"Yous the editor?" Crutchie asked. "How—why'd ya—"

"Why did I write them?" Mr. Sullivan shot out, lumbering over to the group. "Because I wanted to enlighten the public, Miss Pulitzer. Show them that, even after the success of your little strike last year, you can be brought down."

"I won't have my rights taken away," Katharine responded calmly. "A woman is allowed to ride a bicycle the same as any man."

"And ruin her reputation while doing so!" Sullivan retorted. "With all that's happened in the past week, you still persist to ride your bicycle—and even forgive the thief that stole it from you!"

Davey and Specs followed Sullivan's gaze to Crutchie, who looked from left to right nervously.

"Ya stole Katherine's wheeler?" Davey asked.

"No!" Crutchie potested, and then paused. "Maybe a little. I—I wanted tah ride it!"

"Ride it?!" Specs said incredulously. "But Crutchie, you're a—"

"I'm a what?" Crutchie shot back. "If yous gonna say it, Specs, then say it to my—"

"Boys!" Katherine reprimanded them. She took a step towards Sullivan. "Don't you dare make this about Crutchie. After all that's happened, don't you dare make this about him. We're here to talk about the articles about me. Don't drag my friends into this."

"I believe you already have, Ms. Katherine," Sullivan reminded her. "If you just look outside."

Katherine closed her eyes and took a breath. "Mr. Sullivan. I insist you stop the publication of these articles straight away."

"Or what?" Sullivan asked with mock interest.

"Or I will do some investigating of my own, and you can be sure that the next article of mine The Sun publishes will be all about your family scandals, which I know you have quite a few," Katharine said venomously. "Bill was ever so kind as to fill me in."

Sullivan hesitated, eyes darting from side to side. "What will I get if I stop the publication of these articles?"

"A free pass," Davey said evenly. "Because Katharine could do much worse."

"Fine," Sullivan spat out the word, his mind quickly calculating all his options.

"So no more articles about Katharine," Specs stated. "Or her wheeler."

"Or we'll find you," Crutchie spoke up fiercely, and Davey looked at him with his eyebrows raised.

"An'…..remind ya not tah print out anymore articles about Katharine," Crutchie continued. Davey nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Sullivan.

Sullivan's lip curled. "I see you can't win your arguments by yourself, Miss Pulitzer. You have to have three dirt-faced, grubby orphans to win it for you."

"And yet they're cleaner than you will ever be, Mr. Sullivan," Katherine said lowly, tilting her head slightly. Sullivan gave her one last glare and grabbed the doorknob, yanking it open to outside. "Good day, Mr. Hearst."

"Good day, Mr. Sullivan," Hearst said evenly. With a bang, the door was slammed behind Sullivan's stocky figure, leaving the trio and Hearst alone in the office.

Davey cracked a smile. "We won!"

"That's the second time we gone up against a big shot like 'im an' walked out alive," Specs said, and then remembered who they were in the presence of. "Sorry, sir."

"It is quite alright," Hearst eased himself out from behind his desk, walking up to the door, pulling it open again. "Goodbye, Katharine."

"Goodbye, Mr. Hearst," Katharine said, leading the newsies out the door like a mother duck. "Have a good day."

"You as well," came the answering reply from within the office. The door was closed with a gentle creak, and Katharine led the way down the hall to the stairs. It didn't take long before—

"Tell me again why ya rode the wheeler, Crutchie?" Specs asked him with an edge to his voice.

"I jus' wanted tah try it," Crutchie said smally. "You gotta problem with that, Specs?"

"Ya coulda been hurt real bad!" Specs said. "What was you thinkin'?! You're a cripple!"

Crutchie stopped in his tracks. "Ya think I'm too weak tah ride a wheeler?" he asked. "Too slow?"

Specs sighed. "Crutch….all I meant was…."

"Ya think I can't do the same things you an' the other fellas do, 'cause I'm a crip?" Crutchie asked him. He shook his head, limping past the others. "Thanks, Specs."

"He doesn't mean that," Davey said, hurrying up to him. "We all know you can do most things a cripple wouldn't be able to do, and—"

Crutchie glanced at him. "I knows ya know, Dave."

Specs hurried up beside him, ashamed. "Sorry, Crutchie. I was….I didn't think you'd…."

"Be able tah ride it?" Crutchie guessed correctly. An awkward silence hovered in the air between them for a few seconds, and then Specs pushed his spectacles up onto the bridge of his nose. "I won't underestimate you again," he spat on his hand and gave it to Crutchie, who did the same.

Katharine breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing she needed was the newsies fighting over her bicycle. She picked up her skirts and started to walk downstairs. "Thank you, boys," she said when they reached the landing, and hugged them all, ignoring their muffled words of protest. "I mean it," she eyed them. "Without you….well…."

"You're welcome," Davey said with a nod. "Anytime," Specs said. "We 'ope not," Crutchie chuckled upon hearing Specs' comment. Katherine smiled. "Ready to tell everyone else?"

"Course," the boys answered as one. Katharine pushed open the heavy wooden doors to reveal the blinding sunlight only partially blocked by dozens of newsboy caps and heads. They exploded with cheers as their comrades appeared, their happiness soaring up into the sky to join the clouds. Their second victory had come to fruition, and everyone was more the wiser for it.

Except maybe one.