Part V
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A man who looked about sixty was standing behind a desk, writing out papers. "Can I help you?" he asked.

"Yeah, uh, how much 's boardin' fer da night?" he asked nervously, shifting from foot to foot.

The door opened, and in walked Fish and that Manhattan newsie. Michael glared at him again, and the newsie grinned.

"'Eya, Spotty! How ya doin'?" asked Fish. "So, ya decided ta stay da night?"

"Yeah, I'se gonna live heah from now on. Me sistah kicked me out cause I was callin' 'er a Jezebel," he said.

"It's ten cents for the first night, five cents every night after that."

Michael nodded and pulled out ten cents. "Heah."

"And what's your name?"

Michael paused. "Spot."

"All right Spot," the man said, taking the coins.

"So, Spot, ya meet Cowboy yet?" asked Fish.

Michael, not taking his glare from "Cowboy," shook his head.

Cowboy grinned even wider, then spit in his palm, and held his hand out. "Da name's Jack Kelly."

Michael eyed the kid suspiciously, then spit into his hand. "Spot Conlon."

Jack nodded slowly. "How old're you?"

"Seven, how old're you?"

"Be nine next week. So, how's ol' Fish heah treatin' ya? 'E push ya off da bridge yet?"

"Nah, dat's my trademark move," said another voice. "'Ey Cowboy, how's it goin'?"

"'Ey Bridge. I'se pretty good, how 'bout you?"

"Real good. Ya want in onna game a pokah? Dealah's 'bout ready ta start."

Fish and Cowboy darted up the stairs, pushing each other in their haste. Michael shook his head and followed.

At the top of the stairs, he stopped. All the newsies already had their bunks picked out, and most shared a bunk bed with their parnter. Michael looked around for an empty bunk, but they all seemed to be full. He took a slow step towards the middle of the room and stepped on a loose floorboard, causing it to squeak loudly.

"'Ey, Spotty!" called Red, grinning. "So, ya decided ta move in, huh?"

"Yep," answered Michael. "So, wheah's a empty bunk, Red? Ya seem ta know yer way 'round dis dump."

Various comments were shouted, and a few of the newsies who happened to be near a bed threw pillows. Michael laughed and batted them away.

"Ya guys outta know by now dat ya can't knock Spot Conlon down, 'specially not wit a pillah!" said Michael as he followed Red over to a bottom bunk. He walked past the spot where Cowboy and another Brooklyn newsie were fighting. Apparently, the Brooklyn newsies didn't like Jack much, but Cowboy held nothing against them.

"Dis is me bunk, and dat's Keys', and Bridge's, and Fish's is ovah dere, but ya can have dis one, next ta me, 'kay?"

Michael nodded. "T'anks, Red."

Then Snake, a newsie just about Michael's age, darted up the stairs. "Spotty!" he shouted. Snake raced over. "Spotty, dere's some goyl downstaihs, talkin' ta Mistah Cartah, and she's lookin' fer ya."

Michael's eyes grew wide in terror. Sally was downstairs, looking for him! "What's she look like?" he asked nervously.

"Blonde coily 'air, didn't notice 'er eyes, wearin' a blue skirt an' white shoit, 'bout tall as Fish, skinny, a couple a bruises on 'er face an' arms…" supplied Snake.

"'Ey Spot, dat sounds like yer sistah," noted Red.

"It is. Whaddo I do?" asked Michael, beginning to panic.

Cowboy, who had just gotten out of his fight with the newsie with hardly a scratch, said, "Come wit me. Hide out in Manhattan fer a while, till dis whole t'ing wit yer sistah blows ovah."

Michael paused.

"C'mon, Spot, make up yer mind! Ya ain't got much time. I can heah dat goyl yellin' all da way up heah, an' I don't t'ink dat ol' Mistah Cartah can keep dat goyl downstaihs fer much longah b'fore she comes up heah and finds ya."

"All right, I'll go ta Manhattan!" said Michael.

"Be careful, Spot," said Red.

Michael nodded. "Bye, yous guys. Don't tell 'er ya know me."

Cowboy grabbed his wrist. "C'mon, out da fire 'scape. We gotta hurry, er else dere's gonna be some nasty scabbahs on da street."

Michael scrambled out the window and hurried down the fire escape. Cowboy took the lead and started running, causing his black cowboy hat to fall back off his head. "C'mon, Spot! Hurry up!" he shouted.

They ran for what seemed like an hour, through the pitch-black streets of New York. Luckily, the streets were empty and quiet. And eventually, the two newsies found themselves in Manhattan, outside another building that said "Newsboys' Lodging House."

"C'mon," said Cowboy. "'Eya Kloppman, how's it rollin'?" he asked casually. "Dis heah's Spot, 'e's from Brooklyn. 'Is sistah's aftah 'im, so 'e's gonna hide out heah fer a while, 'kay?"

"All right, Cowboy. That's ten cents for tonight, and five cents each night after tonight," said Mr. Kloppman.

With a sigh, Michael pulled out ten pennies. "Heah." Cowboy flipped a coin at Kloppman. "G'night, Kloppman." Cowboy casually put one arm around Spot and pulled him up the stairs.

"'Ey, Skittery! Blink! Specs! Dutchy!" shouted Cowboy.

"Specs ain't heah yet," said a tall, lanky boy with greasy black hair as he walked by.

"'Ey, Bumlets, wheah's a free bunk, huh?" asked Cowboy.

"Um… dere's one next ta Skittery. Y'know?"

Cowboy nodded. "Dat's yer bunk, right dere, awright? Hey you guys! Dis heah's Spot… uh, what's yer last name 'gain?"

"Conlon," said Michael confidently, glaring down each and every one of the Manhattan newsies.

"Dis 's Spot Conlon, an' 'e's from Brooklyn."

"'Ey, what's a Brooklyn newsie doin' heah?" asked Skittery.

"It ain't nonna yer business why I'se heah. Y'just stay outta my way, awright?" asked Michael. He was sick of people telling him what do to, and some Manhattan newsie certainly wasn't going to.

The newsies glanced at each other and returned to their cards and cigars. Michael undressed, climbed up onto his bunk, and fell asleep.