Part VI
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The next morning, Michael and Cowboy headed out bright and early to sell the papes. Some of the newsies had already tried to pick fights with him, but Michael quickly showed them that it wasn't a wise idea to fight with Spot Conlon. Cowboy stuck by his side just to make sure that his sister- or anyone else, for that matter- didn't try to hurt him.
One afternoon, when both the boys finished selling their afternoon papes fairly quickly, they were heading back towards the boarding house.
"Yer a real good newsie, Spot, y'know dat? Who taught ya how ta improve da truth dat well?"
"Nobody taught me. I jist know how ta do it," shrugged Michael.
Three little girls in frilly dresses were jumping rope on the sidewalk, chanting, "Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, Jack jump over the candlestick." Two turned the rope and the third little girl jumped. She always missed after one turn of the rope.
"Aww, dat ain't da way ta jump rope!" shouted Michael.
"How do you know about jumping rope?" giggled the girls.
"Cause I usedta have three sistahs, an' Day an' Stephie would make me toin da rope," answered Michael, with a trademark glare.
"Well then, you jump," taunted one of the girls, planting her hands on her hip.
Michael's mouth turned up in a sly smile, and he nodded slowly. The girls began turning the rope, and Michael jumped in and began jumping.
"Fifty, fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-four," counted the girls. Michael made it all the way to one hundred and twenty-two before he got too tired to jump anymore.
"What about your friend?" asked the boldest of the three girls.
"Yeah, Jacky-boy, why doncha try jumpin'? I mean, yer in dey're lil jumpin' song an' all," laughed Michael, sitting down on the curb to catch his breath.
Cowboy, not to be undone, said, "I'll bet I can git double what you did, Spot," and decided to try his luck.
"Jack be nimble, Jack be-"
After two turns, Jack tripped over the rope and fell, face down, in the dusty street.
Michael burst out laughing, and nearly fell over. "Yer gonna get double what I got, huh?" he wheezed. "Geemaneez, dat's gotta be da funniest t'ing I'se evah seen!"
Cowboy made a face at him. "Aww, shut yer mouth, Spot!"
"Don't you tell me ta shut me mouth, Cowboy, or I'll soak ya! I sweah, I will!" challenged Michael. He leapt to his feet and put up his hands, ready to fight.
"Awright, awright! Geez, ya don't have ta git all mad at me. I'se just kiddin'," lied Cowboy. "C'mon. Let's git back ta da lodgin' 'owse, huh?"
When the two boys reached the lodging house, Red and Keys were sitting on the doorstep. The other newsies were gathered around in a half-circle, too nervous to go near the two Brooklyn boys.
Michael pushed through the crowd. "Awright, awright, move it. 'Ey, Red! 'Ey, Keys! How's it rollin'?"
"C'mon, Spotty, let's git back ta Brooklyn. Yer sistah hasn't been 'round fer a couple a days. We figure she fergot 'boutcha," said Red.
"Awright. See ya 'round, Jack-be-nimble," taunted Michael, jumping away as Jack tried to tackle him. Michael chuckled and walked off with Red and Keys.
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So Spot went back to Brooklyn, and everything was going well. He was making a lot of money, and he learned to play cards. Dealer, a boy several years older than Spot, taught him every game he knew, and Spot liked playing cards, but he was no gambler like Dealer. One night after winning, Spot was feeling particularly triumphant as he strolled down the street. He was eight years old and living a life he loved. Sally was out of the picture, as was Mr. Conlon. He still missed his family, especially Dana, but his job as a newsie kept him busy enough so he didn't have too much time to think about her.
Spot turned the corner, whistling to himself. He saw two people standing in the road, a young woman and a young man, kissing and seeming very involved in each other.
Oh geez, Spot thought, mentally gagging. He continued on his way and a moment later, screams were heard for blocks around. He turned and saw a fire wagon tearing away and two battered, bloody bodies in the road. Spot went over to the pair and picked up the man's black cane. It was heavy and solid, with a fancy gold top. He gently pushed the bodies apart and gasped.
"Sally…" he whispered softly.
"What happened?" asked a policeman, grabbing Spot's shoulder.
"I t'ink dat fiah wagon ran dem ovah. Dey was standin' in da middle a da road, kissin'. Guess dey nevah hoid it comin'…"
"Who are they?"
"I dunno da guy. Da goil 's Sally Wintahs. She woiks at da saloon, I guess she lives dere too…"
After another minute or two of questioning, the policeman thanked Spot and handed him a quarter. Spot grinned and pocketed the coin. He headed off towards the pier to think, twirling the cane experimentally in his right hand.
"Hey dere, Spotty, wheah'd ya get da cane?" crowed Snake.
"Ain't none a yer business, Snakey," Spot cooly replied. He twirled it around his hand, stabbing the air in front of Snake.
"Watch it!"
"Ya goyl. I ain't anywheah near ya." Spot continued to draw figure-eights in the air before Snake's eyes.
"Ya hit me wid dat t'ing, an' yer gonna be searchin' fer it at da bottom a da rivah."
Spot poked him once, sending Snake tumbling backwards into the water. He leaned over the pier to utter one more comment: "Ya get what ya desoive, Snakey-boy."
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The next morning, Michael and Cowboy headed out bright and early to sell the papes. Some of the newsies had already tried to pick fights with him, but Michael quickly showed them that it wasn't a wise idea to fight with Spot Conlon. Cowboy stuck by his side just to make sure that his sister- or anyone else, for that matter- didn't try to hurt him.
One afternoon, when both the boys finished selling their afternoon papes fairly quickly, they were heading back towards the boarding house.
"Yer a real good newsie, Spot, y'know dat? Who taught ya how ta improve da truth dat well?"
"Nobody taught me. I jist know how ta do it," shrugged Michael.
Three little girls in frilly dresses were jumping rope on the sidewalk, chanting, "Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, Jack jump over the candlestick." Two turned the rope and the third little girl jumped. She always missed after one turn of the rope.
"Aww, dat ain't da way ta jump rope!" shouted Michael.
"How do you know about jumping rope?" giggled the girls.
"Cause I usedta have three sistahs, an' Day an' Stephie would make me toin da rope," answered Michael, with a trademark glare.
"Well then, you jump," taunted one of the girls, planting her hands on her hip.
Michael's mouth turned up in a sly smile, and he nodded slowly. The girls began turning the rope, and Michael jumped in and began jumping.
"Fifty, fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-four," counted the girls. Michael made it all the way to one hundred and twenty-two before he got too tired to jump anymore.
"What about your friend?" asked the boldest of the three girls.
"Yeah, Jacky-boy, why doncha try jumpin'? I mean, yer in dey're lil jumpin' song an' all," laughed Michael, sitting down on the curb to catch his breath.
Cowboy, not to be undone, said, "I'll bet I can git double what you did, Spot," and decided to try his luck.
"Jack be nimble, Jack be-"
After two turns, Jack tripped over the rope and fell, face down, in the dusty street.
Michael burst out laughing, and nearly fell over. "Yer gonna get double what I got, huh?" he wheezed. "Geemaneez, dat's gotta be da funniest t'ing I'se evah seen!"
Cowboy made a face at him. "Aww, shut yer mouth, Spot!"
"Don't you tell me ta shut me mouth, Cowboy, or I'll soak ya! I sweah, I will!" challenged Michael. He leapt to his feet and put up his hands, ready to fight.
"Awright, awright! Geez, ya don't have ta git all mad at me. I'se just kiddin'," lied Cowboy. "C'mon. Let's git back ta da lodgin' 'owse, huh?"
When the two boys reached the lodging house, Red and Keys were sitting on the doorstep. The other newsies were gathered around in a half-circle, too nervous to go near the two Brooklyn boys.
Michael pushed through the crowd. "Awright, awright, move it. 'Ey, Red! 'Ey, Keys! How's it rollin'?"
"C'mon, Spotty, let's git back ta Brooklyn. Yer sistah hasn't been 'round fer a couple a days. We figure she fergot 'boutcha," said Red.
"Awright. See ya 'round, Jack-be-nimble," taunted Michael, jumping away as Jack tried to tackle him. Michael chuckled and walked off with Red and Keys.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
So Spot went back to Brooklyn, and everything was going well. He was making a lot of money, and he learned to play cards. Dealer, a boy several years older than Spot, taught him every game he knew, and Spot liked playing cards, but he was no gambler like Dealer. One night after winning, Spot was feeling particularly triumphant as he strolled down the street. He was eight years old and living a life he loved. Sally was out of the picture, as was Mr. Conlon. He still missed his family, especially Dana, but his job as a newsie kept him busy enough so he didn't have too much time to think about her.
Spot turned the corner, whistling to himself. He saw two people standing in the road, a young woman and a young man, kissing and seeming very involved in each other.
Oh geez, Spot thought, mentally gagging. He continued on his way and a moment later, screams were heard for blocks around. He turned and saw a fire wagon tearing away and two battered, bloody bodies in the road. Spot went over to the pair and picked up the man's black cane. It was heavy and solid, with a fancy gold top. He gently pushed the bodies apart and gasped.
"Sally…" he whispered softly.
"What happened?" asked a policeman, grabbing Spot's shoulder.
"I t'ink dat fiah wagon ran dem ovah. Dey was standin' in da middle a da road, kissin'. Guess dey nevah hoid it comin'…"
"Who are they?"
"I dunno da guy. Da goil 's Sally Wintahs. She woiks at da saloon, I guess she lives dere too…"
After another minute or two of questioning, the policeman thanked Spot and handed him a quarter. Spot grinned and pocketed the coin. He headed off towards the pier to think, twirling the cane experimentally in his right hand.
"Hey dere, Spotty, wheah'd ya get da cane?" crowed Snake.
"Ain't none a yer business, Snakey," Spot cooly replied. He twirled it around his hand, stabbing the air in front of Snake.
"Watch it!"
"Ya goyl. I ain't anywheah near ya." Spot continued to draw figure-eights in the air before Snake's eyes.
"Ya hit me wid dat t'ing, an' yer gonna be searchin' fer it at da bottom a da rivah."
Spot poked him once, sending Snake tumbling backwards into the water. He leaned over the pier to utter one more comment: "Ya get what ya desoive, Snakey-boy."