"What's your matter girl? I thought you wanted to go!" He scolded.

"No, I NEED to go! I need this hand to play poker."

He stopped, "Here we are, quickly now, there's nobody at headquarters."

We stepped inside and some lady greeted him by name and asked if it was another stray he'd found and he kidded with her that I'd come to him, and needed to be taken care of right away because the station was unattended. She told us to go to a room that seemed to be situated in a hole in the wall and the smell, that awful sterile smell hit me like a ton of bricks and I recoiled, refusing to enter.

"What is it now?" He questioned, losing his patience.

"It smells!"

"It's clean!"

"He's gonna hurt me!"

"Not as much as I will!"

"That's a threat!"

"No it's not."

"I ain't goin' in there!"

"Yes, you are!" And he gave a forceful push in through the door which sent me sprawling over an examination table and I rolled over and accidentally kicked over a tray of metal tools which flew with the grace of a dove and landed with the grace of a cow on the floor....rained on the officer, too.
Then, A man who I assumed was the doctor came in and seemed almost amused at the sight.

"Now then Officer MacRae, what seems to be the problem?" He smiled warmly, and I knew it had to be a front...So I butted in before MacRae could answer.

"The stupid lunk br..." I was cut off by a sharp slap in the face which was quickly defended.

"Very unruly, could get out of hand again."

"I see," he looked at me. "Don't they teach you children manners any more?" It was a sweet smile and it churned my stomach.

I never trusted doctors, they scared me, hurt me, and their remedies were always more painful than the actual problem...so I quit going all together. I imagine it's resulted in a few more scars and problems than if I'd go, but I won't....I thought earlier that it might have been beneficial to go and have them fix up my arm in one of those fancy plaster casts....sympathy at the trial.

"Ow!!" I shouted at the impact of another quick slap, "What was 'at for?"

"Th' Doctor asked you a question, answer him!" MacRae shouted.

"I din't 'ear 'im."

"It's all right, officer, really," the Doctor looked at me. "I said, what seems to be the problem?"

"My arm... I got into a fight," I glared at MacRae. "And SOMEONE hurt it in the process...I think it's broke."

The doctor did his examination, poking and prodding and finally decided that it was. He did exactly what I expected, putting on one of those heavy plaster casts that are visible to everyone; what can I say? It has ups and downs. I wouldn't be able to go out without covering it...if one of them Manhattan newsies saw I was hurt, they'd use it for their own advantage...kick 'em when they're up and harder when they're down, eh?