"Dave! Hey, Dave! You seen The Journal yet?"
Specs ran up to Davey, almost out of breath. He dug out a paper and thrust it at him. "Look! They wrote some stuff about Katherine!"
"What?" Davey frowned, and took the paper to read it more closely. "The bicycle... new-fangled contraption is a waste of space...danger to the public at large...suitable for men only...Katherine Pulitzer, daughter of The World's publisher, was last seen riding through the streets of New York on a Pneumatic-Tired Safety Bicycle-that's it's real name, you know, it's not just called a wheeler-"
"Yes, I know," Specs said impatiently. Davey's reading was starting to draw the other newsies over. "Go on!"
"-dressed in very unwomanly attire. It has been suggested that her willingness to ride this bicycle is linked to her fanciful dreams of becoming a reporter for the New York Sun, and the rag-tag band of newsboys she consorts with."
"Why'd they bring us into this?!" came a shout. Davey glanced up. "Because they know that we can do something about this! Oh-that's it!" he said excitedly. "We go to Hearst, and tell him to stop printing this about Katherine."
"Wait, there's more!" Specs called. "Read it, Davey."
"Yeah, go on, Dave! Read it!"
"Alright." Davey glanced back at the newspaper, opening it up. He frowned at the picture that accompanied the article, but nonetheless read on. "Ms. Pulitzer's attempts to ride this so-called 'wheeler' throughout Manhattan will surely be noticed by the other upper class members of society. Is it enough that the incompetent Ms. Pulitzer has taken over a very highly desired man's job, and now she wants to arrogantly take over one of his favorite pastimes as well? More coverage to follow, if Ms. Pulitzer continues to ride this slanderous machine."
Davey looked up at all the newsies, staring out over their glum faces. He handed the newspaper back to Specs. "That ain't right, and we know it!" he told the crowd. "Mr. Hearst is publishing deceitful lies about Katherine-and all because he's jealous of her bicycle. We all know she's done more for us than any male reporter could do."
This was met with nods and murmurs of agreement.
"Then why should we let this continue to be published?! Katherine might lose her job because of this-and Jack might, too."
"Then why don't she jus' stop ridin' the wheeler?" asked a voice.
"Because-because that ain't the point!" Davey said, waving his hands wildly. "Why should she stop riding it? Just because Hearst said to? We didn't lie down an' take the stuff Pulitzer gave us! So why should Katherine?!"
"Yeah!" the newsies yelled. "So whaddawe gonna do, Dave?"
"Do? I'll tell you what we're gonna do! March right up to Hearst and tell 'im what's wrong with that article, that's what we're gonna do!"
The newsies quieted down for a second. "Ya really think we can?" asked a lone voice.
"Why, sure!" Davey said brazenly. "He's gotta listen to us. And if that doesn't work, we'll take Katharine with us! So who's with me?!"
The newsies all responded with an answering cheer, and Race and Crutchie moved to the forefront of the crowd. "We'll come with you, Dave," Race said, blowing cigar smoke into his face. Davey waved it away. "Alright. Let's do this."
The threesome were followed all the way to The Journal by the large crowd of Manhattan newsies, who were gradually joined by others who were interested in all the commotion. Davey, Race and Crutchie marched right up to the steps, and waited while Davey knocked confidently on the huge doors. Les ran through the multitude of newsies, trying to reach his brother, only to be scooped up by Specs and deposited on his shoulders to gain a better view of the action. The heavy wooden doors shut closed with an ominous bang, trapping the trio inside.
Davey, Race and Crutchie glanced around at the gleaming walls, high-vaulted ceilings and the rich array of elegant rugs splayed out on the floor. Race nervously fumbled for a cigar, almost tripping backwards and hitting a gold candelabra. Davey hurriedly reached out to steady his friend and the object before turning around to examine the hallway some more. The wide walls and silence was enough to engulf and smother the newsies, to make them forget why they were here.
Crutchie jumped as an office door was slammed open. He looked over to see a very heavy man with an impossibly large mustache resting on his face, as if it were a greasy ferret-type animal that could come jumping off at any second. The man sniffed and wiped his nose with a meaty finger, reaching down to glance at his gold pocket watch. The man grunted, as the time was apparently not up to his standards of decency. He noticed Crutchie staring at him after a moment, and peered at all three newsies with beady, rat-like eyes. "Who let you in here?" The man barked at them. "What do you want?!"
"Please sir, we need to speak to Mr. Hearst," Davey cut in before anyone else had a chance to speak. "It's a very important matter, and if he would just allow us to-"
"Mr. Hearst does not want to see anyone like you," the burly man dismissed them and trundled his way down the hallway, almost knocking Race down. "Sir, it's about an article that was published today-"
"Security!" The brutish man roared, ignoring Davey's attempts to show him the paper.
"-about Ms. Katherine Pulitzer, and her wheeler-"
The man stopped, and cast an unfeeling look to the trio, who tried their best to look as grown-up and clean as possible. "Are you boys the newsies? Friends of Ms. Pulitzer, I presume?"
"Yes, sir," Crutchie said after a moment's hesitation from all three of them. The man's look hardened, and he stalked towards the boys, getting right in Crutchie's face. Davey glanced at him worriedly, but Crutchie wasn't afraid. This big-shot was the same height as him. "You can tell Ms. Pulitzer from me," the man jabbed a fat finger at Crutchie's chest, but barely knocked him back. "That no woman like her deserves to own a wheeler, let alone ride one. It's best that men keep that to ourselves, hm?" His beady eyes searched the boy's clear green ones for some reaction. When he found none, the man grumbled something unintelligible and went on. "She's a loud, stuck-up busybody who believes in silly little things like strikes and women's rights. Tell her to fix her corset and go back to supporting her family with a decent job."
The man grunted and turned away from the boys with a snarky glare, almost as though he thought he had one this little battle. Race was having none of it, however.
"Look, mistah, if you says to keep the wheelers for men and all, why don'tcha drop a few pounds and ride one yourself?!" He asked quite impatiently while Davey and Crutchie shot him looks of horror.
The man raised a bushy eyebrow, and opened his mouth to address the newsies one last time. "Security!"