"You know I'm a girl, don't you?"
He nodded. "Why did you disguise yourself?"
"Brooklyn's dangerous. There's lots of scabbers and the newsies are a little ruff at times and I didn't want to get hurt. Then I've heard about this short, little fellow who thinks he's the king over all of the Brooklyn newsies. They all respect him only because they're afraid of him."
He IS the King of Brooklyn. This IS MY territory. I'm Spot Conlon, King of Brooklyn."
"I know."
"How'd you know?"
She pointed to the key on a chain around his neck. "You're the key to Brooklyn. Get passed you, get passed Brooklyn. Your gold-tipped cane means you're in charge and if anyone defies you, you hit them over the head with it. You're cocky and proud, your ego is big enough to overflow Brooklyn itself, and the way you talk and hold your body shows you're used to being obeyed at ever command. And last, but definitely not least, that shiny thing around you neck." She ended her tirade as if her last sentence would explain itself.
He looked down at it and gingerly touched it. His face was totally swiped clean from any emotion what-so-ever.
"Not the key, but that rectangular piece of metal. The inscription on it is a crown, isn't it?"
His face showed no expression or emotion at what she had just revealed.
("How did you get all that information with just the few moments we've been together?"
"Observation and deduction," was her simple reply.)
"You're a very good, quick observer. I might be able to use that. But I have just one simple question: why did you talk about me like you didn't know it was me, even though you did?"
"Just curious how you would react to being insulted in your face."
"And how did that work out for you?" he said smugly, thinking he had kept his true emotions off his face at the time.
"Everything I had hoped for and more." She smirked. "Much more."