Mush left the girls a few hours later. Remembering the night he and Roselia had been separated had only made him feel worse.

He was grateful to have her back, he loved her so much. Maybe it was better for him to forgive and forget.

The streets were silent that night, there wasn't a soul out. The only sound came from Mush's footsteps and the breeze which occasionally blew torn scraps of newspapers around. Mush took a shortcut through Central Park. He hadn't been back there since the day he and Spark hid in that tree. He missed the familiarity, the routine of selling newspapers. Mush wanted the strike to be over so he could have his job back.

Mush turned out of the park, only to find he had gone the wrong way and ended up at the wealthy part of New York. As he went to turn back, he heard a man speak.

"Hey, boy!"

Mush jumped.

"Are you a newsie?"

Mush stared at the dark figure before him, crossing his arms. "Who wants to know?"

"Come with me."

The man grabbed Mush's arm. Mush, of course, pulled away.

"You're not in trouble."

"Well, I ain't a child neither." Mush spat. "I don't need someone to hold my hand."

"Fair enough." The man took a few steps and then turned to see that Mush wasn't following him.

"Who are you and where are you trying to take me?"

"Johnathon Pembermuffin, accountant for Mr. Joseph Pulitzer."

"And are you takin' me to see Pulitzer?"

Pembermuffin didn't say a word, he just kept walking.

Mush thought for a moment. The strike has to be settled one way or another. So he followed him.

The streets on this side of town were a little brighter. The gas lamps were always lit. Warm light shown through curtains. Music could be heard through some doors. Mush's old house couldn't have been more than four blocks away. In fact, he knew it was closer. They passed the old Catholic church Mush and Roselia traveled by every day just eight years before.

Mush was tempted to ditch Pembermuffin and turn down the road and find his old house. It felt like he would be able to just walk right in and life would be just like it was before. Except it wouldn't be. His parents were gone. Roselia was at Medda's, hurt. And he was a guttersnipe.

Being a newsie had taught Mush a lot of things. He'd grown to appreciate the little things (like new shoes with matching laces). He didn't need to be part of the upper class. It was a comfortable life, yes. Life as a newsie was hard work but it was doable. Mush, up until recently, had everything he needed. Selling papes was fun. Mush liked being independent, making his own living. And besides, he didn't want to become a greedy old man like Pulitzer.

Mush and Pembermuffin came upon a huge mansion. He'd been there only once, eight years ago. Mush's stomach turned, remembering that horrible event for the second time that night. There was no turning back now.

When the door opened, Mush felt an overwhelming feeling of Deja vu. All the lights in the house were ablaze, the staff was running around, and the sound of Mr. Pulitzer's shouting echoed through the walls of the mansion.

"Oh dear." Said Jonathon.

Without waiting, Mush stomped up the long staircase and pounded on the door he knew was Pulitzer's office (the yelling gave it away too).

The yelling stopped.

"Come in."

Mush threw open the door to find a scene almost identical to the one so many years ago. Hannah, Pulitzer's secretary, was typing on her typewriter, looking frazzled as ever. Mr. Pulitzer was seated behind his mahogany desk. The only difference was the presence of a few more men seated on the couches.

Mr. Seitz, who was standing nearby, shut the door as Jonathon came in.

"Welcome back-"

"Nicholas, sir." Said Mr. Seitz.

"Nicholas."

"Wha'da ya want with me?" For what Mr. Pulitzer had done, Mush didn't think he deserved respect.

"I believe your birthday is coming up." Pulitzer flipped through his desk calendar and pointed to the date of Mush's birth.

That wasn't at all what Mush had expected to hear but he kept his poker face on. "So?"

Mr. Pulitzer laughed a little. "I made a promise to you when your parents died and I always keep my promises. I told you that in eight years I would decide whether to hire you as an official employee of "The World". As of today, that offer's still standing."

Mush stared straight ahead. This was unexpected. He thought the old man would've forgotten by now.

"Interesting that you choose right now to talk to me about it, what with your declinin' circulation." He crossed his arms. "Thanks, but I'm gonna have to decline that offer. I've been doin' fine on my own. Probably good for you, save a few extra pennies." He couldn't help but smile at his witty remark.

Mr. Pulitzer muttered something under his breath about 'ungrateful young men nowadays'. "You're part of this strike. I've seen your name in the papers."

"You'd buy papes from a rival?"

"I'll do anything to get to the top."

"Which is why you'd steal honest money from poor orphaned children?"

"Don't talk back to me, boy!" He shouted. Mush raised an eyebrow. "Your runaway sister, I hear she's injured."

"Yeah." Where was he going with this?

"How do you expect to pay for her medical bills? If she isn't treated properly, accidents happen, she could die and that would be all your fault."

Mush hadn't thought of this before. He had read stories in the papers of the deaths of children close to his age. It hadn't seemed real, just something written by the journalists. He didn't need to worry about them, he just had to sell his papes to live. This was too close a story for him. His sister's life was on the line now. How would he support her?

"Sell papers for me again and you'll be sure she'll be in the proper care. I'll call up my own doctor if you want." Pulitzer started dialing a number on the telephone. "In a few years you'll have enough money to go wherever you want. Out west, perhaps?" So Pulitzer knew of Jack's dream. "I'm sure it's much better than where the strikers are going. I expect you to be at the circulation gates early tomorrow morning and in the evening, come to my office for your salary."

Something wasn't right about this. "No!"

Mr. Pulitzer slammed the telephone down. "You will do as I say!"

"I'm not gonna be a scab while my friends is starvin'!"

"Then you'll go to The Refuge with the rest of them. Seitz, get the carriage ready. Warden Snyder's going to get another charge tonight."

Before Mr. Seitz could rise from his seat, Mush was out the door. He sprinted down the street, not caring whether they were following him. They wouldn't know where he was going in this darkness. Plus, none of them would want to step foot in his part of town at night. Mush had to get back to the lodging house. There was something his friends needed to know.

Mush flew through the lodging house door and locked it, finally collapsing on the counter.

"Is Mush Meyers finally being chased by a girl instead of vice versa?" Racetrack stood up from his poker game with Kid Blink, Skittery, Snoddy, Pie Eater, and Bumlets on the steps.

"...No-" he panted.

"Somethin' happen?" Blink asked.

Mush nodded.

"Well sit down and tell us."

Mush took a minute to catch his breath.

"Jack was blackmailed into quittin' the strike."

The six boys looked at him in disbelief.

"You sure?" Asked Blink.

"We all know Cowboy wanted to go to Santa Fe. How do you know he didn't just quit for easy money?" Skittery, always the skeptic added.

"Pulitzer tried to do the same to me. He told me Roselia could die if I couldn't afford to get her a doctor and he said if I didn't join, I'd end up in the refuge with yous."

He let the news sink in as he leaned his throbbing head against the wall.

"We ain't goin' to The Refuge." Racetrack whispered. Mush hadn't seen him this scared since they were young.

"What we supposed to do?" Blink sat down next to Mush.

"I don't know," said Mush. "But we gotta keep fightin'."