That should have been the low point. Most of the Manhattan newsies were being held in the refuge. The newsstands were thriving, and the business the delivery service was getting had even surpassed the newsstands. And then adding in the complications of the relationship between Spot and Ava, Spot had never felt so wretched in his entire life, and doubted that anything could make him feel worse than he felt at that particular point in time. He was wrong, of course. The newsies still had a ways to fall before hitting rock bottom.
He returned to the lodging house after dinner, looking dejected and forlorn. The Brooklyn newsies knew better than to approach their leader, but Kid Blink was too anxious for news of Lunch Money to notice Spot's dark mood.
"Spot! Is Lunch okay? Did she come back al'ight?" he asked as soon as Spot entered the dormitory.
"She's fine." Spot snapped angrily, "But she ain't comin' back." He walked deliberately to his bunk, and began preparing for bed. Nothing in the world sounded so good as falling into a deep dreamless sleep.
"Whaddya mean she ain't comin' back?" Blink asked, jumping off his own bunk, "She's comin' back ain't she?"
Spot gave Kid Blink a disgusted look, and Blink's usual smile faded. "No, she ain't comin' back, didn't ya heah a woird I said? She says she's done bein' a newsie."
"That don't make no sense." Blink insisted, "How could she just leave like that?"
"I don't know, Blink!" Spot answered, not wholly truthful, "I don't know, she's just—" He broke off, listening for something. Whatever he was trying to hear was too quiet to be heard over the din of the boy's dormitory (at this time of night, the place was a regular madhouse.), for Spot yelled to the dormitory at large:
"Quiet! Shuddup a minute, fellas!"
Silence fell immediately. Spot strode across the room, opening the door and venturing out into the hallway. He heard low voices in the downstairs lobby. He eavesdropped with bated breath.
"Excuse us sir, we are looking for a boy named Andrew Conlon, and his cohorts."
"I don't think I know who you'se is talkin' about." The voice of Mr. Sweeney, the old manager of the lodging house echoed up the stairs. Spot felt a surge of gratitude toward Sweeney for not ratting them out.
"I think you do." Another voice said menacingly, "We're looking for Andrew Conlon—also known as 'Spot' Conlon—and all the little brats that help him deface the city's property and injure it's employees. We know these 'newsies' live here, and it would be in your best interest not to hinder our search for these criminals."
Spot had heard enough. Pulitzer had finally gotten the authorities to exterminate the newsies, once and for all. They had been caught; the boys were going away to the refuge that night, and there was nothing Mr. Sweeney could do about it, no matter how long he stalled the officers. Spot dashed back into the dorm, shutting the door behind him. All eyes were on him, waiting for orders.
"The bulls is heah." He announced, drawing his cane out dramatically, "Everybody betteh get outta heah if ya don't wanna go ta the refuge." The boys all looked at each other, frightened, but very still.
"Go!" Spot added when none of them moved. The response was immediate. The room was absolute pandemonium; a team of boys started tying bed sheets together (the oldest trick in the book) to climb out the window. Others wasted precious time gathering coats and hats. None of it was enough though. Police had been stationed around all exits of the lodging house, and still more charged up the stairs and spilled into the boy's dormitory, brandishing clubs and cornering as many newsboys as they could manage.
It was a scene that reminded Spot forcibly of the incident in Irving Hall, more than a year ago. Once again, the bulls bore down on the young boys, who fumbled for their slingshots and tried to fight back against the full-grown men. Spot ducked under the arm of one of the policemen, darting toward the briefly unguarded door. He made it to the corridor and started down the stairs, but someone held him back. Someone he had hoped never to see again.
"Well, well, Andrew Conlon." Snyder sneered, tightening his grip around Spot's arm, "Looks like it's back to the refuge for you, young man."
Spot couldn't believe it. Snyder, working for the city again? How he had managed to get a job with the refuge again after being arrested for taking kickbacks and mistreating the children in the orphan "rehabilitation center"?
Spot wrenched his arm out of Snyder's grasp, and with his other hand, he cracked his cane around Snyder's shins with as much force as he could muster. He tried to run, but yet another city official blocked his path. The cop wrested both the cane and the slingshot away from Spot, and managed to pin Spot's arm behind his back. He struggled against the hold, breaking away and flying down the stairs.
No less than four policemen met him at the landing. They were all bearing clubs and leering unpleasantly. Spot threw one elbow into the nearest man's stomach. He doubled over, and Spot took the opportunity to snatch the club away and distribute a sharp smack to a second cop. The third came up behind Spot, catching him around the throat, causing the poor boy to choke. The room started spinning, and with a final blow to the head from one of the officers, Spot blacked out.
The rest of the newsies faired no better. Everyone from Kid Blink (who was dragged off, still fighting, by two officers) to little Roundhouse (who, like Spot, had to be knocked out cold before anyone could contain him) was soon captured and in less than thirty minutes, the entire lodging house had been emptied, all of its former inhabitants carted off to prison. Or rather, almost all its inhabitants.
Chink. Chink. Crack.
Ava jerked awake. She squinted across the room at the window, which sported a cluster of new cracks in the glass pane. Several other girls sat up, wondering who would be callous enough to break their window. A fourth rock bounced off the glass, making the glass shudder ominously. Ava whipped her sheets aside and climbed out of bed, planning to give the hooligans out there what for. She slid the window open, and leaned out into the chilled night air.
"If any a' yas sons a' bitches throws one more rock, I swear ta Gawd I—" Ava stopped short. She had not expected to look down into the slushy streets to find this particular group of people.
"Heya, Lunch Money!" Feivel squeaked up, perfectly cheery. Ava's eyes widened. All six of the Brooklyn newsgirls were standing on the road below her. Feivel had a handful of rocks in her fist, and Nix carried a length of rope with her. The most curious possession among them, however, was the bundle in Tease's arms; she was carrying what looked like boy's clothing.
"Whaddya doin' heah?" Ava demanded, ignoring the laundry girls stirring behind her. They were sitting up and muttering to each, sounding very annoyed by this midnight conference.
"We need ya help." Nix called up, "The boys is in the refuge."
"All'a 'em?" Ava asked, trying to act as though her stomach hadn't just tied itself into a knot. She didn't like to think of any of her friends at the mercy of the law. It had been bad enough when only three of her friends were trapped in that awful place. Nix and Feivel exchanged a dark look at Ava's words.
"No." Nix said in a low voice, "Not all'a 'em. All the boys got arrested, but only fifteen are still in the refuge."
"What happened to the othehs? Did they escape?" Ava couldn't help but wonder. Maybe her friends had escaped! Maybe Spot had escaped.
"No. The othehs made a deal wit' Snydeh." Nix growled, disgusted, "He told the boys that if they testified against Jack an' Spot in court, he'd let them out wit' no charges against 'em."
"No!" Ava gasped, "And only fifteen boys refused the offeh?"
"Well, thirteen really." Nix corrected, "Theah's fifteen a' our boys in the refuge including Spot an' Jack."
"And whaddya'bout you? How did you'se guys escape the refuge?"
"We'se was neveh in the refuge," Nix explained, "Ritz, Tease and Rodeo was out, uh, woirkin'. And Feiv can fit into some surprisingly small hidin' places. Then me an' Starboard just pretended ta be maids woirkin' at the lodgin' house, insteada' newsgoils."
Ava was still reeling from the news. Spot and Jack and just a handful of boys, stuck in the refuge? And the rest of the boys all traitors? Ava would never have thought that a newsboy would have so little pride as to make a devil's bargain with Snyder. And since when was Snyder out of prison? Why should you care, Ava? She asked herself, You ain't a newsie. None a' this concoirns you.
"So, whaddya doin' heah?"
"Whaddya think?" Feivel looked exasperated, "We'se bustin' 'em out, and we need ya help." Ava wasn't sure how to respond. Of course she had to help her friends. She would never forgive herself if she left them in the refuge to rot. But she had promised herself not to get herself involved with any of the newsies problems. And Ava was too stubborn to abandon that promise so quickly.
"No." Ava started to close the window.
"Wait, Lunch Money!" It wasn't the words that made Ava pause. It was the voice that had spoken them. "Wait." Ritz repeated, looking up imploringly at Ava, "Don'tcha care what happens ta any a' them? Don'tcha care what happens ta Spot?"
"No." Ava lied shortly. She didn't want anything to do with the newsies anymore. What did she have to do to make that clear to everyone?
"What about Racetrack? Ya brudder's still in theah. Won'tcha do it fa' ya brudder?"
Ava took a deep breath. She knew Ritz was right. There was something Ava never thought would happen. If nothing else, if for no one else, she had to help her brother. Racetrack was too important to Ava. He had always been there to protect her, even if Ava didn't necessarily want his protection. For once, she felt obligated to return the favor.
"Fine. I'll do it fa' Race. But I ain't doin' fa' you, and I coirtainly ain't doin' it fa' Spot." Ava agreed, pretending to be much more reluctant than she really was.
"Well come on, then!" Nix said, looking relieved, she uncoiled the rope in her hands and tossed the end of it to Ava who tied it around the nearest bed post and put one leg outside the window, trying to get her footing on the icy surface.
"Oh, hang on!" She disappeared back through the window, much to the confusion of the newsgirls. Ava darted across the dark room, the laundry girls all protesting Ava's departure. She was sure to be caught sneaking out, or so they thought.
She hastily changed out of her nightgown, into her borrowed skirt and blouse (regrettably the only clothing she had now, having disposed of her old things). Then, to everyone's surprise, Ava threw herself onto the floor next to her bed, feeling around underneath it. She drew out what she had been looking for. Her old tan caddy hat. She returned to the window and climbed out, dangling dangerously above the street as she carefully worked her way back down to the street where the other newsgirls waited for her. She jumped the last few feet, landing with a catlike grace on the pavement. Ava looked around at her fellow newgirls.
"So, ya gotta plan?" She asked, replacing her caddy hat on top of her head, very glad to be Lunch Money Higgins once again.