"Watta ya say I take Gunnar sellin with me tomorrow?"
Ingrid raised an eyebrow at him. "Really?"
"Sure, why not? I'll teach him the fine points of bein a newsie." He cocked a half smile.
She returned his grin. "I am sure that he would enjoy that."
Spot checked his pocket watch in the lamplight and sighed. "It's gettin late. If I'm gonna be sellin in the mornin, I best be headin to bed."
"Goodnight, Caleb," Ingrid said softly when they were back in the bunkroom. She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. "And thank you."
"Sweet dreams, Ingrid." Spot watched her cross the room before gently lowering himself onto his bed. Resting his head on his arms, he stared up at Striker's bed. A broad smile crossed his face as he replayed the kiss in his mind. Eventually, he forced himself to close his eyes and get some sleep.
Ingrid woke with a start the next morning. The bunkroom was buzzing with activity. Still too tired to get up, she turned on her side and watched the boys joke around as they bundled up to go outside.
"Ingrid!" Before she knew what was happening, Gunnar jumped onto the bed beside her. He was dressed and ready for the day. He excitedly slipped into his Norwegian, speaking quickly.
"I know that you are going to sell newspapers," she assured in a groggy voice. "But you are going to have to speak English. You understand?"
The little boy nodded enthusiastically.
"Gunnar, what're ya doin?" Spot called across the room. He slowly walked over and knelt beside the bed. "I told him not ta wake ya."
Ingrid smiled and sat up slowly, pulling back her unruly hair. "It is alright. I was already awake."
"Sorry," he said with a sheepish smile. "I guess the boys can be a little loud."
"Spot, lets get a move on!"
Striker's voice snagged his attention from Ingrid momentarily. He nodded absently, and then turned to Gunnar. "Ready, kid?"
Gunnar nodded enthusiastically and jumped off the bed. Ingrid bit her lip nervously as she watched him file toward the door with the rest of the newsies.
Spot followed her gaze for a moment, grinning. "Don't worry, beautiful. We'll take good care of him." He placed a kiss on her forehead. "You stay here and relax. Have a good day."
Ingrid watched them vanish out the door before succumbing to sleep once again.
"Well, ain't you cute," Striker murmured under his breath as they started toward the distribution center. He had not intended for his words to be heard, but he knew from the way that Spot's head shot up from the snowy cobblestone that they had been.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Spot asked, his voice as bitterly cold as the wind on the street.
"Aw, come on, Conlon. 'Have a nice day' and a kiss on the forehead? It's cute and all, but how long til history repeats itself?"
Spot's anger boiled over as Striker spoke. He shoved his hands into his pockets to avoid closing his mouth for him.
"Munchkin, commere," he commanded coolly. When the small boy arrived, Spot handed him a few coins. "You take Gunnar and buy me papes fer me alright? Striker and I'll catch up to ya."
"You got it, Spot," Munchkin said, taking Gunnar's hand. "Come on, kid."
When the young boys were safely out of sight, Spot turned to Striker. "You'd better watch yourself, boyo."
"Me watch myself? That's rich. What about you, Spot?"
Spot narrowed his eyes and moved his hand to the gold tip of the cane at his side.
Observing the motion, Striker held up his hands and took a step back. "Hey, buddy boy, I ain't lookin to start a fight. I'm just watchin out fer ya."
"I don't need ya to take care of me, boyo."
"I was there Spot, remember?" Striker said in a low tone. "I helped ya pick up da pieces after they took Stella away. And I ain't gonna let you go through that again."
Spot locked his jaw. "It ain't gonna be like that this time."
"Ya sure?"
Striker's simple question made him go numb. All of the anger that he held was washed away and replaced with doubt. His hand fell limply back to his side.
When Spot made no response, Striker silently rested a hand on his shoulder. "Spot?"
Shrugging off the hand, Spot started for the distribution center. "Let's get sellin."
Ingrid raised an eyebrow at him. "Really?"
"Sure, why not? I'll teach him the fine points of bein a newsie." He cocked a half smile.
She returned his grin. "I am sure that he would enjoy that."
Spot checked his pocket watch in the lamplight and sighed. "It's gettin late. If I'm gonna be sellin in the mornin, I best be headin to bed."
"Goodnight, Caleb," Ingrid said softly when they were back in the bunkroom. She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. "And thank you."
"Sweet dreams, Ingrid." Spot watched her cross the room before gently lowering himself onto his bed. Resting his head on his arms, he stared up at Striker's bed. A broad smile crossed his face as he replayed the kiss in his mind. Eventually, he forced himself to close his eyes and get some sleep.
Ingrid woke with a start the next morning. The bunkroom was buzzing with activity. Still too tired to get up, she turned on her side and watched the boys joke around as they bundled up to go outside.
"Ingrid!" Before she knew what was happening, Gunnar jumped onto the bed beside her. He was dressed and ready for the day. He excitedly slipped into his Norwegian, speaking quickly.
"I know that you are going to sell newspapers," she assured in a groggy voice. "But you are going to have to speak English. You understand?"
The little boy nodded enthusiastically.
"Gunnar, what're ya doin?" Spot called across the room. He slowly walked over and knelt beside the bed. "I told him not ta wake ya."
Ingrid smiled and sat up slowly, pulling back her unruly hair. "It is alright. I was already awake."
"Sorry," he said with a sheepish smile. "I guess the boys can be a little loud."
"Spot, lets get a move on!"
Striker's voice snagged his attention from Ingrid momentarily. He nodded absently, and then turned to Gunnar. "Ready, kid?"
Gunnar nodded enthusiastically and jumped off the bed. Ingrid bit her lip nervously as she watched him file toward the door with the rest of the newsies.
Spot followed her gaze for a moment, grinning. "Don't worry, beautiful. We'll take good care of him." He placed a kiss on her forehead. "You stay here and relax. Have a good day."
Ingrid watched them vanish out the door before succumbing to sleep once again.
"Well, ain't you cute," Striker murmured under his breath as they started toward the distribution center. He had not intended for his words to be heard, but he knew from the way that Spot's head shot up from the snowy cobblestone that they had been.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Spot asked, his voice as bitterly cold as the wind on the street.
"Aw, come on, Conlon. 'Have a nice day' and a kiss on the forehead? It's cute and all, but how long til history repeats itself?"
Spot's anger boiled over as Striker spoke. He shoved his hands into his pockets to avoid closing his mouth for him.
"Munchkin, commere," he commanded coolly. When the small boy arrived, Spot handed him a few coins. "You take Gunnar and buy me papes fer me alright? Striker and I'll catch up to ya."
"You got it, Spot," Munchkin said, taking Gunnar's hand. "Come on, kid."
When the young boys were safely out of sight, Spot turned to Striker. "You'd better watch yourself, boyo."
"Me watch myself? That's rich. What about you, Spot?"
Spot narrowed his eyes and moved his hand to the gold tip of the cane at his side.
Observing the motion, Striker held up his hands and took a step back. "Hey, buddy boy, I ain't lookin to start a fight. I'm just watchin out fer ya."
"I don't need ya to take care of me, boyo."
"I was there Spot, remember?" Striker said in a low tone. "I helped ya pick up da pieces after they took Stella away. And I ain't gonna let you go through that again."
Spot locked his jaw. "It ain't gonna be like that this time."
"Ya sure?"
Striker's simple question made him go numb. All of the anger that he held was washed away and replaced with doubt. His hand fell limply back to his side.
When Spot made no response, Striker silently rested a hand on his shoulder. "Spot?"
Shrugging off the hand, Spot started for the distribution center. "Let's get sellin."