Slips and Pocket had taken the long walk from Brooklyn to Manhattan together many times, but this time she wasn't very good company. Her usual quick smile and ready laugh were noticeably absent that night, and Slips wasn't sure if it was worry over the strike or something else that was making her so quiet.

They split up a couple of blocks from the lodging house. Slips curled up on a bench and was soon asleep. Pocket continued on her way, her mind full of Spot.

She was so lost in her thoughts she didn't hear the voices until they were almost on top of her. Quickly, she ducked into an alley, listening carefully. Her shoulder slumped with relief when Jack and David ambled past. Silently she slipped out of the alley and followed behind them. She trailed them noiselessly for almost a block before she finally spoke up.

"Nice night for a stroll."

David jumped; Jack whirled around fist raised.

"Jesus, Pocket," Jack relaxed when he saw her. "Ya gotta stop sneakin up on me like that."

"You should pay more attention," she said, falling into step beside him.

"Didn't expect ta see ya back tanight," he remarked. "Thought you was stayin in Brooklyn."

"Heard about Crutchy," she said. "So ya didn't get him out?"

Jack shook his head. "Couldn't," he said regretfully. "The Delancey's soaked him pretty bad and he ain't walkin right."

Pocket's mouth tightened. "Just wait til I see them Delancey's again . . ." she muttered angrily.

"How did you know about Crutchy?" David asked her.

Jack and Pocket shared a look.

"Boidies," they answered in unison.

"Boidies?" he repeated, confused. "Wait, you mean . . . spies?"

Jack nodded. "Sorta."

"You've got spies?" David asked incredulously.

"Not me," Pocket chuckled. "Try to keep up."

"Brooklyn's got boidies all ovah New York," Jack explained. He nudged Pocket. "Shoulda known he woulda already found out."

"So what's the plan for tomorrow, Cowboy?" she asked him.

"Not sure," he shrugged. "Guess we'se gonna go to the distribution center."

"Ya gonna try talkin ta Pulitzer again?"

"Maybe."

"Well ya gotta do something," she said sternly. "Otherwise we'se just a bunch of kids sittin around."

"I know, I know. I'll think of something," Jack promised.

She nudged David. "How 'bout you, Mouth. Got any big ideas?"

Shaking his head, David answered. "Not really. We sort of thought we'd have more support by now. But I guess Spot Conlon has better things to do."

Pocket raised her eyebrows at his snide tone. "Spot didn't start the strike," she said flatly. "You did. Now ya hafta finish it, with or with out his help."

Seeing that his friend had made her angry, Jack changed the subject. "It's gettin late," he told them, yawning. "I'se gonna take a walk and go ta sleep."

"See ya in the morning," he clapped David on the shoulder before turning to Pocket. "Ya goin back to the Lodging House?" he asked her.

"In a minute. Gonna stay and talk to Dave for a bit."

Jack smirked at David, who had already started walking away and was now blushing slightly. The Manhattan leader shook hands with Pocket, leaning in to whisper in her ear.

"Go easy on him." She rolled her eyes.

After Jack had gone, Pocket took a seat on the steps of a nearby apartment building. David watched nervously as she took out a cigarette and took a few leisurely puffs. He wished he was as confident and charming as Jack. He didn't have much experience with girls, and despite all the warnings, he wanted her to like him. He tried to think of something witty to say to break the silence, but he was pretty sure she was mad at him so he kept his mouth shut. After a while, she looked over at him.

"Ya don't like Spot." It was more of a statement than a question.

"I never said –" he started to protest but she leveled her green eyes on him, daring him to deny it. "Alright," he sighed. "I don't."

She studied him intently. "Cuz he won't join the strike, or cuz you'se afraid of him?" she asked.

"I'm not afraid of him!" he said hastily.

Pocket snorted. "Ya should be." She took another drag of her cigarette. "So you're mad that he said no, then."

"Well, yeah," David said. "All the other newsies are waiting to see what Spot does. Now that he said no, so will everyone else."

"Do you wanna know why he said no?" she asked.

"I know why," he answered. "He doesn't think we can win."

"True," she agreed. "That's a pretty good reason."

David didn't answer, couldn't think of anything to say.

"Look, Dave," she said patiently. "There's more at stake than ya know here. This isn't a game. Spot has to look out for his boys. He has to make sure they have money for food and a place ta sleep, an he has to keep 'em outta trouble. They depend on him."

David shook his head. "We have to worry about the same things here, what's the difference."

"The difference," she informed him, " is that if this don't work, if we lose, the worst that will happen is you'se all have to deal with the new prices. In a few weeks everything'll go back to normal."

She stood up and walked over to him, staring him in the eye. "If Brooklyn joins the strike," she told him, " an we lose, if Spot loses . . . Brooklyn will fall apart."

David gave a disbelieving snort. "I think you might be "improving the truth" a little," he said.

"No," she insisted, "I'm not. Look, Brooklyn ain't like Manhattan. It's dirty, its dangerous. There's about thirty newsies here, Spot's got over a hundred." She paused to let that sink in. " It ain't easy keeping that many boys in line. An the reason Spot can do that is because of his reputation. Nobody argues with him. An' if some dumbass does decide to go against Spot, believe me, they don't do it twice. If Brooklyn joins the strike and don't come out on top, that makes him look weak."

"So he doesn't want to help us because losing won't be good for his ego?" David asked rudely.

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.

"Spot was twelve years old when he took over Brooklyn. The old leader, Roller, got knocked out in a bar fight and never woke up. After that, things were real bad. Everybody was tryin ta get a piece of Brooklyn. Spot fought for six months ta get control. Six months of sneakin, and spyin and lookin over his shoulder till he finally beat everybody out. Then for a year after that he had to deal with the other boroughs causin problems. Now its been almost three years an nobody messes with Brooklyn."

She went back over to the stoop and sat down, staring up at the sky for a minute.

"If he helps us an we still lose, people will start thinking he's weak. He'll have to fight for Brooklyn all over again."

They sat in silence while David mulled over what she'd said. After a while, she nudged his arm.

"Now do ya get it?" she asked him.