Disclaimer: All of the newsies belong to Disney. The plot, Mouse, Mr. Buresh, and the "rich lady" belong to me.
Chapter One
We were in the middle of a poker game when Spot arrived at the lodging house.
"I need to talk to you, Jacky-boy," he announced, "now."
"Just a minute, Spot," I replied distractedly. "I'm in the middle of a game."
Spot wandered around the table, finally stopping directly behind Racetrack, who sat absolutely still. Nothing could distract Racetrack from a poker game. "Race has four aces," Spot mused. He moved one spot over, now staring at my cards. "And you have two eights," he proclaimed to the rest of the table. "Which means that you will lose, so it's pointless of you to keep playing."
I shrugged and threw my cards facedown on the table, knowing full well that if Spot had been in my situation, with my hand, he would have played to the end. Together, Spot and I climbed the rickety lodging house stairs to the deserted bunkroom. I didn't bother to ask Spot what was going on; I knew that he would tell me promptly.
"I found something when I was out selling today, Jacky-boy," he said. Again, I waited without asking, although my mind was racing. Spot was not the type of person who would find a quarter in the gutter and walk all the way to Manhattan just to brag that he, as usual, had made more money than I had.
"I'll give you three guesses what it was," Spot continued.
"A dollar, a girl, or a porcelain tub with boiling water," I quipped.
"Ha, ha, Jacky-boy," Spot said dryly. "I found a kid."
"Your own?" I wondered.
"No," Spot replied vehemently. "I don't have any children."
"Amazing, what with all the girls you've slept with," I muttered.
"Jack, the kid's five years old," Spot said, ignoring my comment.
"Does he have parents?"
"He won't tell me."
"Did you take him to an orphanage?" I asked, already knowing what the answer would be. For some unknown, reason, Spot despises orphanages.
"No. He's at the Brooklyn lodge."
"Well, congratulations, Spot, ya got yourself a new newsie," I said. "What are ya telling me for?'
"Jack, he's too young to stay in Brooklyn," Spot explained. "He's barely big enough to hold a slingshot!"
"Well, he's not coming to Manhattan, Conlon," I decided firmly. "There's no room for him. Snitch and Itey already have to share a bed."
"Do you really think they mind?" Spot asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.
"Yes," I replied, although in truth I wasn't sure. "You know Snitch has a girlfriend."
"Oh, and have you ever actually met her?" Spot pointed out. "I mean, c'mon Jack, the guy's fifteen and he still sucks his thumb!"
I rolled my eyes. "I still say the kid's not coming to Manhattan."
"What am I supposed to do, Jack?' Spot asked. "He'll get killed in Brooklyn. He'll get killed even faster if I send him somewhere like Harlem or the Barrier. At least you or Race or someone will watch out for him in Manhattan."
"Watch out for who?" Race asked, walking innocently into the bunkroom. "Oh, heya, Spot, thanks for ruining the poker game for me."
"Any time, Race," Spot said amiably. "Hey, how would you like someone new in Manhattan to play poker with?"
"Is he any good?" Race queried, his eyes lighting up at the mere thought of yet another inexperienced newsie to squander money from.
"He's five years old, and he's not coming to Manhattan," I said emphatically, gritting my teeth. Spot just never gave up.
"Jack, what do you have against new newsies?' Race asked. "You didn't mind when David and Les came."
"We didn't have to fit David and Les into the lodging house!" I said, exasperated.
"So tell Kloppman to get another bunk," Race suggested. "There wasn't much room at the lodge when you came, either, but Chips let you stay." I winced at that comment. Race was one of the few newsies who had lived in the Manhattan lodge before I had, and both of us remembered the kindness and generosity of Chips, our former leader.
"Will you teach him how to sell?" I asked, my steadfast mindset already crumbling.
"Sure," Race agreed, reaching for the box on his bedside table. Finding it empty, he lifted up Snipeshooter's mattress and dug underneath it for a few moments. With a small exclamation of joy, he pulled out two slightly squashed cigars, tossing one to Spot and lighting the other for himself.
"All right," I said, sticking one hand under the mattress to grab a cigar of my own. "He can stay in Manhattan."
"Thanks, Jacky-boy," Spot said, jumping up and holding his hand out to me. I spit in my palm and we shook, sealing the agreement. "I knew I could convince ya."
Chapter One
We were in the middle of a poker game when Spot arrived at the lodging house.
"I need to talk to you, Jacky-boy," he announced, "now."
"Just a minute, Spot," I replied distractedly. "I'm in the middle of a game."
Spot wandered around the table, finally stopping directly behind Racetrack, who sat absolutely still. Nothing could distract Racetrack from a poker game. "Race has four aces," Spot mused. He moved one spot over, now staring at my cards. "And you have two eights," he proclaimed to the rest of the table. "Which means that you will lose, so it's pointless of you to keep playing."
I shrugged and threw my cards facedown on the table, knowing full well that if Spot had been in my situation, with my hand, he would have played to the end. Together, Spot and I climbed the rickety lodging house stairs to the deserted bunkroom. I didn't bother to ask Spot what was going on; I knew that he would tell me promptly.
"I found something when I was out selling today, Jacky-boy," he said. Again, I waited without asking, although my mind was racing. Spot was not the type of person who would find a quarter in the gutter and walk all the way to Manhattan just to brag that he, as usual, had made more money than I had.
"I'll give you three guesses what it was," Spot continued.
"A dollar, a girl, or a porcelain tub with boiling water," I quipped.
"Ha, ha, Jacky-boy," Spot said dryly. "I found a kid."
"Your own?" I wondered.
"No," Spot replied vehemently. "I don't have any children."
"Amazing, what with all the girls you've slept with," I muttered.
"Jack, the kid's five years old," Spot said, ignoring my comment.
"Does he have parents?"
"He won't tell me."
"Did you take him to an orphanage?" I asked, already knowing what the answer would be. For some unknown, reason, Spot despises orphanages.
"No. He's at the Brooklyn lodge."
"Well, congratulations, Spot, ya got yourself a new newsie," I said. "What are ya telling me for?'
"Jack, he's too young to stay in Brooklyn," Spot explained. "He's barely big enough to hold a slingshot!"
"Well, he's not coming to Manhattan, Conlon," I decided firmly. "There's no room for him. Snitch and Itey already have to share a bed."
"Do you really think they mind?" Spot asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.
"Yes," I replied, although in truth I wasn't sure. "You know Snitch has a girlfriend."
"Oh, and have you ever actually met her?" Spot pointed out. "I mean, c'mon Jack, the guy's fifteen and he still sucks his thumb!"
I rolled my eyes. "I still say the kid's not coming to Manhattan."
"What am I supposed to do, Jack?' Spot asked. "He'll get killed in Brooklyn. He'll get killed even faster if I send him somewhere like Harlem or the Barrier. At least you or Race or someone will watch out for him in Manhattan."
"Watch out for who?" Race asked, walking innocently into the bunkroom. "Oh, heya, Spot, thanks for ruining the poker game for me."
"Any time, Race," Spot said amiably. "Hey, how would you like someone new in Manhattan to play poker with?"
"Is he any good?" Race queried, his eyes lighting up at the mere thought of yet another inexperienced newsie to squander money from.
"He's five years old, and he's not coming to Manhattan," I said emphatically, gritting my teeth. Spot just never gave up.
"Jack, what do you have against new newsies?' Race asked. "You didn't mind when David and Les came."
"We didn't have to fit David and Les into the lodging house!" I said, exasperated.
"So tell Kloppman to get another bunk," Race suggested. "There wasn't much room at the lodge when you came, either, but Chips let you stay." I winced at that comment. Race was one of the few newsies who had lived in the Manhattan lodge before I had, and both of us remembered the kindness and generosity of Chips, our former leader.
"Will you teach him how to sell?" I asked, my steadfast mindset already crumbling.
"Sure," Race agreed, reaching for the box on his bedside table. Finding it empty, he lifted up Snipeshooter's mattress and dug underneath it for a few moments. With a small exclamation of joy, he pulled out two slightly squashed cigars, tossing one to Spot and lighting the other for himself.
"All right," I said, sticking one hand under the mattress to grab a cigar of my own. "He can stay in Manhattan."
"Thanks, Jacky-boy," Spot said, jumping up and holding his hand out to me. I spit in my palm and we shook, sealing the agreement. "I knew I could convince ya."