Joseph Pulitzer sighed, leaning back in his high-backed chair as he surveyed the headlines to be printed tomorrow. He blinked, laying the paper back on his wooden desk. There were some nights that he made a decision quite quickly, but apparently this wasn't one of them. He glanced up tiredly as the door to his office opened. In strode Katharine and Jack Kelly, evidently not making a simple house call.

Katharine swished over, taking out something from her pocket. She placed it on her father's desk, right on top of the newspaper he had been reading. "There you are, father," she said shrewdly. "The two hundred dollars."

"And whatever do I need those for?" Pulitzer eyed her in mock bewilderment. Katharine fixed him with a stern look. "Don't play games, Father. You told Crutchie he needed to give you two hundred dollars by today for the bicycle."

Pulitzer sighed, taking the money with a thin, outstretched hand. "And did he explain what would happen if he did not give me the money himself?"

"No, but—"

A horrid thought started to dawn on Jack. "What did you do, Joe?!" he blurted out, and Pulitzer turned his chair away, gesturing towards the window. "Look outside, Mr. Kelly."

Jack raced to the window, a lump slowly forming in his throat. He thrust aside the curtains, peering down onto the streets. A black horse-drawn carriage stood outside, it's back doors flung wide open. Jack watched in horror as two helmeted officers dragged the small, struggling figure of Crutchie towards the carriage.

"No, I didn't do anythin'! Lemme go, ya can't prove anythin'! Help, somebody!"

Crutchie tore his arm away from the copper, glancing up to the shaded windows of The World's offices. He caught sight of Jack standing there, and he seized on a small hope. "Jack! Jack, 'elp! Tell 'em I got the money—Jack, please!"

Pulitzer joined Jack at the window, watching the small fight going on below with a cold, disdainful air. "Would you like to join him, Kelly?"

"You can't make those kinda threats anymore, Joe," Jack threw at him. "We gave you the money. Let him go."

"I'm afraid it doesn't work like that, Jack," Pulitzer said easily. "You see, Crutchie and I had a deal. He had to give me the money himself. Not you or my daughter."

"Jack, help!" Crutchie cried out again. The officer grabbed his crutch away, and pushed him to the street. Crutchie crumpled to the ground, hitting his head on the back of the carriage with a thud. The officers lifted his legs up and threw him into the carriage, cruelly slamming the doors on him. Jack watched all this in growing fear, and finally turned on Pulitzer.

"Let him go!" Jack shouted. "Ya know he couldn't 'ave gotten that money—jus' let him go, or I'll go after that carriage myself!"

"And then poor Crutchie will gain an inmate," Pulitzer shot back. "Look at your options, Kelly. You can easily get him out after a week has gone by—long enough for him to learn his lesson. I'll even give you the money to do so. Or you can chase after the carriage, which I believe is well on its way to Coney Island, and earn yourself a jail cell as well."

Jack glanced out the window again, and sighed. "Fine. We'll do it your way."

"Thank you," Pulitzer said graciously, and walked away. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have other work to attend to. When I don't threaten your pathetic little newsboy friends, I do paperwork. Now, is there anything else you'd like to interrupt me with, Katharine?"

"No, father," Katherine kept her biting comments inside, and turned to go. She pulled Jack by the arm, waiting only until the door was shut behind them to announce her plan.

"I'm going to break him out."

Jack took his arm out of hers, thoroughly taken aback. "What?! Ace, ya can't be serious!"

"I am serious," Katharine countered. "I already have a plan."

"But—how?!" Jack persisted.

"Jack," Katharine turned to him, and kissed him on the cheek. "Listen to me. I have a chance, and I'm going to take it. I won't let Crutchie get hurt anymore because of my bicycle."

"This ain't about the wheeler anymore, Ace—"

"No, but this happened because of it," Katharine said. "And I'm going to fix it."

Jack sighed, but reluctantly agreed. "You wouldn't do anything else, would you?"

"Not when it comes to this," Katharine asserted, and continued walking down the stairs. "Now, Jack. If you can find trousers and a cap my size, we'll be all set to go tomorrow."

"Huh?" Jack hurried after her.

"I can't ride my wheeler to Coney Island in my skirts, can I?"