A/N: Alright, begging obviously doesn't work. Lets try guilting them. How many of you write stories? I hope some of you. Now, out of those who do, who strives for reviews? A lot, right? Well, do us a favor and review, we really do love it, even if you are telling us to lay off the crack (like that'll ever happen). Oh! Newsies belongs to Disney. Or a fourty year old balding man who lives in his mother basement and has a thing for westerns and musicals. We're looking into it.
The Newsies were playing poker and Race wasin touble. He'd lost three games but had the hand to win the next one. Just as he was about to lay his hand on the table, winning the game, there was a loud creak from the ceiling.
Everyone looked up and then, strangely enough, a large hole was cut in the ceiling.
"What the…?" Race began, but was interrupted. Jumping through the hole was Spot, clutching his hat and cane.
He landed on the table, scattering the cards and chips onto the floor. He beamed at them all and said loudly, snapping his suspenders, "Hey guys! I've got great clothes!" He smiled one last time and skipped merrily out of the room.
Race looked at the floor, the cards, his winning hand, all in shambles on the floor. Then he glanced out the door which Spot had ran through.
"Did I still win?" He asked the group at large. They all answered by shaking their heads. "Dammit!" He mumbled and he stalked out the door.