The rumble of carriage wheels caught Jack's attention, even as he and the other two stood trapped and frozen on the fire escape.

Get up to the roof, he hissed, grabbing at Spot's sleeve. I've got an idea.

With wordless speed the three boys scrambled further up the fire escape and onto the roof, crouching as low as possible to the brick, the angry calls of the adults and the encouraging shouts of the Refugees urging them on. A shot fired, and all three boys cringed, glancing around wildly until they determined that none of them had been hit.

This way, yelled Jack, and they followed him a dozen yards to the left, where sure enough a carriage was coming out of the inner courtyard, heading towards the gate.

Quick! Jump!

Spot, eternally heedless and lucky, beat Jack to it. He landed on the roof of the carriage with catlike grace and immediately got down flat on his belly as another shot fired into the air. Jack followed, not quite so gracefully, and turned behind him to beckon Mike.

But even as he turned he realized it was too late. The horses, startled by the boys' landing and by the warning gunfire, had darted several steps forward, pulling the carriage too far from the roof. If Mike jumped now, he would fall two stories to the cobblestones below.

Everyone was shouting the refuge boys, the cops, the surprised and irritated carriage driver. From where he lay, with his face slightly over the top of the carriage, Jack saw a hand emerge from the covered window below, wave briefly at the crowd, and retreat again. Evidently Mr. Roosevelt believed the shouting and even the gunfire was in his honor.

Though Roosevelt's driver loudly cursed both the horses and the two fugitives who lay atop his carriage, the nervous horses were not to be stopped. The carriage pulled away from the gates as Jack and Spot looked back over their shoulders at the crowd of boys, the angry guards, and the diminishing figure of Mike still standing on the roof of the Refuge as Snyder's stooges climbed the fire escape to fetch him.

Then the carriage turned a corner, and the Refuge disappeared behind the rows of brick buildings lining the busy thoroughfare.

It took the driver another half a block to get the horses to come to a full stop. When the carriage finally halted Jack and Spot were ready. They half climbed, half fell from the top and took off running the moment they hit the pavement, barely evading the grasp of the angry driver, who called them any number of foul names before Roosevelt poked his head from the carriage demanding to know why they had stopped.

But by that time the boys were a block away and still running. They raced through the crowded streets, dodging pedestrians, street vendors, buggies, newsboys, old men and young women and laborers and urchins and all the other people who filled the roads on a weekday morning in New York City.

As the distance between them and the Refuge increased, they slowed to a walk, and finally stopped in front of a large, shabby theater. Spot threw himself down on a bench that stood near the entrance.

Guess we're all right for now, yeah? said Jack.

Spot nodded mutely.

You okay? You ain't hurt or nothin''?

Spot nodded again. After a moment, Jack sat down beside him and put a hand on his shoulder.

Look, you ain't lettin' what Mike said get to you, are you? He was just scared, he didn't mean it...Shut up, Sullivan, said Spot, shaking Jack's hand off with sudden fury. Don't touch me, I don't want your damn coddling.

Jack sat in silence, not knowing what to say. Because in a way, Mike had been right, and they both knew it. The whole thing had been one stupid, aimless tragedy, and it had been Spot who started it. He had inflamed them all with his sudden rebellious passion, and they'd all been so carried away on the tide of rhetoric that nobody had stopped to think. If only they had planned it beforehand, if they had stolen the key in advance, if they had cut the phone line...

But it was no use thinking of all the ifs and should haves. Here they were, he and Spot, free at last to roam the streets of New York in search of the future. It was what they had been dreaming of together for months and yet now it had come true it was all wrong. They were supposed to be laughing, excited, giddy with freedom and possibility. Instead they were hungry, cold, miserable and guilty.

They sat on the bench for a long time, brooding and watching the passersby as the day grew warmer. In his hand, Spot still held the gate key he had taken off of Snyder. He turned it over and over in his fingers.

After what seemed like hours, Spot sat up and shook his shoulders in the odd, twitchy way he had, as though he were shrugging off cobwebs. He turned to Jack.

So. What now? He was trying to be noncholant, although his voice still had the rough edge of supressed grief.

Well... we could start with some food. I'm starvin'.Yeah, me too, I guess.How bout him? said Jack, and nudged his head towards the hot chestnut vendor who stood a few yards from them, whistling tunelessly as he filled a paper cone full of the hot treats for a young woman in a pink dress. Spot turned to look. Quietly, like the experience urchins they were, they sized up the possibilities.

If I go up and start askin' him stuff, like the time of day, then you could... Spot began.

Nah, he'd never fall for that one.You could pretend to have a fit, and while he was lookin' the other way, I couldNobody's that stupid. Come on, Conlon.We could ask him to treat us, said Spot with a twisted smile.

Yeah, I'm sure he'd be real happy about that. If we smiled real pretty he might even take us home and give us a bath.Well, what's your brilliant idea, Jackie-boy?

Jack's eye wandered from the vendor to the girl not girl, woman, she was older than her frilly dress implied as he thought. She was walking slowly towards them now, pink skirt swaying around her ankles in a funny, stagey way. Probably a prostitute, Jack thought. His eyes wandered up to her face too made up to tell her age, but she was pretty. Very pretty. Now why on earth would such a pretty woman stop dead when Jack met her eye?

she said. Is that little Francis Sullivan? She walked closer, quickly, the self-concious sashay gone from her step.

How's this broad know you? Spot queried.

Beats me, I never seen her before. At leastIt is you! Isn't it? said the woman. She had come to a stop three feet in front of the bench, and was standing with her hands on her hips, gazing at Jack with a mixture of pleasure, astonishment, and faint accusation. Jack was completely nonplussed.

Yeah, that used to be my name. Jack said cautiously.

She laughed. Used to be. You're just like your daddy, you know that? I woulda known you anywhere. She popped a hot chestnut into her pink painted mouth, smiling.

You knew my dad? Jack's heart jumped painfully.

Yeah, I used to be one of the girls in his joint. You were just a tiny kid then, though, you wouldn't remember. I was there when well, when we all got busted.Oh. Wow. I woulda thought I'd remember you then. Wasn't so long ago.Six years, kid. That's an age and a half. Where's he now?Dunno. Still in the clink, I guess. I ain't seen him since then.Goodness. So you've been on your own since then?Yeah, more or less.Aw, you poor kid.

There was a moment of silence as they stared at each other. Jack was trying hard to remember her he would have thought she'd stand out in his memory, with that bright red hair and the soft, slightly hoarse voice. Of course, her hair could be dyed, and most of the girls in his dad's joint had hoarse voices, from working long nights in the smokey bar. Besides, he wouldn't have had any reason then to notice if one woman was prettier or nicer than the others. He'd only been about seven, after all.

So... what're you doin' now? Jack asked. He was really curious. She looked well, not rich, definitely not rich, but a hell of a lot better than she had probably looked when she was working for his dad.

I'm an actress. Doin' pretty well for myself.Yeah, looks like you are.How bout you, how are you keepin' yourself now?Well... actually, my friend and me, we's out lookin' for a job right now.Really? Well that's just perfect! Our two cleanin' boys got fired just last night, and the owner's lookin' for replacements in a big hurry. You two'd be perfect!

Jack looked at Spot. Spot looked at Jack. It was almost too good to be true, not having to look for some horrible sweatshop job, stealing food and sleeping on the street while they searched for days and weeks.

Thanks, MissOh, it's Larkson, Medda Larkson. Course, you'd have known me before as well, never mind, those days're all over now, thank heaven.Well, thanks, Miss Larkson, we'd be real pleased to do it, if the manager'd really take us,
Jack said politely.

Call me Medda. I'm sure he would. Positive, in fact. Come in and meet him right now, there's a rehearsal in just a few minutes. She beckoned them eagerly, and turned to lead them into the theater, her skirt flipping firtaciously around her little pink boots as she ran up the steps. Jack followed her, and Spot followed Jack, chuckling audibly.

Jack be nimble, Jack be quick. We landed on our feet, Jackie-boy. Good work.