Disclaimer: All of the original newsies belong to Disney, and the chapter quotes are from the poem "If---" which belongs to Rudyard Kipling and was copied out of Read-Aloud Poems for Young People. I own Leprechaun, Sweetheart, Sketch, Demon, Refugee, Pepper, Jungle, Trickster, Newsprint, Sparrow, Switchblade, James McLaws, and Benjamin "Bricks" Saunders. Ruby and Ketchy's is an actual diner near Morgantown, West Virginia.
A/N: Sorry the update took so long! I was at camp and then in Boston, so I kind of have an excuse...review, please!
To Morning Dew: Thanks for the reviews! Yeah, Race is being a whiny dumb @$$. Oh, well...
"If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,"
"Extra, extra, read all about it! Important building in flames! Residents barely escape!" Spot shouted to the Brooklyn crowds. Sure, he was talking about the incinerated lodging house, which most New Yorkers didn't consider an 'important building', but his customers wouldn't find that out until Spot was two blocks away and quite a few pennies richer.
Sales had been good today. Between the fire story and a textile factory strike, there were plenty of good headlines that Spot could only make better. Now it was noon, and Spot had just a few more morning editions to get rid of before he could head to Ruby and Ketchy's for lunch. As the hot, fiery sun blazed on his neck, Spot tried to think of Pepper and forget about his confrontation with Racetrack a few hours ago. Pepper was so beautiful...Race was such an idiot...
"I'll buy a paper, boy."
"Thank you, sir," Spot handed the elderly gentleman a paper, accepted his penny, and continued onward. Only two papes to go.
"Factory workers on strike! Union leaders say it won't end soon!" A matronly woman and a man in his mid-twenties both walked up to Spot and bought his last two papers, making him two cents richer and ready for lunch.
On the way to Ruby and Ketchy's, Spot observed the hustle and bustle that was Brooklyn. He could smell fish and salt on the winds that blew in from the bay, see two little girls racing toward a nearby store to buy penny candy. Horses' hooves trotting along the cobblestone streets and people shouting and laughing filled his ears. Spot loved Brooklyn, but sometimes he wished the people could be a little quieter. You could easily get a headache from all the yelling and talking and...screaming?
Spot whipped his head around, searching for the source of the screams. They sounded familiar, although he couldn't quite place the voice or its location. There was a little-used alleyway not far from where he was standing; maybe that was where the screams were coming from. Spot took off, first at a brisk walk and then a sprint as the streets became less crowded and the screams grew louder.
When he reached the alley, Spot saw what he had feared since yesterday morning. King, upset with losing the abandoned warehouse to Spot, had grabbed three of his thugs and gone after someone Spot cared about: not one of his newsies, but Leprechaun.
These thoughts raced through Spot's brain at the same speed that his fist lashed out and connected with the side of King's face. King and his gang had pinned Leprechaun against a wall and were using their hands and feet to wound her face and arms. Leprechaun was fighting back feebly, but it was a lopsided battle: three strong young men against one diminutive fourteen-year-old girl.
As soon as Spot's hand impacted King's jaw, King spun around, swinging a tightly clenched fist at his attacker. Spot ducked and punched one of King's comrades, who had been attempting to give Lep another black eye. The thug's temple struck the brick wall behind him and he slouched against it, at least temporarily unconscious.
King glanced at his fallen partner in crime. "There's still three of us left, Spot. There will be a new Brooklyn leader when this fight gets over!" The two remaining thugs left Leprechaun and joined King in staring down Spot.
Spot backed up a little and then kicked one of the gang-members in the groin. "Run, Lep!" he shouted, praying that Leprechaun, although bruised, was strong enough to run for help. Apparently she was, because she dashed out of the alley, heading for Ruby and Ketchy's. Shouting had been a mistake, though, for while Spot was distracted with Lep's departure, King managed to strike him in the nose, causing it to bleed. Spot ignored the injury and continued fighting, using the heavy metal head of his walking stick to stab King in the gut while giving the remaining thug a black eye.
"So you're gonna use weapons, are ya Spot?" King asked, seemingly unaffected by Spot's caning. He snaked the fingers of his left hand into his right sleeve, pulling out a knife that had been secured there. It was only a few inches long, but the metal blade was sharp and gleaming in the harsh sunlight. King stabbed in the direction of Spot's arm, but Spot dodged just in time, managing to land a punch in the chest of one of the thugs.
While the thug groaned, King stabbed again, this time slashing Spot's lower leg, leaving an ugly gash overflowing with ruby liquid. Spot grimaced and staggered; pain searing through his leg.
"Hey, King!" a taunting voice cried. King only had time to slam the still-unbalanced Spot against a wall before Trickster tackled him. Jungle attacked one of the thugs, sneaking a quick glance at Spot as he did so. Spot's head had struck the brick wall of the building behind him, and he had collapsed, falling only a few feet away from an unconscious gang-member.
Jungle growled...if Spot had been hurt...he grabbed Spot's cane from the fallen newsie's belt and rammed it against a thug's skull, unceremoniously dumping his limp body on the cold cobblestone street below. There were only two left now: King and his friend. Jungle punched the last thug and pushed him to the ground, just as Trickster managed to unbalance King and push him into the wall. Now both leaders were limp and comatose, and the thugs were in no condition to fight.
"We'd better get out of here before the bulls come," Trickster said. "I'll go back to Ruby and Ketchy's and get Lep, if you want to take care of Spot."
"Yeah," Jungle agreed. He was a tall, muscular, African-American newsie who rarely spoke. He tore his shirt off, making a bandage for Spot's leg, which was still bleeding profusely. Then, being careful not to jar Spot's leg or head, Jungle lifted him over his shoulder and began the long walk back to Manhattan.
A/N: Sorry the update took so long! I was at camp and then in Boston, so I kind of have an excuse...review, please!
To Morning Dew: Thanks for the reviews! Yeah, Race is being a whiny dumb @$$. Oh, well...
"If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,"
"Extra, extra, read all about it! Important building in flames! Residents barely escape!" Spot shouted to the Brooklyn crowds. Sure, he was talking about the incinerated lodging house, which most New Yorkers didn't consider an 'important building', but his customers wouldn't find that out until Spot was two blocks away and quite a few pennies richer.
Sales had been good today. Between the fire story and a textile factory strike, there were plenty of good headlines that Spot could only make better. Now it was noon, and Spot had just a few more morning editions to get rid of before he could head to Ruby and Ketchy's for lunch. As the hot, fiery sun blazed on his neck, Spot tried to think of Pepper and forget about his confrontation with Racetrack a few hours ago. Pepper was so beautiful...Race was such an idiot...
"I'll buy a paper, boy."
"Thank you, sir," Spot handed the elderly gentleman a paper, accepted his penny, and continued onward. Only two papes to go.
"Factory workers on strike! Union leaders say it won't end soon!" A matronly woman and a man in his mid-twenties both walked up to Spot and bought his last two papers, making him two cents richer and ready for lunch.
On the way to Ruby and Ketchy's, Spot observed the hustle and bustle that was Brooklyn. He could smell fish and salt on the winds that blew in from the bay, see two little girls racing toward a nearby store to buy penny candy. Horses' hooves trotting along the cobblestone streets and people shouting and laughing filled his ears. Spot loved Brooklyn, but sometimes he wished the people could be a little quieter. You could easily get a headache from all the yelling and talking and...screaming?
Spot whipped his head around, searching for the source of the screams. They sounded familiar, although he couldn't quite place the voice or its location. There was a little-used alleyway not far from where he was standing; maybe that was where the screams were coming from. Spot took off, first at a brisk walk and then a sprint as the streets became less crowded and the screams grew louder.
When he reached the alley, Spot saw what he had feared since yesterday morning. King, upset with losing the abandoned warehouse to Spot, had grabbed three of his thugs and gone after someone Spot cared about: not one of his newsies, but Leprechaun.
These thoughts raced through Spot's brain at the same speed that his fist lashed out and connected with the side of King's face. King and his gang had pinned Leprechaun against a wall and were using their hands and feet to wound her face and arms. Leprechaun was fighting back feebly, but it was a lopsided battle: three strong young men against one diminutive fourteen-year-old girl.
As soon as Spot's hand impacted King's jaw, King spun around, swinging a tightly clenched fist at his attacker. Spot ducked and punched one of King's comrades, who had been attempting to give Lep another black eye. The thug's temple struck the brick wall behind him and he slouched against it, at least temporarily unconscious.
King glanced at his fallen partner in crime. "There's still three of us left, Spot. There will be a new Brooklyn leader when this fight gets over!" The two remaining thugs left Leprechaun and joined King in staring down Spot.
Spot backed up a little and then kicked one of the gang-members in the groin. "Run, Lep!" he shouted, praying that Leprechaun, although bruised, was strong enough to run for help. Apparently she was, because she dashed out of the alley, heading for Ruby and Ketchy's. Shouting had been a mistake, though, for while Spot was distracted with Lep's departure, King managed to strike him in the nose, causing it to bleed. Spot ignored the injury and continued fighting, using the heavy metal head of his walking stick to stab King in the gut while giving the remaining thug a black eye.
"So you're gonna use weapons, are ya Spot?" King asked, seemingly unaffected by Spot's caning. He snaked the fingers of his left hand into his right sleeve, pulling out a knife that had been secured there. It was only a few inches long, but the metal blade was sharp and gleaming in the harsh sunlight. King stabbed in the direction of Spot's arm, but Spot dodged just in time, managing to land a punch in the chest of one of the thugs.
While the thug groaned, King stabbed again, this time slashing Spot's lower leg, leaving an ugly gash overflowing with ruby liquid. Spot grimaced and staggered; pain searing through his leg.
"Hey, King!" a taunting voice cried. King only had time to slam the still-unbalanced Spot against a wall before Trickster tackled him. Jungle attacked one of the thugs, sneaking a quick glance at Spot as he did so. Spot's head had struck the brick wall of the building behind him, and he had collapsed, falling only a few feet away from an unconscious gang-member.
Jungle growled...if Spot had been hurt...he grabbed Spot's cane from the fallen newsie's belt and rammed it against a thug's skull, unceremoniously dumping his limp body on the cold cobblestone street below. There were only two left now: King and his friend. Jungle punched the last thug and pushed him to the ground, just as Trickster managed to unbalance King and push him into the wall. Now both leaders were limp and comatose, and the thugs were in no condition to fight.
"We'd better get out of here before the bulls come," Trickster said. "I'll go back to Ruby and Ketchy's and get Lep, if you want to take care of Spot."
"Yeah," Jungle agreed. He was a tall, muscular, African-American newsie who rarely spoke. He tore his shirt off, making a bandage for Spot's leg, which was still bleeding profusely. Then, being careful not to jar Spot's leg or head, Jungle lifted him over his shoulder and began the long walk back to Manhattan.