David was able to go back to work, but Les was ordered to bed for a few days. By the time he was better, the two of them had almost forgotten the run in with the little girl on the corner. The newsies were meeting in one of their favorite places, Tibby's and Racetrack wasn't in the best of moods.
"I get a perfectly good cigar but no matches. I swear Snipeshooter, if I find youse been using my matches I'm gonna—"
"I didn't take your lousy matches," Snipshooter shot back.
"Aye, aye, aye, what's dis all about?" Jack walked between them.
"Hey Jack, you wouldn't happen ta have a match on yeh?" asked Race.
"No I don't."
Race frowned and plopped in his seat. "Where's Lucy when ya need her?"
"Who's Lucy?" asked David.
"A friend. Curly blonde hair, wears really large shoes and a scarf around her head. She roams around selling matches," said Jack.
"Her?" asked Les, though nobody knew who he was talking about. "We ran into her a few days ago. She messed up my newspapers," he said accusingly.
"Les," his brother admonished.
"You met little Lucy?" asked Crutchy.
"Her name is Lucy?"
"Well yeah. She's the little match seller of New York."
"The sweetest goil you'll ever meet," said Jack.
"She talked funny," Les muttered and took a sip of his drink.
"A'course she sounds different," Mush laughed. "She's one of dem immigrants. I tink she's from Spain—"
"Was the matter with youse?" Race slapped him upside the head. "She's from Italy."
Mush was about to hit back when Jack pushed him to the side and put a hand on Ractrack's shoulder.
"And Race here is practically her big brother."
"Am not."
"Race knows her the best," said Jack.
"How?" Les asked.
Race shrugged. "She was selling her matches by the racetrack one day. I was workin a hot deal, best horse of the lot, when she came up and asked if I needed a match," Race paused and put his cigar in his mouth, unlit. "She gave me this look with big puppy dog eyes. A'course I couldn't say no, but I could only afford one."
"Eh, she was happy for the penny anyway," said Blink, earning a swipe to the head.
"Who's tellin this story, huh?" asked Race pointing to himself before continuing. "And she left. Next day I found her on Wall Street selling more matches. So I bought another one and it's kept goin loike that ever since."
"Speak of the devil," said Blink and pointed outside the restaurant window. A little girl with messy fair hair and oversized shoes was selling her wares on the street in front of them.
"Great timing," Race smiled and jogged out of the restaurant. The other Newsies watched from inside as Race walked up behind her and tapped her shoulder, quickly stepping to the other side. Lucy turned and saw no one, frowned and turned the other way to be surprised by Racetrack.
She smirked and folded her arms. "What can I do for you Mister?" she asked, her voice so young and innocent, yet cocky.
"Well, I saw youse was sellin matches. Turns out I could sure use one," he answered waving his unused cigar in the air.
"Oh, it turns out zat I happen to have a few matches left," she said, playing along. "Ze finest matches in New York."
"The finest, eh? And how much would one of the finest matches in New York cost?"
Lucy giggled. "One penny."
Race smiled, reached into his pocket and pulled out an old penny, trading it with a match from her straw basket. Lucy looked at it and then gave him a suspicious look.
"You didn't take two did you?"
"Me?" he asked with mock offense, scraping the match against the restaurant wall and lighting his cigar. Releasing the smoke he looked down at her. "I would never do such a thing."
"Mhmm," she said, obviously not buying it. Race shrugged and raised his right hand.
"I promise on me mother's grave, I never took more than one match. Cross my heart and hope to lose a bet."
Lucy laughed, knowing full well that Race would never dream in his right mind hope to lose any kind of bet. He looked back at the window and saw the Newises watching.
"Hey, Lucy. How bout I get youse some lunch, my treat."
"I can't. I've got to sell the rest of zese matches." She shook the basket.
"Luce, they's can wait. You look loike ya haven't eaten in days. C'mon."
Lucy wasn't one to argue, and she didn't put up much of a front when Race started pulling her inside the restaurant. The door closed behind her and she saw all the newsie boys looking at her.
"Heya, guys," she whispered and waved shyly. The boys greeted her and then went back to their own business.
"Hey Tibby," Jack called. "A hotdog for our lovely guest!"
The owner and cook smiled kindly and Lucy and went to the back. Lucy sat at a chair face-to-face with Les.
"You?" she asked, recognizing him immediately as the boy who got mad at her about the newspapers in her selling spot.
Les frowned and ate his hotdog, making her shift uncomfortably. She didn't want to be where she wasn't wanted.
"You're not still angry, are you?" she ventured, but Les didn't answer. He just sat there, pretending to be angry to cover his wild blushing. David smirked while Jack stifled his laughs. Though the poor boy hated to admit it, he was having his first crush just because she sat there, and she was the one he momentarily loathed for making him lose money the day before.
"So how's business?" Jack asked, saving Les' "manliness."
"You would figure zat people would want matches with zis winter, but no one will buy zem."
David frowned and looked at the other guys before reaching in his pocket and pulling a penny earned from that day. "I'll buy one."
Jack nodded and also pulled out two pennies. "Sure, I could use a couple." Taking the matches he turned to the other newies. "I know youse guys all need a few instead of borrowin my stash." The others laughed, knowing it to be true and all pulled out pennies until Lucy ran out of matches.
"There… there are no more," she sounded surprised and ecstatic. "Oh, Papa will be so pleased. Thank you, all of you."
"Your hotdog, Miss," said Tibby while sliding the plate in front of her. She beamed and dug in, sighing with content. Les looked up at her and smiled faintly, glad she was happy. She's not that much of a pain, he thought and took another bite of his lunch.