Shit. Spot Conlon, leader of the Brooklyn Newsies, was still several blocks
from the Manhattan Newsboys Lodging House, when the light snow turned into
a full-fledged blizzard. He slid his cane into the belt loop of his pants,
and prepared to sprint for safety.
What was dat? A series of thunks and muted grunts of pain reached his ears. Sounds like a fight. Unable to contain his curiosity, he tracked the sounds to a nearby alley. When he got there, he could see the combatants. There were six thugs attacking a teenage boy, who was dressed like a newsie, in dark pants, boots, a dirty white shirt, and the traditional gray newsie hat.
Spot was about to come to the boy's rescue, when he noticed that the boy didn't seem to need his help. The thugs rarely landed a punch, and when they did, it never hit where it was intended to. The boy was an excellent fighter. He had already knocked out one of his attackers, and was in the process of doing the same to another. Interested, Spot climbed part way up a nearby fire escape for a better view.
When it was clear that the mysterious boy would win the fight, one of the thugs pulled back out of the fray. The thug picked up a metal pipe that was lying nearby. Uh-oh. Thought Spot. He tried to yell a warning, but it went unheard in the noise of the fight. The boy was too busy with the other four attackers to notice his danger. He triumphantly delivered the knockout punch to one of his assailants, when the man with the pipe drew back his arm, and smashed the pipe into the side of the boy's head, with a sickening crunch.
The boy dropped like a stone. When he hit the ground, his hat flew off. To everyone's astonishment, a mass of blonde hair tumbled out. After staring dumbly at his fallen adversary, the man with the pipe grinned. "Oy! This 'un be a lassie!" He had a thick Scottish accent. "Cor! I were looking' fer ought ta do tanight!" Then Spot noticed Scottish-man was unbuttoning his pants.
Spot felt nauseous. Spurred into action, he vaulted over the railing of the fire escape, and landed with minimum difficulty on the slushy ground, right behind the thugs. They whirled, and stared at him in astonishment. "Didn't yer madda evah tell you'se not ta hoit a lady?" He grinned as the familiar rush of adrenaline flooded him.
Calmly, he walked up to Scottish-man, and punched him as hard as he could. The thug's head snapped back, and he dropped to the ground, unconscious. With a grunt, another thug charged him. Spot just kicked him in the crotch, and slammed the heel of his hand into the thug's nose. Like his partner, this one was out like a light.
Spot turned to the remaining two attackers. "You'se fellahs ready?" He asked, cracking his knuckles. They stood very still, then turned and bolted. Spot watched them go, making sure they weren't going to double back. Then he turned to the fallen girl.
She was very pretty. With shoulder-length, curly blonde hair, long eyelashes, a spattering of freckles, and perfect lips. I wondah what it would be like ta kiss dose lips. He shook his head. Not now Spot. She's hoit.
A trickle of blood ran over her face, from where the pipe had scraped her. She looked to be about 17, and tall for her age, about Spot's height. So he was careful when he lifted her. To his surprise, she was very light. With a grunt, he set out for the lodging house on Duane Street.
Spot was very relieved when at last he saw the comforting lights of the lodging house ahead. The snow, forgotten during the fight, had soaked both Spot and his burden to the bone. He couldn't wait to get into warm, dry clothes, and have a cup of hot coffee. Finally, he burst in the door of the lodging house. The old man behind the desk looked up in surprise at the dripping Spot, and the girl in his arms. "Esplanations latah Kloppman. She's wet, hoit, an' needs someweahs ta sleep." Kloppman took over from there.
"Swifty," he halted a newsie who had just walked in. "Could you have Doc Robertson drop in?" As Swifty hurried off, Kloppman turned to Spot, who was sagging against the wall. "You can put her on the bottom bunk in your room." He said, holding the door open to the stairs. "Shoah thing." Said Spot, as he obediently started up the stairs. Kloppman hurried ahead of Spot, and opened the door at the end of the hall.
All the newsies looked up in askance, as Kloppman opened the door to the bunkroom, and a wet, bedraggled Spot staggered in. Then they noticed the unconscious girl in his arms. Spot trudged to the door next to the washroom. Opening it, he gently set his burden down on the lower bunk. He brushed the hair from her face, and wiped away some of the blood with a towel. He suddenly found himself very close to her face.
Someone cleared their throat behind him. Spot jumped, and then blushed as he saw Jack Kelly standing in the doorway. "Hey Jacky-boy." Said Spot, trying to recover his dignity. "Heya Spot." Replied Jack, amused at seeing that this girl had Spot already off-balance, and she wasn't even awake! Spot and Jack spit-shook. Then they walked into the bunkroom, and Spot sat down on Jack's bunk. All the newsies stopped what they were doing, and looked at Spot expectantly. "So Spot, what happened?" asked Jack.
"Well," said Spot. "I was on me way ovah heah, when I heahs da noise a fightin'. So I go see what's the hell is goin' on, ya know. When I gets dere, six a da biggest goons I evah saw, was fightin' dis kid, dat's dressed like a newsie. I was about ta go help him, when I notice, dis guy don' need my help. He was takin' dem all down. Den one a da goons grabs dis metal pipe off da ground, an' hits da kid ovah da head wit' it. Da kid falls down, an' his hat flies off. An' whadda ya know! It's a goyl! So I'se step in, 'cause da kid got knocked out, see. I chase da thugs off, an' bring her back heahs. Dat okay wit chu?"
Everyone nodded, and Spot stretched. " Now I'se tired, so I'se gonna hit da sack. Night." Spot left to a chorus of "Night Spot." He shut the door to his room, and set his cane, hat, and slingshot on the dresser. He pulled off his shirt, and climbed up to the top bunk. His last conscious thought was of the girl sleeping below him.
After being awakened by Kloppman, Spot headed for the washroom to shave. After shaving, he got dressed, and found Jack. "So did da doc show up?" asked Spot. Jack grinned. "Yup. Said she'd be okay, but someone needs ta stay wit' her, 'till she wakes up." Spot thought about it. "I can't. I gots ta eoin me some money foist." Jack looked around. "Well, Blink's broke, so's Race-" Spot snorted. "When's he not?" Jack laughed. "As I was sayin', Race is broke, and so is Mush. Look's like I'se gotta do it. I got extra money." Confident that the girl would be looked after, Spot joined the other newsies on the way to get their papes.
What was dat? A series of thunks and muted grunts of pain reached his ears. Sounds like a fight. Unable to contain his curiosity, he tracked the sounds to a nearby alley. When he got there, he could see the combatants. There were six thugs attacking a teenage boy, who was dressed like a newsie, in dark pants, boots, a dirty white shirt, and the traditional gray newsie hat.
Spot was about to come to the boy's rescue, when he noticed that the boy didn't seem to need his help. The thugs rarely landed a punch, and when they did, it never hit where it was intended to. The boy was an excellent fighter. He had already knocked out one of his attackers, and was in the process of doing the same to another. Interested, Spot climbed part way up a nearby fire escape for a better view.
When it was clear that the mysterious boy would win the fight, one of the thugs pulled back out of the fray. The thug picked up a metal pipe that was lying nearby. Uh-oh. Thought Spot. He tried to yell a warning, but it went unheard in the noise of the fight. The boy was too busy with the other four attackers to notice his danger. He triumphantly delivered the knockout punch to one of his assailants, when the man with the pipe drew back his arm, and smashed the pipe into the side of the boy's head, with a sickening crunch.
The boy dropped like a stone. When he hit the ground, his hat flew off. To everyone's astonishment, a mass of blonde hair tumbled out. After staring dumbly at his fallen adversary, the man with the pipe grinned. "Oy! This 'un be a lassie!" He had a thick Scottish accent. "Cor! I were looking' fer ought ta do tanight!" Then Spot noticed Scottish-man was unbuttoning his pants.
Spot felt nauseous. Spurred into action, he vaulted over the railing of the fire escape, and landed with minimum difficulty on the slushy ground, right behind the thugs. They whirled, and stared at him in astonishment. "Didn't yer madda evah tell you'se not ta hoit a lady?" He grinned as the familiar rush of adrenaline flooded him.
Calmly, he walked up to Scottish-man, and punched him as hard as he could. The thug's head snapped back, and he dropped to the ground, unconscious. With a grunt, another thug charged him. Spot just kicked him in the crotch, and slammed the heel of his hand into the thug's nose. Like his partner, this one was out like a light.
Spot turned to the remaining two attackers. "You'se fellahs ready?" He asked, cracking his knuckles. They stood very still, then turned and bolted. Spot watched them go, making sure they weren't going to double back. Then he turned to the fallen girl.
She was very pretty. With shoulder-length, curly blonde hair, long eyelashes, a spattering of freckles, and perfect lips. I wondah what it would be like ta kiss dose lips. He shook his head. Not now Spot. She's hoit.
A trickle of blood ran over her face, from where the pipe had scraped her. She looked to be about 17, and tall for her age, about Spot's height. So he was careful when he lifted her. To his surprise, she was very light. With a grunt, he set out for the lodging house on Duane Street.
Spot was very relieved when at last he saw the comforting lights of the lodging house ahead. The snow, forgotten during the fight, had soaked both Spot and his burden to the bone. He couldn't wait to get into warm, dry clothes, and have a cup of hot coffee. Finally, he burst in the door of the lodging house. The old man behind the desk looked up in surprise at the dripping Spot, and the girl in his arms. "Esplanations latah Kloppman. She's wet, hoit, an' needs someweahs ta sleep." Kloppman took over from there.
"Swifty," he halted a newsie who had just walked in. "Could you have Doc Robertson drop in?" As Swifty hurried off, Kloppman turned to Spot, who was sagging against the wall. "You can put her on the bottom bunk in your room." He said, holding the door open to the stairs. "Shoah thing." Said Spot, as he obediently started up the stairs. Kloppman hurried ahead of Spot, and opened the door at the end of the hall.
All the newsies looked up in askance, as Kloppman opened the door to the bunkroom, and a wet, bedraggled Spot staggered in. Then they noticed the unconscious girl in his arms. Spot trudged to the door next to the washroom. Opening it, he gently set his burden down on the lower bunk. He brushed the hair from her face, and wiped away some of the blood with a towel. He suddenly found himself very close to her face.
Someone cleared their throat behind him. Spot jumped, and then blushed as he saw Jack Kelly standing in the doorway. "Hey Jacky-boy." Said Spot, trying to recover his dignity. "Heya Spot." Replied Jack, amused at seeing that this girl had Spot already off-balance, and she wasn't even awake! Spot and Jack spit-shook. Then they walked into the bunkroom, and Spot sat down on Jack's bunk. All the newsies stopped what they were doing, and looked at Spot expectantly. "So Spot, what happened?" asked Jack.
"Well," said Spot. "I was on me way ovah heah, when I heahs da noise a fightin'. So I go see what's the hell is goin' on, ya know. When I gets dere, six a da biggest goons I evah saw, was fightin' dis kid, dat's dressed like a newsie. I was about ta go help him, when I notice, dis guy don' need my help. He was takin' dem all down. Den one a da goons grabs dis metal pipe off da ground, an' hits da kid ovah da head wit' it. Da kid falls down, an' his hat flies off. An' whadda ya know! It's a goyl! So I'se step in, 'cause da kid got knocked out, see. I chase da thugs off, an' bring her back heahs. Dat okay wit chu?"
Everyone nodded, and Spot stretched. " Now I'se tired, so I'se gonna hit da sack. Night." Spot left to a chorus of "Night Spot." He shut the door to his room, and set his cane, hat, and slingshot on the dresser. He pulled off his shirt, and climbed up to the top bunk. His last conscious thought was of the girl sleeping below him.
After being awakened by Kloppman, Spot headed for the washroom to shave. After shaving, he got dressed, and found Jack. "So did da doc show up?" asked Spot. Jack grinned. "Yup. Said she'd be okay, but someone needs ta stay wit' her, 'till she wakes up." Spot thought about it. "I can't. I gots ta eoin me some money foist." Jack looked around. "Well, Blink's broke, so's Race-" Spot snorted. "When's he not?" Jack laughed. "As I was sayin', Race is broke, and so is Mush. Look's like I'se gotta do it. I got extra money." Confident that the girl would be looked after, Spot joined the other newsies on the way to get their papes.