"So when's the others comin', Kid?" Mush asked plaintively.
The Manhattan newsies milled about the foot of Horace Greeley's statue. They'd distributed the Newsies Banner to working children all over New Yorkâto stable boys, factory kids, bike messengers, and seamstresses. They'd spread the word, but now it seemed they were left to finish the fight alone.
Jack stood, his face set in grim lines. "They ain't comin'," he said firmly. " There ain't gonna be nobody but us."
Mush dropped his head to stare at the ground.
"He'll come," Pocket spoke quiet assurance. "They'll all come."
David wished he could share in her confidence. He draped his arm across his sister's shoulder. She leaned into him, offering her support. The newsies huddled together, all hope lost. It was useless to wait, no one was coming.
Suddenly, in the distance, they heard the rumble of voices. From her perch atop the statue, Pocket gave a glad cry. Blink looked up, his eye widening in surprise. He clutched Racetrack's shoulder, pointing behind him, the other boy's mouth gaped open as he shoved frantically at Blink, pointing in the other direction.
The small group watched in amazement as the noise came closer. Children flooded the streets, pouring in from every direction, causing cyclists and pedestrians to hurry out of their way. More and more kept coming and converging on the statue, chanting and singing.
"Brooklyn!"
The cry came from across the street as Spot and his boys rounded the corner. Pocket watched from her vantage point, her eyes fixed on Spot. The Brooklyn leader was a sight to behold, swinging his cane, eyes narrowed, his face lit with the fire of battle. The crowd parted before him, clearing a path for the mighty King of Brooklyn and his conquering army. Every instinct she had told Pocket to run to him, to leap into his arms, but she held herself back. Instead she hopped down, spitting into her palm to shake hands with Lucky, who'd arrived with his Bronx newsies.
Jack lifted Les onto his shoulders, and seeing this, Pocket pulled Lucky down so she too could see above the crowd. Balanced on his broad shoulders, she couldn't help but look again to Spot. His pale blue gaze zeroed in on her, alight with eagerness and something else, something she couldn't name. Pocket forced herself to look away, to survey the crowd. Her heart caught in her chest at the scene before her. All around her, the crowd pressed closer, waving signs and yelling. "Stable boys on strike." "Girls want rights too!" She read the crude signs, overcome with emotion. In the throng she recognized the faces of some of the Queens and Harlem newsies, even some from outside the five boroughs, from Staten Island, and Long Island, too. Every single child laborer in New York City had descended on the office of Joseph Pulitizer, determined to be heard.
Jack pushed his way to the forefront, David beside him, both awestruck at the outpouring of support. Racetrack sidled up next to them. " Deah me," he quipped, "What have we heah?" He motioned to the businessman making his way down the steps.
Pocket wanted to follow Jack into the building, but she was too far away. All she could do was nod encouragingly at David as the two disappeared inside. The next few minutes passed like hours for the newsies gathered around the gates. Filled with nervous energy, Spot bounced on his toes, craning his neck for a glimpse of the action.
When Jack and David finally emerged, their faces were serious, and Pocket's heart sank. Surely they would look happier if the meeting had been successful. Ushered through the gates by policemen, the two boys were swarmed by impatient newsies clamoring for news. Jack ignored their impatient questions, leaning down to whisper to Les. He straightened, hoisting the small boy back onto his shoulders, and the two of them turned to face the crowd.
After a short, painful moment of suspense, they raised their arms, fists clenched in a symbol of victory.
"We beat 'em!" Jack cried.
Instantly a deafening shout erupted from the gathered masses. Pocket was beside herself, jumping up and down, hugging everyone in sight. Suddenly she found herself wrapped tight in familiar arms. Pulling back, she looked nervously up at Spot.
"Pocket," he started, but she shook her head and rushed off, bounding into Lucky and Twitchy's waiting embrace.
Chaos reigned in the aftermath of the victory as well-wishers crowded into the distribution yard. Pocket found herself swept away by Fiver and some of the other Brooky's, who all greeted her enthusiastically and pulled her into a celebratory dance. Her hat had long since gotten lost in the melee, and her dark curls swung freely as she laughed and in happy circles. She felt eyes on her and looked up to find Spot watching her with a hungry expression. Once again, she avoided his gaze, searching the crowd for Racetrack.
The smile fell from her lips as she caught sight of the wagon approaching.
"Jack!" she yelled, pushing her way toward him. "Cheese it, it's the bulls!"
She gained the steps as the boys took up her warning, elbowing people aside as she fought to reach Jack. Her only thought was to give him time to get away. Strong arms grabbed her and held her back as she desperately tried to put herself between Jack and the advancing officers. She glared up at Spot, but he refused to let go of her.
Denton hurried up the steps just as she as she was about to haul off and punch Spot. The reporter's words gave her pause.
"You don't have to run anymore, Jack," he said softly. "Not from the likes of him."
They all watched as the wagon door opened to release several of the boys from the refuge. Ten-Pin looked to be the last one out, but he turned back. Pocket tore free of Spot's grasp as Crutchy thumped his way out of the wagon. When he shut the door on a furious Snyder, she threw herself at him, nearly toppling him with her enthusiasm. He hugged her tightly, leaning on her as they shoved their way back to Jack.
Pocket found her eyes drawn once more to Spot as Crutchy chattered happily to Jack. Aware of her attention, he straightened and turned to face her. She drank in his regal posture, his cocky stance, filling her eyes with the sight of his firm jaw and proud chin. Spot stared back at her, unblinking, his eyes shining.
Beside her, Crutchy pointed, drawing her focus away from Spot. She followed the direction of his finger to a second carriage where a distinguished older gentlemen stood shaking hands with the eager newsies. Her jaw dropped as she caught the end of Crutchy's sentence.
" . . . . . . him, Teddy Roosevelt."
Pocket watched in amazement as Jack strode over to speak with the governor. She crowed closer just in time to hear Jack ask for a ride to the train yards.
As the tall Manhattaner climbed into the carriage, Pocket struggled to push down her disappointment. She wanted to be happy for her friend, who for so long had longed to escape the city, but she couldn't help but feel betrayed again.
Pocket wasn't the only one affected by his departure. In the midst of the celebration, the Manhattan newsies shuffled listlessly up to the distribution window. Poor little Les looked lost, David bereft, and Sarah brushed away tears., the Manhattan newsies shuffled listlessly up to the distribution window. Poor little Les looked lost, David bereft, and Sarah brushed away tears.
Pocket drew away from the saddened newsies, retreating by herself as the cheering crowd followed the carriage that bore Jack away from them. She slumped against the wall, searching for a cigarette.
Her head jerked up when a hand appeared in front of her face, holding a lit cigarette. She took it grudgingly, forcing herself to look at Spot.
"Whatcha gonna do now?" he asked casually.
She shrugged. "Dunno."
"Ya could come back ta Brooklyn," he offered quietly.
"No." She shook her head.
He wisely chose not to argue, only breathed a heavy sigh.
"Manhattan's gonna need a leadah," he suggested.
Again, she shook her head. "Nah," she answered sadly. "I'se seen what bein' a leadah can do to ya."
He flinched at the insult, ducking away from her pointed look. He started to say something but stopped. He knew there was no use in arguing.
Spot gave a curt nod, lifting his eyes to give her a searching look before turning away. She watched him melt into the crowd. Sighing, she threw down her cigarette and went to join her friends at the window. She halfheartedly bought twenty papes, more to go along with the boys than out of any real desire to sell. Racetrack walked up and draped a comforting arm around her. She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder, eyes closed.
"C'mon," he coaxed, "Let's go sell a few papes an' find a card game. See if we can't lose some money now we gots it."
Her answer was drowned out by renewed cheering, and they both looked up to see the governor's carriage rounding the corner. Jack stood up, shaking hands with Roosevelt. Pocket and Race hurried closer as their friend hopped down and made a beeline for Sarah. Catcalls and whistles went up from the newsies as he pulled her close for a passionate kiss.
Pocket watched wistfully from the edge of the crowd as Jack and Sarah embraced. Deep down she was glad for them, but she couldn't stop wishing for her own happy ending.
Another cheer erupted and Pocket turned to see the carriage pulling away once more. Roosevelt continued to accept handshakes and thanks from the following crowd. Inside the carriage, Spot Conlon sat regally, waving elegantly at the throng.
Pocket watched with a lump in her throat as the King of Brooklyn rode out of sight, taking her heart with him.