"Mush, lemme see where the bastard got ya! Take off those bandages, what are ya, some kinda sissy? That'll be one hell of a scar, huh?"

"Don't be stupid. He can't take off da bandages. If he does it'll get all inflected. Right, Mush?"

"It's infected, you idiot. And ya'll need to stop screamin'. The boy got stabbed, he ain't deaf."

"Some guys get to have all the fun. Christ...stabbed. And by a genuine loony, too. Now there's a story to tell your grandkids."

That was quite enough for Mush. With dramatic flourish he threw his arm—the only one he could move—over his eyes and demanded that everyone leave the room except for Snoddy. Sure, he adored all the attention, and this whole injured act was working wonders in the girl department (who had all abandoned their tough tomboy facades to be little doting Florence Nightingales, the lot of 'em), but Snoddy and he were way overdue to have a little talk.

Once his wishes were heeded and the room emptied save for the pair of them, Mush uncovered his eyes and looked over at Snoddy, who had collapsed into a chair that looked to be about a hundred years old.

"Hey, look, Snoddy—"

"Before you say anythin', Mush, I just wantcha to know how happy I am that your okay. I know we give each other a lot a shit, but you're my pal," Snoddy interrupted, keeping his eyes on an absurdly large spider web inhabiting a corner of the ceiling that Kloppman had somehow missed.

There was a pregnant pause before Mush responded with a soft, surprised, "thanks, Snoddy." Glimpses of genuine affection were so rare in the lives of the boys that Mush didn't quite know how to take Snoddy's profession. So he shifted some in his bed and hurried the slight awkwardness away with a cough. "Now listen, I want to apologize."

Snoddy dragged his eyes away from the spider web to peer over at Mush in disbelief. "Apologize? You?"

Mush rolled his eyes. "Yeah, ya bum. I should of paid more attention to what you said about Tommy Dugan…could of saved us all a lot a trouble."

"Yeah," Snoddy agreed, resting his chin in his hand, "he sure did cause a few problems, didn't he?"

"More'n a few, I'd say. What kinda loon would think it'd be a hoot to start all those crazy stories?" He paused, shaking his head in wonder, then continued.

"What's the word from the outside? I haven't been outta this room in next to forever. Kloppman's convinced I'll get gangrene, or something stupid like that, and no one'll tell me the latest gossip."

"Gossip, eh?" Snoddy chuckled, stretching out in his chair, "yer thick as a freakin' brick, Mush. Haven't you learned your lesson?"

The question was answered by a blank stare from the bedridden newsie. Snoddy shook his head, chuckled again, and shrugged. "Well...I guess there has been some news..."

"Yeah? What?" Mush was practically drooling he was so desperate for information. He felt like a leper, cooped up in this damn room with no windows for over a week.

"Davey an' Socks are engaged to be engaged," Snoddy said, smiling a little. Mush chuckled.

"Guess the Mouth got a little chicken after he learned she wasn't knocked up, huh?. What else?"

Snoddy sighed. Not all the news this week had been good. "No one knows where Tunes is at. Skittery still won't give up looking, he's beating himself up over how he treated 'er..."

"Too bad bout dat Tunes," Mush said, his words slow and blurry around the edges as the painkillers he had taken earlier began to do their job, "she wasn't a bad kid. End on a high note for me, okay?"

Snoddy mulled this over, desperate to think of a worthy tidbit. "I overheard Jack tellin' Gypsy how Stripes might be moving to Manhattan. Guess her and Conlon had a little fallin' out."

"Is that right?" Mush's eyes drooped, but there was a lopsided smile on his lips. "Imagine that, a Brooklyn girl to stir up some excitement."

As he friend drifted off, Snoddy laughed, and stood up slowly. "You know what buddy? I don't think we need any more excitement around here. Not for a long, long time," he flicked the light off and turned to go. Had there been windows in the small room, he could have looked up to see the lightest dusting of snow was beginning to covering the streets like confectioner's sugar, a delicate camouflage for the sullied city.