The next morning, when the first rays of light peeked through the dusty windows of the Lodging House, the boys opened their eyes to a new, fully made, empty bed.

Racetrack turned over slowly, stretching his arms above his head and hitting the wall behind his bed and stuck his cigar back in his mouth. "Heya, Adri? You up...yet...?" He sat up, staring at the bed next to him. "What da..." He whispered, confused, his eyebrows coming together. He whirled to his left.

"'Ey, Blink!" When his cycloptic friend didn't move, he ripped off his cap and smacked him with it.

"Wha-what?! Oh, just you Race...lemme go back ta sleep a'ready..." He rolled back over, catching sight of the now empty bed next to Race.

"What da..."

"Dat's what I'se said...didja hear huh leave?" Blink shook his head negative, sitting up on his elbows.

"Neada did I..." He scratched his head with the tip of his cigar. "Dat shoa is weird..."

The others began to rise and dress. He called Jack over. He spotted the problem from across the room.

"Well, did she leave a note?"

Racetrack eyed his friend wearily, but shrugged none-the-less. "Din't t'ink 'a dat." He crawled out of his bed, wincing as his bare feet hit the icy floor. Tiptoeing over to her bed, he threw himself on it upon reaching it, his feet thankful for the break from the cold. He glanced at the pillow, which was freshly fluffed, though that still hadn't helped it's state of raggedness, and under the bed.

Blink padded over to the bed as well, and lifted the pillow, swiping up the small slip of paper before Racetrack could.

"Din't t'ink 'a dat neada..." He grumbled to himself.

Jack crossed his arms and stood behind Blink as he read it aloud, helping him with the larger words.

"Deah Newsboys..." Jack turned and called the remaining newsies closer.

Blink cleared his throat and started again in a louder voice, fighting down his thick accent. "Dear Newsboys, I cannot express to you how thankful I am for your kindness...yeah, kindness and hospi...hospital? Jack?"

Jack leaned over his shoulder. "Hos...hoss-pih-tal-ih-tee...hospitality."

Blink nodded. "T'anks Jack, kindness and hospitality. I also regret having to leave you all so quickly;"

"Ya got dat right..." Boots mumbled softly from a top bunk.

"In and out of your lives in a mere...mere? Wuzat?"

Jack tapped his chin in thought as Spot walked through the door, David on his tail.

"It's a second...real quick like." He adopted a British accent. "A fleeting moment of time."

Blink smirked at the leader of the Brooklyn newsies. "Heya Spot, Davey...join us won'tcha?"

"Heya boys..." Spot settled down next to Pie Eater, placing his cane across his lap.

David plopped down on the floor near his brother, who hadn't come home with him the night before.

Blink rattled the paper loudly. "In a mere instant, but I'm afraid I had no choice. My grad-ih-toode, gratitude is forever your's, and I will never forget you. Love,"

Mush sighed loudly.

Blink rolled his eyes. "Love, Adrianna. Oh, wait...PS I hope you enjoy your gifts." He looked up and around the room. "Gifts? Anyone get any gif's?"

The newsies traded glances, then shook their heads.

"What'd she mean by dat? Hey Jack, ya t'ink she was runnin' from da bulls?" He asked, switching subjects.

"Pro'bly...wonder why...oh well, come on ya bummas,"

Blink stood proudly. "We'se got woik ta do!"

The next week or so went by without much change, and most of the boys even forgot about Adri's so-called "gifts", until one morning...

Mush awoke and stretched, still missing Adrianna though it had been more than a week since she had disappeared. He swung his feet over the side, his toes touching something soft before hitting the wooden floor. Puzzled, he glanced down.

/Pro'bly someone's hat.../

Mush rubbed his eyes as his gaze fell upon the objects. He picked them up gently, caressing the velvety brown leather.

"A pair 'a new shoes...wid matchin' laces..." He jerked his head up, a huge grin plastered to his face.

* * *

That very same morning, Racetrack was heading down to the Sheepshead track, his favorite place in all of New York. As he reached the outer gates, he caught sight of a cop. Ducking behind the sea of people, he managed to lose him, that is, until he got inside.

"You there! Hold on!"

Race stopped in his tracks and turned. Facing the policeman, held out his arms, ready for the cuffs, and awaiting their all-too-familiar snap.

The officer, a portly man with large features and a steely gaze, chuckled.

Race opened his eyes. "What's so funny?"

"They told me you were quite a character when they picked me to escort you..."

"Dey? Dey who?"

The policeman roared with laughter, taking Race delicately by the arm and leading him further into, and above, the stands.

"Heya...idn't da refuge dat way?"

"Sure is Mr. Higgins..."

Race blinked, unbelieving and confused. Willingly, he found himself being led into a solitary room, with quite the set-up.

"If you need anything else sir, don't hesitate to call me." The officer smiled and backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Racetrack fell into an overstuffed chair nearby, rubbing his forehead. The realization finally dawned on him. He gazed out the huge front window as he spoke, grinning giddily. "A poimanent box at da Sheepshead races..."

* * *

Spot slid out of his grimy bed and jumped to the floor, the sheet hanging over the side trembled as he landed solidly.

As he walked to the door, still pulling on his pink suspenders, a herd of burly men came stomping through, carrying a large object and headed toward the messy bathroom on the other side of the room.

Spot stood, transfixed and staring after them. He opened his mouth, then shut it quickly. He followed cautiously behind them, hesitating at the doorway. He watched as the men put down the object, and although his view was still obstructed, he could tell by the strong thump it made that it was heavy.

/Very heavy.../

"'Scuse me, gentlemens..."

The men ignored him.

"May I ask what youse t'ink youse is doin'?" He asked, fingering the slingshot in his backpocket.

One of the men stomped over to him, thrusting a piece of paper and a grubby pencil in his face. Spot glanced at it. "And dis is...?"

The man looked down at him with a cold fire in his eyes. "Is you Conlon?" He asked, glancing quickly at the sheet.

Spot nodded.

"Well, you gotta sign fer dis t'ing...dat okay by youse? Pretty boy?"

Spot choked down a retort, settling for mumbling "Rotten bumma...I oughta soak youse..." under his breath as he signed instead.

The big man, Leroy according to his shirt, grabbed the paper back in his massive hands and stood by as he watched his team rush around their delivery, setting up this, or filling up that.

Spot crossed his arms hotly behind Leroy's back and calmly waited until the men were done.

They walked out the door, stooping to get under the frame, without so much as a word.

Spot tentatively peered around the door, his eyes nearly falling out of his head as his gaze landed on what the deliverymen had brought him.

Steam rose from the water as he inched closer, running his hands lovingly across the smooth white surface and gold plated feet.

A familiar tune popped in his head as he spoke. "A porcelain tub wid boilin' watah..."