"Scabber!"

"Scabber!"

I felt my jaw tighten. As if I had a choice. Maybe they could afford to stop working, but I couldn't. I had two small lives depending on my earnings. I couldn't afford to stop. I could barely afford to work though. In the confusion following O'Hara's fight with Jack and the striking newsies, I managed to get away with my papes- just. I didn't see many of my fellow newsies, striking or otherwise, but I thought of them often enough and I regretted that I had to make the choice that I did.

But when I got home with my earnings well spent on food for the family, I didn't feel that way. The adoration in Esteban's eyes as he tucked in to stale bread and soup with some battered vegetables, and the purring of our scrawny calico Meji as she sat on my lap, warm and content was enough. Esteban must have heard from his friends now about the strike, but he didn't care that his adored big brother was on the 'wrong side'.

The next day, I got to the distribution office early, hoping to avoid my striking friends. It worked. My fellow non-strikers were already there. O'Hara was talking with the Delancys and I felt a shiver of uneasiness go up and down my spine. They started laughing. I ignored them, slapped down my meager coinage and collected my papes.

"Listen up fellas," O'Hara said, grinning. "T'marra, everythin' changes. We ain't gotta run any more. Our good buddies the Delancy bruddahs are gonna get us some support. Some strong support. So t'marra when they start botherin' us, we run back and out they come!"

I smiled on the outside, but on the inside I felt sick. Strong support. Hired thugs, friends of the Delancys, the sort that would rob and beat near penniless newsies. All day my stomach was knotted and I had only half a mind on my sales. But three hours before I usually woke up, I'd made up my mind.

"Open up!" I hammered on the door again.

Finally it was opened by Roe. "Whaddya want at this unholy hour?" he asked irritably.

"I need to talk to Spot!" I said urgently.

"Who are y'?" Roe asked, opening the door a little more to get a better look at me.

"'Rish O'Neil!" I said angrily.

"'Rish?" Roe recognized me- then he frowned. "Yeah, 'Rish. You're with them, ain't you?"

I nearly ground my teeth. "Vaughn MacGuirk, you know perfectly well that I haven't got a choice! Now let me see Morgan or so help me, you'll regret being alive!"

At my use of his and Spot's real names, I think something clicked in the back of his mind about the seriousness of what I was saying and doing and he opened the door.

I ran up the stairs two at a time, not glancing at the 'personalized' walls, afraid I might see his lines. It had been a while and I couldn't remember where they were.

Spot looked up when I burst into his room. "'Rish? What're you doin' here?" he asked.

"We have to talk, Spot."

"What about?"

"The strike."

"I ain't joinin'. An' from what Roe says, you ain't either."

I bit my lip. "I can't afford to, you know that. But Jack and the rest are going to walk right into a trap if you don't help."

"What?!"

I was there the next day, with Brooklyn. I wasn't much of a hand with their slingshots, but I was in the crowd that came to the rescue with sticks, clubs and cudgel. I went home that night with a split lip, sore ribs and a black eye, but I had done the right thing. They still called me 'scabber' the next day, but Roe had stayed on in Manhattan as a sort of Brooklyn representative and while I asked him not to tell anyone what I had done, he made it known that he would soak anyone who called me a scabber. Because as much as I longed to do something about lowering the prices, I couldn't afford to. Maybe I was wrong, but I hope I put it right.