"Now up there a bit—oh, you're running out of paint, better get some more—"
"I got it jus' fine." Crutchie, Jack and Katherine were re-painting the wheeler the day after Crutchie's accident. It hadn't needed to be replaced at all, but the paint was chipped and the spokes were bent out of shape. It was nothing that Katherine and her boys couldn't fix in a day—maybe two. Jack had stopped and bought that day's edition of The Journal to see if Hearst had printed anything more about Katherine, and unfortunately he had. This time, Hearst had included quotes from various people who all thought of Katherine as an annoying spectacle when she rode the wheeler. Jack had gathered from the newsies that they were preparing to march on The Journal's offices tomorrow, if Katherine would just lend them her bicycle, and come to be a witness as well. The boy's hadn't heard about Crutchie's accident yet. Even though they had been a bit worried when he disappeared from the Lodging House, they had all just assumed he had gone to the streets or Jack and Katherine's apartment. Consequently, they didn't know about the bicycle's mishap, and that it needed to be fixed. Which was another reason why Jack, Katherine and Crutchie needed to get this done as soon as possible.
"Jack, ya painted the wheel!"
"Did I? Oops."
"That's my nose ya jus' painted!"
"Don't paint my nose!"
"Boys, calm down, it's just a bit of paint—Jack! You got it on my arm!"
"Figured you was missin' out on the fun, Ace."
"Take that, Jack Kelly!"
"Katherine!"
"Oops, sorry Crutchie. I was aiming for Jack—Father?!"
Katherine quickly put her paintbrush down and jumped to her feet, gathering her skirts around her. She tiptoed around the bicycle and walked over to Joseph Pulitzer, who was regarding the bicycle and the boys with a disheartening air of disdain. Whatever he wanted, it couldn't be good.
"Father, I thought we agreed that you wouldn't visit my apartment unless it was an emergency—" Katherine began through clenched teeth, but Pulitzer stopped her.
"I merely came to check up on you, dear. How are you enjoying your new bicycle?"
"It's very good, thank you," Katherine said, still not at ease. "What do you want?"
"Ah, that," Pulitzer said easily. "I was…informed last night that a newsboy stole your bicycle and broke it quite badly, as you seem to be painting it over again. But that's not all that's wrong with it, is there?"
"Father, Jack and I can handle this on our own, we do not need a visit—"
"Can you tell Crutchie I would like to speak with him?" Pulitzer interrupted abruptly.
Katherine glanced back at the duo, who were more busy flinging paint at each other than working on the bicycle. "How do you know it was him who took the wheeler—" she tried to say, but her father stopped her once again.
"That isn't very hard to figure out, now is it? He is the only cripple you know. I do have my informants."
Katherine sighed and called Crutchie over, desperately hoping that this wouldn't be a mistake she would come to regret.
"I thought you would have asked about the newspaper articles, Father," Katherine said while they waited.
"I trust you and the newsies have that under control, my dear," Pulitzer nodded. "For once, I agree with their actions." He turned as Crutchie limped up to them, giving a nervous little look to Katherine. "Ah, just the little man I wanted to see," Pulitzer stated. "Thank you, Katherine. If you'd mind, I'd like to speak to Crutchie for a while."
Katherine said nothing, but after giving a reassuring glance to Crutchie, left the two alone.
"Now, boy. Would you prefer sitting, or standing?" Pulitzer asked. "You must have had a rough fall last night, with the bicycle being as heavy as it is."
"I'll stand," Crutchie said warily, and then added as a precaution, "Sir."
Pulitzer nodded graciously. "Speaking of your bicycle accident. You aren't very badly hurt, are you?"
"Jus' my wrist is broken," Crutchie gestured with his free hand. "But other than that….no, sir."
"Good. Otherwise you could sue." Pulitzer eyed him, knowing full well that this street rat would never think to do such a thing, nor find the money to do so. Crutchie shifted nervously. "Whaddaya want, sir?" he asked.
"The bicycle," Pulitzer began. "As I see it, is very badly broken. The wheels are damaged, and most of the paint is chipped—"
"But we's paintin' it over, and Jack's gonna fix the wheel," Crutchie interrupted, turning and pointing where Katherine and Jack were keeling by the machine.
"Don't interrupt," Pulitzer said sharply, and Crutchie turned back slowly. "As I was saying, the bicycle is very badly damaged. Someone has to pay for it, and it will not be me."
A moment passed as Crutchie understood. He pointed to himself with a slight frown. "Ya want me tah pay fer it? Mistah Pulitzer, I don't got that type o' money—"
"You broke the bicycle, didn't you, hm?" Pulitzer asked him rhetorically. "And that means you have to pay for it."
"But I don't got that type o' money, sir—"
"You will get it," Pulitzer fixed him with a stern glare. "I assure you. Or you'll go to jail."
"The Reguge is closed, Mistah Pulitzer—" Crutchie blurted out.
"But there are plenty of other juvenile delinquent centers in New York, aren't there?" Pulitzer asked him. "I've heard of a fine one on Coney Island, where its inhabitants are sure to be reformed and rehabilitated."
"Ya can't jus' send me there, Mistah Pulitzer—"
"And why can't I? You certainly deserve it, after what you did to my daughter's birthday present. And from what I heard, you even stole a box and rope from her to assist your leg while riding the machine."
"I didn't steal nothin', she gave that tah me—"
"But as I said before," Pulitzer carried on like he had not heard him, "Jail is only an option if you do not give me the money in…let's say, two day's time."
"Two days?!" Crutchie exclaimed in disbelief.
"Get the money however you will. Katherine has told me all about the newsies' ways to wheedling out money from customers." Crutchie highly doubted that Katherine had told him anything; Pulitzer had goons stationed on nearly every street corner in Manhattan. "I need two hundred dollars."
Crutchie's eyes widened. "Two hundred?!" He couldn't even get two dollars in two days, how was he supposed to find two hundred dollars?
"That is what I said. Your ears weren't damaged in your fall, were they?"
"No, sir," Crutchie swallowed, and started to turn away, his mind spinning around this new problem.
"Oh, and one more thing," Pulitzer stopped him by placing his hand on his shoulder. "If I find that you've asked my daughter or anyone for help, you will be put in jail."
Crutchie nodded hesitantly, and Pulitzer released him. "Good boy. Now run along—pardon me. Go along now. Goodbye, and remember—two days."
Crutchie gave him a small glare, but limped back to Katherine and Jack.
"What'd he want?" Jack asked, and Crutchie picked up a paintbrush. "He told me off fer wreckin' the wheeler. Said if I…did it again, worse things would 'appen."
Jack huffed. "Dunno why he came 'ere personally tah tell you that."
"Yeah," Crutchie said nervously, his mind turning back to the problem of the money. "Me neithah."