We quickly got the horse hitched to the wagon, tightening the straps and adjusting the blinkers, although Race muttered that there really wasn’t a need for them this early in the morning. Jumping onto the wagon, Race took hold of the reins and we brought the horse around to the street. I wasn’t the only one who winced at the clatter, but no one came running out demanding to know what we were doing or yelling for the police.
The sky was turning a pale shade of pink as I darted over to the window and peered in. Jack came over and whispered, although I doubted anyone could have heard him over the printing. How could Weasel and the others sleep through that?
"Heya, Squeaker, go get the others an’ bring ‘em over here. We’re gonna load up the wagon first." He gestured to the bundles that they already had done. I nodded and was back with some more newsies as quick as I could. David immediately began passing bundles of newsletters up to us, and we trudged back and forth between the wagon to fill it up.
My heart was beating hard with excitement, and the sky was a pale, cloudless blue when we finished. People were beginning to stir on the streets as I was handed a bundle of papers and instructed to hand them out to anybody and everybody. If I ran out, I only needed to find the wagon to get another stack. Nodding, I headed out.

* * *

For the first time in over a year, I crossed the Brooklyn Bridge. Praying that I wouldn’t run across my family, I began handing out newsletters to any kid who acknowledged that they could read. It didn’t take me too long before I caught site of some of the Brooklyn strikers. They were half-heartedly jeering a scab who was attempting to sell his papes. I thrust out a copy of the newsletter. "Here, read dis!" The tallest boy in the group accepted the paper and held it out for the others to read. After a moment, he glanced up at me in surprise.
"Yer one of Jack’s newsies, ain’tcha?" He asked me. I answered affirmatively and was about to continue on when he grabbed my arm. "No, come with me." Still holding onto my arm, the tall boy lead me through the streets, his cohorts forming a line behind us. We turned several corners and I briefly saw the bulk of my old factory as we neared the wharfs.
He dropped my arm and stepped forward toward the end of the pier. More Brooklyn newsies had gathered and I was hidden in their midst. "Spot, I think youse oughta read dis." There was a slight pause, then Spot’s voice asked,
"Where’s you get dis, Sneak?" Sneak glanced around then hauled me forward.
"Him, he was passin’ ‘em out."
"Well, Squeaker, it looks like youse guys is doin’ pretty good without Jacky-boy. Unless a’couse, dose rumors about him bein’ back are true." He looked down at me from his perch on a pile of crates, his expression unreadable.
"Dey’re true, Spot," I told him, wondering just how he had found out so quickly and whether or not he would come back. "Jack was threatened by Pulitzer into goin’ scab, but he couldn’t do it, an’ now we’re gettin’ everybody to strike. Da whole city!"
Spot continued to look at me, his face solemn. "Jacky-boy told me dat youse wasn’t playin’ around. I’m not sure anymore if you are or not."
"We’re not! I swear it, Spot! We never were!" I stammered, not sure how to go about convincing him of my sincerity. "I was just as disappointed as you were when Jack turned, and I wasn’t about to believe him at first when he came in dis mornin’, but… oh, how do I explain dis? I believe him, Spot. I believe him, and I believe David. We’re not foolin’ around. Not now, not anymore, and we’re gonna do dis. I believe dat we can do it all on our own, but it would sure make it easier if you and Brooklyn were all der with us."
Spot leaned back slightly, still regarding me. I shrugged and turned away. "Do whatcha will, Spot, you always do, but I gotta get goin’. We got a strike to win."

* * *

I sat down against the Horace Greely statue and swatted at a fly buzzing in my face. The midday sun was pouring down on my friends and I as we all sat there waiting and waiting and waiting. It shouldn’t be that much longer, I told myself for the eighth time that day. From where I was sitting, I could see Mush walking over to talk to Jack, Dave standing with his arm around Sara, and Les peering intently down the street. Everything was quiet. Not the lazy kind of quiet that you’d usually find midday on a warm summer day, but a tense quiet, like the lull in a thunderstorm. My mind fled back to that night before the strike began. The night that the silence woke me.
I was standing up, and the other were as well, when, clear as the circulation bell, we heard the sound of thunder. A feet tramping, voices chanting thunder that was thousands strong. A breath later, all the children of the city were swarming into the square. Their faces may have been smudged with soot and dirt, and their clothes may have been worn and plain, but their voices were loud, and their eyes were bright, and their clenched fists waved our papers in the air.
From one side, I heard voices bellowing, "Brooklyn!" and turned to see Spot spearheading the mass of strikers from over the bridge. The groups met, massed, and pressed closer to the World office building. I felt a hand on my shoulder.
"I believe you, Squeaker," Spot hollered in my ear. He chuckled, the sound barely audible over the chanting. "I believed you dis mornin’ after dat eloquent speech you gave, an’ I woulda been here sooner, but it took longer than I thought to get everyone t’gether."
Spot grabbed me then, and dragged me along behind Jack and the others who were making their way through to the gates. We paused there, grinning at the line of bulls who were looking in askance at the mass of strikers, and cheered on Jack and Dave as they were admitted through.
I don’t know how long we waited. The chanting died off after a while, and I stood with some of the others trying to peer through the gates and keep away from the bulls at the same time. Spot gave us all a disgusted look and waltzed right passed them and up to the bars of the gate.
"Hey, fellas, he’s over here!" I heard him yell out. "Over here!" He darted back around, motioning us closer to the gates, and darted back as Dave and Jack came through. I eyed them closely. They weren’t jumping for joy, but at the same time, they weren’t swearing and cursing. Their faces were carefully schooled and emotionless. The crowd hushed, even the bulls were giving us their full attention, and I saw Jack lean down to whisper something into Les’ ear before he hoisted him onto his shoulders.
"We won!"
Anything else he may have said was drowned out in the cacophony that followed. I was yelling and jumping and thumping Dutchy on the back. It was almost too good to be true. The most powerful man in New York City, brought down by a ragged army of street urchins.
In that moment, I realized where the true power of the world lay. The rich only had the power because we let them, but when we knew what we had, we could turn the whole system around on them and win. I knew for the rest of my life, I would never again be oppressed simply because I was one of the working masses. For all their wealth and easy living, the rich and "powerful" couldn’t do anything without my cooperation, and with this knowledge, I could overcome them.
It was a wonderful feeling.
"Jack, Jack, it’s da bulls! Lemme down!" That was Les. I turned to see Jack set him down and start to push his way away from the bulls. Denton intercepted him.
"Jack, it’s over," Jack seemed inclined to agree and once again started to retreat, but Denton grabbed him. "No, no, you don’t have to run. Not any more. Not from the likes of them!" Smiling, he began to lead Jack, not away from the black, barred carriage, but towards it, the newsies following obediently behind them. That’s when I saw the policemen opening the doors, and a group of boys enthusiastically jumping down to join the masses. They were releasing the Refuge prisoners! I scanned the faces, but only saw a couple that I vaguely recognized. I felt a quick stab of fear. I knew he had been beaten up pretty badly, but still…
That’s when the tall, slightly stooped boy we were all waiting for stepped out of the vehicle, and, grinning broadly, jumped down. The bulls then lead up Weasel, the Delancies and Warden Snyder into the carriage. They swung the doors shut, and everyone cheered as Crutchy locked it behind them.
"Oh, Jack, you shoulda seen it!" he cried as he hobbled over to us. "He comes stormin’ into da Refuge, wavin’ his walkin’ stick like a sword, an’ he’s leadin’ dis army of lawyers an’ cops…"
"Who comes walkin’ in?" Jack inquired, as much in the dark as we were.
Crutchy seemed startled that he didn’t know. "Oh, you know, your friend," he pointed at a man in a nearby buggy who had previously escaped our notice. "Him, Teddy Roosevelt!"
My jaw dropped. Teddy Roosevelt? The Teddy Roosevelt? Then that old story of Jack sneaking out of the Refuge in his carriage must be true!
"The governor’s very grateful that you brought this problem to his attention," Denton was telling Jack, and I realized that that was whom he had gone to see this morning while we were passing out flyers. "I said you might need a lift somewhere. He’s glad to oblige, anywhere you want, and this time you ride inside."
"So, could he drop me off at the train yards?" Jack asked, not taking his eyes off of Teddy Roosevelt. I exchanged glances with Race. Was Jack leaving us?
"Yeah," Denton told him, "if that’s what you want."
I didn’t follow the group of cheering newsies that chased the buggy down the street. We had won, and that made me feel wonderful, but it didn’t seem right that Jack should be leaving so soon. I caught site of the Jacobs standing together, and caught the glimmer of tears on Les’ cheeks.
The circulation bell started tolling and I turned with the others to respond to it. The crowd was breaking up, and I glanced around, startled that that was it. We won, and now everything would go back to normal. Snitch smiled at me as I got in line.
"Seems a little odd, don’t it?" He asked. "All dat ruckus, an’ now we just go back to normal!" I agreed.
"It’s gonna be even weirder with Jack gone."
"At least we still got Dave."
At that moment, Dave approached the window, and held up a fifty cent piece so everyone could see it. Slapping it down, his said, "Hundred papes!"
For the second time that day, I heard rumbling cheers echo down the streets, and turned around amid startled exclamations to see Teddy Roosevelt’s buggy, with Jack still inside, pull into the area. Forgetting the papes, I ran over with the others in an excited welcome. As I got closer, I heard Jack say to the Governor, "…besides, I got family here." He jumped down and smiled up at David. "How’s da headline t’day?"
Dave paused a moment, then putting on his cap, smiled, and stated, "Headlines don’t sell papes, newsies sell papes!"
The world turns and times change, I realized as Jack embraced Sarah, ignoring the catcalls we gave them, but we were a family, and for a while longer at least, we would stay that way.




(beginning of) Part Two

Part One

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