"We want her rights! We want her rights! We want her rights!"
Hearst's office was getting the same treatment that Pulitzer's had during the strike. A multitude of newsies were gathered outside the doors, chanting over and over again. The office windows had been slammed shut a little while ago, but that had only encouraged the crowd. Their voices rose into the midday sky, ultimately becoming stronger with each breath. Their chant was broken by sudden loud cheers that accompanied Katherine and Jack's arrival. The duo bowed and nodded graciously, his arm around her waist as she wheeled the bicycle up to the double doors. Katherine took a deep breath as the crowd fell silent, awaiting her word. She closed her eyes, muttering a few lines of her speech under her breath. Katherine smiled and turned to address the newsies. They greeted her with screams and yells even louder than before.
"Newsies of Manhattan!" Katherine began as they quieted down again. She gave a glance to Jack who had taken control of the wheeler while she spoke. He gave her a reassuring nod that she seemed to draw strength and comfort from, and turned back to the crowd.
"I thank you for all you've done regarding my wheeler. But now, as you well know, comes the hard part." She took in another breath. "Hearst will either agree to our demands, or not. He can agree to stop printing these articles about me and allow me to ride my wheeler without anymore fuss, or—"
"Or we'll soak 'im!" yelled a voice, followed by cheers. Katherine smiled dryly. "Yes, thank you. But I'd prefer for that not to happen….yet. Davey, Specs, and oh, Crutchie, can you come up here please? The rest of you can wait outside while we go inside."
The other newsies cheered their comrades as they walked (and limped) up to Katherine's side. A few started chanting again, and soon the whole crowd was caught up in a frenzy. Katherine smiled and waved at them as she entered the building, and gave Jack a quick kiss as she went in. The crowd cheered even louder after that display of affection, and Jack was greeted by questions and yells as he wheeled the bicycle away from the huge double doors. He stole a glance back up to the windows of the office. Now all they had to do was wait.
Katherine had been to The Journal's offices many times before, and thus knew exactly where she needed to go. The three boys, who were not used to all this grandeur under one roof, stopped and stared at the various furniture and lights and trinkets that seemed to be everywhere. With a nervous call from Katherine the newsies hurried up to her side. She craned her neck to look anxiously up the wide stairs, and nodded to the boys. "Let's go."
They had almost reached the next landing when Specs stopped, starting as if he had forgotten something. He turned around and looked to the bottom floor.
Crutchie looked back at him hesitantly, and held up his bandaged hand. "Can't really hold my crutch an' walk up the stairs at the same time," he admitted. Specs adjusted his spectacles and thudded down the steps to reach him. Specs took Crutchie's arm, and lifted him in the air to carry him.
"Never fear, I gotcha," Specs grinned, and Crutchie rolled his eyes. "Ya sound like Spot Conlon," he muttered. "'Never fear, Brooklyn's 'ere!'"
"Yeah, maybe they'll come, too," Specs chuckled, and began to carry him up the stairs.
"Boys?" Katharine called, still fraught with anxiety.
"We're comin'!" the pair called, and reached Davey and Katharine just a few minutes later. Specs deposited Crutchie back on the floor, and gave him his crutch.
"Now remember," Katharine began as she walked over to the door of Hearst's office. "We're here on a business meeting. Try to stay calm."
"Of course, Katharine," Davey spoke for the three of them. "Specs, you got the evidence?"
Specs nodded importantly, digging out some papers from his pocket. "Yup."
Katharine chuckled. "This isn't a murder trial, boys."
"Not yet," Specs said under his breath, and Crutchie looked at him. "Get up on the wrong side o' bed today?" Crutchie asked, and Specs rolled his eyes, following after Davey.
If the hallways of The Journal's offices had been grand, then Hearst's personal office was more grand than all the high-class buildings in New York put together. Brocaded curtains covered the windows to block all sunlight—and the cries of newsies—from outside this sanctuary of business. Katharine breathed in deeply and then wrinkled her nose, having caught one too many smell of cigar. She glanced to the boys and quickly nudged Davey, reminding them that they were here on official business. Specs and Crutchie continued staring around the office, amazed and slightly disgusted that one person could have these many rich things. Katharine cleared her throat and took the 'evidence' from Specs, throwing it on the desk in front of them. She waited expectantly as the chair behind the desk slowly turned to face the new arrivals. Sitting there was a strong shouldered man dressed in a plain black suit and tie. He eyed first the newsies, and then brightened as he saw Katharine, though he didn't smile that much.
"Hello, Miss Pulitzer," he said warmly, rising. "Quite a pleasure."
"Why haven't you stopped printing those articles about me?" Katharine demanded. "And don't give me 'Because they sell well'. I want the truth."
"You obviously do not understand the art of business making," Hearst continued, the smile gone. "Whatever I do, I do to make a profit. I believe your father understands this as well."
"He does not print things at my expense to make a profit," Katharine shot back. Hearst sighed. "I did not write the articles, Katharine. My executive editor did."
"So you're claimin' no responsibility for the lies your editor wrote about Katharine, even though you printed the articles?" Davey jumped in. He indicated the papers on the desk. "Those pictures you printed along with the articles? They're not Katharine. They're of my friend, Racetrack Higgins."
Hearst glanced up at him. "And who are you?"
"Davey Jacobs," Davey said a bit proudly. Specs and Crutchie snickered a bit before remembering they were in the presence of William Randolph Hearst.
"So you see, sir," Davey continued trying to ignore the snickers, "Not only have you printed false evidence, you've paired it with lies that—"
"That can make me accidentally spill some of your family's deepest and darkest secrets," Katharine interrupted sweetly.
Hearst leaned back in his chair. "Unfortunately, I did not write these articles, Katharine. My editor—"
"I wrote them," interrupted a burly, barking voice from the office door. It was Oliver Sullivan.