Two days passed and a large portion of the fallen snow had melted away, though a few inches were continually rebuilt every night since the temperature was still quite cold.
Anne had been going over to Brooklyn in the afternoons for Spot to continue teaching her skills in fighting. She gradually got better and better, but her strongest point seemed to be the slingshot. She could whip down a bottle faster and more accurate than Spot himself whom had been training for most of his life.
That day Anne had brought Tommy along to be introduced to the Brooklynites. Of course he began to idolize them right off for their strength and toughness. Brooklyn had always been some-what friendly to Anne and Tommy, since they were known to be friends of Spot. But Anne had seen them act less than awful to people who were unfamiliar or new.
Anne watched happily from the dock as Tommy, Spot, and all of the others joked around in the freezing East River. To get a better look of every one she climbed to the top of Spot's regular perch.
At the top sat a pile of clothes that Spot had apparently taken off to go swimming. As the sun began to drift out from behind a few parting clouds it exhibited a glow from the stack of garments.
His cane. Anne smiled gallantly. She'd always wanted to have a close up look at the gold toned handle, but had always been advised not to do so. But now; Now he would never know she'd laid a finger upon it.
Anne giggled to herself as she remembered how he always could be seen polishing it so gently and carefully. Her fingers caressed the cane with just as much care as she could conjure up for there was so much fear inside her that she might scratch or chip it.
It was brilliantly etched with elegant designs and in the center there were two letters.
"B.C." she read aloud to herself. Suddenly there was a yell from behind her that practically made her jump out of her skin, "What are you doin' wid dat!?"
Spot grabbed the cane from her grasp and raised a hand violently in anger. Thinking that he was going to strike her she backed away quickly.
No punch came, but he lifted her into his arms. Anne flinched as she came in contact with his freezing wet body.
He leapt down the stairs of crates leading from the perch.
"Put me down, Spot Conlon! This is my best dress!" she screamed.
He grinned widely as he plunged off of the dock and into the icy river.
The water was colder than Anne had ever felt in her whole life, like thousands of needles stabbing her all over her body. She then realized why his body had felt so cold.
She gasped and took a firm hold of Spot, who acted as if the situation was relatively normal (it was since he had been swimming in that kind of weather for a large portion of his life), the freezing waves not fazing him a bit.
"Spot!" Anne yelled angrily through chattering teeth.
"Well, dis is what you get for touchin' me cane. Believe me, it could be much worse," he replied, matter of factly.
"Oh, I hate you, Spot Conlon!" she screamed.
"Yeah, you and dat udder half a goils in da city," Skinner laughed from the dock.
"Well, if ya hate me so much den why don't cha let go a me neck an' swim back ova' dere," Spot smirked.
"Dammit Conlon! I can't swim!"
Tommy stood up excitedly, eager to be following through with their deal, for him to remind her of her past, "Yes you can! Papa taught us how."
Anne groaned. She was sick of reminding him that despite the fact that he could remind her, she couldn't always remember how to do things.
"Since you can't seem ta remember. I can't really do stuff like dat from me past if I've forgottin' how."
Spot snickered at her terribly unpleasant look, then began to feel sorry for her as he looked her up and down. Chill bumps covered every inch of her quivering body. Anne's arms that were wrapped tightly around his neck had begun to shake violently. Her lips had turned to a bright hue of purplish-blue.
"I think you've been tortured long enough, now," Spot said, clutching her tightly as he swam to shore.