The Tale of a Gold-Tipped Cane
Prologue
by Ki Knotts
~New York City, New York, USA, 1899~
"SPOT!"
The young man in question raised his face to Drop, the child whose golden eyes were clouded by the dust kicked up by pairs of boots. "Stop yellin', will ya? Ya gunna..."
Oscar Delancey shadowed the pair of boys; his evil sneer implied the nature of his action. Thick black locks peeked under the bowler, and a black vest covered a fuchsia shirt. "Say nighty-night, Spotty." He pulled his leg back threateningly, and Spot, waiting in a livid stun, shut his eyes.
"No!" The minute body of Drop, the newest of the Brooklyn newsies, blocked Oscar's aim. A deafening whop sounded as Oscar's shoe connected with his ribs.
Smokey-blue eyes widened at the horrible yelp. "Ya kicked a kid! Ya bum! Wheah's ya 'onah?" Spot struggled to his feet, fingers curling instinctively around the gold-tipped cane on his belt-loop.
"Wada ya gonna do about it, Spotty?" The foe grinned devilishly and motioned for him to come forward.
Spot had always been an obliging boy.
"Case 09781!"
Drop hung his head in shame, while Spot cracked a comment about the number of his case. Oscar glared at him under his bowler, then jumped as the judge cleared his throat. The audience, consisting of Jack Kelly and Davey Jacobs, both respectable Manhattan newsies; and Ink, Spot's trusted right-hand man; smirked at Oscar's rebuke. Men and women crowded behind the gates of the courtroom.
"Mr. Conlon, Mr. Delancey, Mr. Swenson." the judge gave each boy a reproving look as his name was spoken. "You have all been charged with assault of a minor."
Spot opened his mouth, staring at the man. "Oscar ain't no miner! He's a scabber!"
A few loud snickers washed over the room, bringing the judge to silence them. "No, young man. I meant minor, as in underage."
"Oh."
"Do you deny these charges?"
"How much would it cost?" Spot's eyes twinkled with an rascally grin, a trademark of the Brooklyn leader.
Glare. "I meant... oh, forget it."
"Listen, mister, you lost me a long way back."
"I sentence you each to a year of hard labor, or a fine of three dollars and seventy-five cents." Again the judge raised his gavel to signify the end of the case, but Spot shouted:
"This is an obstruction of justice!!"
It received a stare. "How would tha-"
"Judge, wait!" a young lady shoved through the gates and past the bailiff. "I'm here to speak for Mr. Conlon and Mr. Swenson."
Her auburn hair was piled high under a flowered pin, and she lifted the hem of her skirt as she raced toward the front of the courtroom, giving the whole room a good view of her wine-red petticoats. It was obvious she was genteel, for her dress and speech were as refined as they possibly could be. The judge laid his gavel across the wooden panel in front of him, surprised.
"May I ask your name, miss?" he questioned as he leaned forward.
She sighed and shook her head. "It isn't necessary, sir. Just know that I saw the squabble between these three, and I know that Mr. Conlon's actions were in self-defense. Mr. Delancey is the only one in the wrong." then she opened her coin purse and shuffled through it. "But if you still wish to punish them, I'll pay their fines."
The judge turned to look down at Spot. "Is this true, young man?"
The Brooklyn leader nodded slowly then smiled. "Absolutely, judgie."
"Then I see no reason to fine you or Mr. Swenson. However..." the judge's gaze fell to Oscar.
"I'll pay his fine." the girl cut in. "How much was it?"
Oscar lifted his chin. "I'll pay me own fine."
"You will do no such thing." she replied, sliding three dollars and seventy-five cents forward toward the judge. "Thank you, your Honor." As the bailiff let the three newsies out of the box, the judge spoke again.
"You would, of course, be so kind as to escort these three home, to make sure they don't row anymore?"
She nodded and turned back toward the exit. "Come along."
Spot started to follow, then narrowed his eyes. "I know you..."
~*END PROLOGUE*~