"Hey, you can't do that!"
The total of basically all the chairs in the Lodging House were gathered around in the living room, all in a lopsided, haphazard circle. The newsies ran helter-skelter as Davey sat at the cracked piano they had dug out of somewhere. He was surprisingly a good musician—when he wasn't reprimanding the newsies for their efforts at the game of musical chairs. He sat on the rickety bench with his hands poised above the keys, looking over the sea of guilty faces. Davey sighed.
"Crutchie, don't trip Specs."
Crutchie's hands flew up in the air. "Wasn't me!"
"You're the only one with a crutch 'round 'ere!" Specs shot at him.
"Yeah, well, what about Henry?!" Crutchie gestured to him. "He's got one o' those sticks!"
"I was nowhere near Specs!" Henry protested. "Maybe it was Finch!"
"It wasn't Finch, it was Crutchie!"
"Boys, stop arguin' an' get on with the game!" Jack interrupted just before Davey furiously started playing the piano again. The newsies rushed around the chairs, trying to cheat and push each other over while not being caught by Davey. The scraping of chairs and protests from the boys suddenly came alive as Davey stopped.
"Jack, yous sittin' on me!"
Jack hurriedly stood up, jumping back from the chair. Crutchie quickly slid into it, giving Jack a winning smile. Jack threw his hands up in the air, outraged. "That ain't fair!"
Davey forced back his grin as he tried to control his laughter. "Jack, you're out."