Chapter Three
"I thought that you we're gonna pay `em."
"I was!" David protested, sitting on the edge of his bed. He winced and put a hand to the bleeding cut on his forehead.
"You said you had the money."
"I did!"
"Well, what happened?" Morris demanded, angry.
Sully chose that moment to enter the room. "Morris, Davey was in Brooklyn-" he said, then stopped when he noticed David. "But now he's here."
Morris nodded. "Yeah, he's here." He turned back to David. "Brooklyn?"
He nodded. "There was a big poker game and I kinda-"
"Lost all yer money?"
"Yeah."
"Davey, you know better than to bet all yer money in Brooklyn. You may be a good poker player, but you ain't crap compared to Brooklyn!"
"I screwed up. I know that."
"Do you?" Morris asked, then sighed.
Sully spoke then. "Who won the game?"
David said softly, "Racetrack."
"He's a good guy. I'll see what I can do-"
Morris cut him off. "No, you won't."
"But-"
"No. We're not going to beg to Brooklyn for squat. Race won the game," Morris said. "I'll loan you the money, David."
David just looked at him, his green eyes icy. "I don't want yer money. And I don't want Sully groveling to Racetrack. I'll get it myself."
Just then, the doors to the lodging house swung open and the newsies sauntered in, bellies full from the dinner of pork and beans the lodging house served for six cents. "Hey, Davey. Glad you came back," Blink said, grinning. He lost his smile when he noticed the lumps and bruises on his best friend. "What happened?"
Sully answered before David could. "He had a little accident. Ran into a guy's fist."
"Twenty times by the look of it," Blink joked, slapping David on the back. David winced and glared at him. He stretched out on his bed, which was next to David's. He smiled, "So how did everybody do today?"
Sully laughed and put his feet up, opening a stray copy of the Journal. "Ah, despite bad headlines, we thrive." The conversation went on a while, David and Morris glaring at each other more than talking. Until suddenly Sully whistled. "Whoa," he said, for lack of a better word.
"What?" Morris asked.
"There was a riot last right."
David chuckled. "Trolley workers? Old news, Jacky-boy."
Sully shot him a murderous look. "No. Not the trolley workers. Our boys in Long Island. They knocked over a wagon and destroyed the papes. Sick of broken promises, I guess."
"Took guts," Morris commented, opening his book.
"Maybe its time we got some," Sully said.
"Oh, what do you suggest? That we march into Willie's office and demand he lower the prices?" David asked sarcastically.
Sully shrugged. "Someone has to."
"What are you talking about Sully?" Blink asked.
"Look, they said the prices would go down once the war was over. Well, the war's over and the prices still ain't down. So, I says it's time we do something about it."
"Like what?"
"A strike." The word hung heavy in the air. Conversation around them ceased until David busted out with laughter. He stopped, wincing. Sully shot him another glare. "What? It's a good idea! The whole world's on strike!" he cried, slamming the paper onto the bed.
"And what about the bulls? You know what they do to strikers," Blink said.
"The bulls are busy with the trolley strike. They won't have time for a bunch of street rats."
Morris looked up from his book. "The kid's got a point." Sully smiled gratefully as Morris pulled himself to a sitting position. "We can't let `em take us like this. If we strike-"
"This is crazy, Morris," David said, cutting him off sharply.
Morris continued quietly. "If we strike, we get what we deserve, get what they promised us." He looked at the boys around them. "So who's with me?"
The boys crowding around murmured their agreement slowly, until the murmur had become a roar. Morris looked to Dave. "So?"
David shrugged. "I guess I'm in." He smirked slightly. "So, what do we do?"
Morris thought a moment, then said, "We give `em one more chance to keep their word and lower the prices." He looked around at the crowd of faces. "Boots," he said to the short eleven-year-old, "you head over to the World. Mush," he continued, turning to the tall, skinny kid sitting on the edge of Blink's bed, "you go to the Journal. Tell `em what's going on. Tell `em that we'll strike."
Boots and Mush nodded, wide-eyed, and scampered off to visit the city's most powerful men. David looked at Morris with skeptical eyes. "Do you actually believe they'll listen?"
Morris shook his head. "Not a chance."
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