They walked along the pier. The Brooklyn boys were jumping off the boardwalk into the cold river. One of the bigger ones climbed up and stared Jack in the face.
"Goin' somewhere, Kelly?" he asked. Jack brushed past him.
"Well, if it ain't Jack be nimble, Jack be quick," a voice said. Smudge laughed as Davy's eyes darted around, looking for the fearsome Spot Conlan.
"So you've moved in the world, Spot," Jack said. A thin, wiry boy jumped off a makeshift throne of crates and landed at Jack's feet. The two leaders looked at each other for a moment, then spit in their hands and shook. Spot stuck his cane back into his red suspenders.
"Finally brought Smudge, huh?" he asked, grinning at her. She flipped her long honey colored braid in his face.
"Aw, get over it, Conlan," she retorted. Then she smiled and spit- shook with him.
"Heya, Boots, how's it rollin'?" he asked. Boots dug in his pocket and showed Spot a handful of shiny marbles.
"Got a couple of real good shooters here," he said.
"Yeah?" Spot said coolly. He selected one of the largest ones and pulled out his slingshot. David slipped behind Smudge a little bit.
"Davy, get a backbone," she hissed.
"So, Jacky boy," Spot said, taking aim at a half full beer bottle. David shrank back even further. "I been hearin' things from little boidies. Things from Harlem, Queens-"He let the marble fly. The bottle shattered, sending beer everywhere. "-all over." He stepped back and regarded Jack. "They's sayin' that Jacky-boy's newsies is playin' like they's goin' on strike."
"Yeah, but we're not playing," David objected. Spot stepped up and stared him in the face, rising up on his toes so he could see his eyes.
"Yeah? Yeah?" He stepped back in disgust. "What is this, Jacky-boy? Some kinda walkin' mouth?"
"Yeah, a mouth," Jack agreed. "But a mouth wit' a brain, an' if you've got half of one, you'll listen ta what he has ta say." Spot nodded reluctantly and plunked down on a barrel, his short legs dangling off the side. Smudge prodded Davy forward.
"Well, we started the strike, but now we're trying to get newsies from all over New York," he began.
"Yeah," Spot interrupted. "So they told me." David swallowed hard.
"Well, they said they'll see what Spot Conlan does, that you're the key." "Oh, please, not flattery," Smudge groaned. "Please don't make that ego of his any bigger." David went on recklessly. "That Spot Conlan is the most powerful newsie in all of New York, and probably everywhere else." Spot Conlan grinned and nodded happily. "So if you'll join, then they'll join. And we'll be unstoppable. So you got to join us- well, you gotta!" Spot jumped off the barrel.
"You're right, Jack. Brains. But I got brains too, an' more'n just half of one." Suddenly his face turned menacing as he yanked his cane out and waved it in Jack's face. "How do I know you punks won't run the first time some goon comes at you with a club? How do I know you've got what it takes ta win?"
"That's what I'm tellin' ya, Spot," Jack said. Spot turned and looked at him, his large blue eyes serious.
"Ya gotta show me," he told him. Jack started muttering under his breath and stalked off, Smudge at his heels.
"Ain't ya thinkin' you're over your head?" she asked him. He sighed, blowing the shaggy hair off his forehead.
"Yeah," he admitted. Smudge tucked her small hand into his.
"Good. Youse still human." A corner of his mouth turned up. "Oh, I was right. You can smile." He tugged on her hand and they walked back to the square. Skittery, Racetrack, and Les were playing marbles.
"Knuckles down, boys!" Race screeched. He aimed his shooter expertly and shot a handful of Skittery's marbles out of the circle.
"Aw, Racetrack," Skittery groaned.
"Hey, guys," Mush said. "So where's Spot?"
"Oh, he was worried about us bein' serious, can ya imagine dat?" Jack asked sarcastically.
"Well, maybe he's right," Kid Blink said. "I mean, wit'out Spot an' the others...there's not enough of us, Jack."
"Yeah, maybe we're movin' too soon," Mush agreed.
"I definitely think we should hold off for a while," Skittery admitted.
"Wimps!" Smudge frowned.
"Yeah, Spot was right! Is it just a to you guys?" Jack demanded. The others looked slightly ashamed of themselves. "Hey, Crutchy," he said.
"Heya, Jack." Crutchy and Pie Eater were painting a banner with the word "strike" painted on it in bold red letters. David walked over and helped Crutchy to his feet.
"We need to seize the day," David said.
"Come again?" Racetrack asked.
"Seize the day," he repeated. "Nothing can break us and no one can make us give our rights away." He tossed his hands in the air. "Arise and seize the day!" Smudge grinned. The circulation bell started clanging, indicating the afternoon edition was ready to be sold.
"Anybody hear that?" Jack called.
"No!"
"So what do we do about it?"
"Soak 'em!" the newsies cried. Smudge joined in the mad rush to the distribution office. A few frightened scabs lined up to buy papes. The strikers stood by the boardwalk, arms crossed. The first boy handed over the exorbitant price, then turned and faced the wrath of the newsies. Reluctantly he dropped his pile of papes. Jack's face relaxed in a smile and he clapped a hand on the new striker's shoulder. The next few boys followed without buying papes, their hands held up in surrender.
"'Bout time, Southy; where've ya been?" Race snorted. The next scab, a tall grouchy faced boy known in Manhattan as Sixkiller, bought his papes and stared Jack down. Jack shoved him. Sixkiller glared. Blink started forward as if to knock the defier over.
"Blink," Davy warned. Racetrack reached up and pushed Sixkiller. "Race." Jack appraised Sixkiller coolly, then slammed the papes out of his hands. Sixkiller glanced at the newspapers lying in the dust, then rammed Jack in the stomach. All bedlam broke loose. Scabs scattered in all directions like pigeons. Several of the larger strikers tipped over the circulation wagon crammed full of papers.
"Robby!" Smudge cried. The smaller blond boy appeared.
"What?" he asked. Smudge thrust a box full of rotten tomatoes she'd snitched into his arms.
"We got tons of rotten fruit an' poifect aim. Go get 'em!" she shrieked. Robby grinned and darted off. Smudge grabbed a stack of papes and ripped them to tiny pieces, scattering them like confetti.
"Whoo!" Pie Eater screamed, spinning on a wheel of the overturned wagon. "Smudge, come join me!" He grabbed her hand and yanked her up. She laughed wildly as Pie Eater and Bumlets spun her around. Suddenly a sharp whistle interrupted her.
"Hey, cheese it! Cheese it, it's the bulls!" Jack shouted.
"Catch me!" Smudge told Bumlets. He caught her and they took off running. Several cops on horses attempted to catch them, but they were too quick.
"Crutchy!" Racetrack screamed. "Scram!" Crutchy was still stuck on the wagon.
"Oh, no, Crutchy!" Smudge cried. The crippled boy had barely hobbled five feet when coppers on horseback blocked him. The Delanceys grabbed him from behind.
"Come on," Bumlets insisted, grabbing her arm and yanking her away. They ran breathless and hid in the lodging house.
"Everybody okay?" Jack asked.
"They got Crutchy," Smudge stormed, her blue-gray eyes tearing up. Jack put his arms around her.
"It's okay, it's okay," he soothed. "We'll get him out." She buried her face in his chest.
"Think they took him to the Refuge?" Racetrack asked.
"Prob'ly," Jack answered, rubbing Smudge's back. "Dave, you'n me'll go get him out tonight."
"What's that Refuge place again?" David asked.
"Jail for kids," Jack responded shortly. "C'mon, Smudge, it's okay. Ya can stop cryin'." She dried her eyes.
"Are ya sure?" she quavered. "The Delanceys had him. He could be dead by now."
"Nah, he ain't dead," Snoddy snorted. "That's a little farfetched," She glared at him and then sighed.
"Okay, can ya get off me? My legs are asleep," Jack complained. Smudge kicked him. "We'll go get him tonight. I promise."
No matter how hard she tried, Smudge couldn't get to sleep that night. The last thing she remembered was tossing and turning in her bunk. But the next thing she knew she was cracking her eyes open drowsily. It was still dark. Jack was climbing onto his bunk.
"Jack," she whispered. "Jack, did ya get him?" He lay down on the bed and sighed. Smudge slipped over to talk to him.
"No," he confessed.
"He's okay, ain't he?" she demanded, her voice rising in pitch. Jack held a finger to her lips.
"Shut up. Don't want Kloppman ta hear." He flipped over to his side to look at her. "He's okay. Sorta."
"Sorta?"

"Oscar and Morris kinda beat him up. He ain't walkin' so good. Had ta walk wit' his crutch an' a kid helpin' him. He didn't want ta be carried out." Smudge sighed. "But he's okay, Smudge. Tenpin'll keep an eye on him."

"I hope so," she muttered as she went back to her own bed. She fell asleep thinking about Crutchy locked in the Refuge.
"Smudge!" She jerked awake. Robby's frightened face was two inches from her nose.
"Calm down, kid," Smudge groused. "Whatsa mattah?"
"Crutchy's not here!" he shrieked.
"I know. They couldn't get him out." Robby sank down on her bunk and flopped backwards. "Watch it! That's my stomach youse usin' for a pillow."
"Is he okay?" he asked.
"I hope so," Smudge replied, shoving him off. "Lemme go get dressed, okay?" Robby curled up in her now-vacant bunk.
"Sure," he mumbled. By the time she returned, still fumbling with the buttons on her gray vest, he was fast asleep and snoring.
"Wake up!" she hollered in his ear. Robby jumped.
"not funny," he sulked. She helped him up.
"C'mon, Robby. There's gotta be somethin' interesting happening taday," she said. He groaned, but let her drag him to the courtyard.
"I like bein' lazy," Mush sighed, lying on a bench. Smudge thunked down on top of him. "Ow."
"Ya doin' okay, Smudge?" Jack asked, tapping the top of her head. She squinted up at him.
"Guess so." He grasped her hand and yanked her upright.
"C'mere. I want ya ta see this." Jack tugged her over until they stood in front of the World office building. "Ya see it?" She shaded her eyes and tried to look at the spire.
"Yeah, I see it, Jack," Smudge said. "but I don't get it."
"Joe's got all of this, but he still is tryin' ta cheat us outta a lousy ten cents," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "A stupid ten cents. So we're gonna show Pulitzah he can do all right with all that he's got already, but we need that dime more'n he ever will." Smudge squeezed Jack's hand. The circulation bell clanged.
"All right," David said. "Everyone, remain calm." Jack slid his suspenders over his shoulders and glared at him.
"Let's soak 'em for Crutchy!" Jack hollered. The newsies cheered and dashed for the gates. Davy's shoulders sagged and he got swept away by the crowd. The frightened scabs backed away and started banging on the door.
"Yeah, c'mon," Racetrack threatened, swinging his fists. Suddenly the doors swung open, letting loose a barrage of thugs. "Jack! Jack, it's a trick!" Smudge caught Jack's arm. He shoved her away.
"Smudge, be careful," he hissed in her ear. She ducked into the crowd. Oscar Delancey stepped out of the flock of heavies.
"Hiya, Jacky-boy," he said. One of the thugs swung a chain at Jack, but he ducked in time. A hand clamped down on Smudge's shoulder.
"Hey, pretty lady," one of the goons grinned. She glanced him over.
"Bonehead," she said as she brought her small foot up and kicked him square in the groin.
"Nice shot, Smudge," Blink complimented as she darted past. She tipped her hat and dodged a fist aimed in her direction.
"This ain't goin' so good," she called back. Suddenly an arm wrapped around her waist.
"Hey, look what I got! A little newsgoil."
"Let go of me!" Smudge shrieked, writhing in Morris' grasp. Her small teeth sank into his arm. He howled and wrenched at her harder.
"Nevah fear," an amused voice said from high above. "Brooklyn is heah!" Suddenly Morris yelped and dropped her. Spot waved his slingshot triumphantly from his vantage point on the roof.
"Thanks, Spot!" she hollered as she scampered off.
"Any time, Smudge," the short dictator nodded.
"Hey, Spot!" Jack shouted. Spot grabbed a pulley and swung down, flattening the tough attempting to flatten Jack. Smudge cheered as the Brooklyn newsies swarmed through the distribution center, scattering the bruisers.
"Yes! Yes!" Smudge yelled. Kid Blink grabbed her.
"Boys!" someone was shouting over the terrific din.
"What?" she asked as the camera flashed in her face.
"My eyes!" Spot yelped.
"My foot!" David moaned, hopping up and down. Denton waved from behind the camera.
"This'll make the afternoon papers!" he told them. "Jack, take them to Tibby's. On me."
"They eat a lot," Smudge warned. Bryan waved them off.
"I've got to get to the Sun. I'll see you there."
"That was great," Racetrack grinned. "Did ya see me? Did ya? Oh, man, he thought he had me! But he didn't! Oh, dang!"
"Someone stepped on my foot," David complained. Jack tossed an arm around Spot's skinny shoulders.
"Thanks for showin' up, Spot," he said.
"Any time, Cowboy," Spot grinned. The Manhattan newsies and the leader of Brooklyn invaded the small restaurant.
"Where's Robby?" Smudge asked Mush. He jerked his thumb over to the corner.
"Ov' dere. Hey, dis is real good," he mumbled through a mouthful. She rolled her eyes and found Robby.
"Y'okay?" she asked. He nodded, his mouth full. She squeezed his shoulder. "Good."
"Hey, li'l sis," Jack called. Smudge wandered over and perched on the arm of Jack's chair. "Did ya do okay?" She held out her hands for inspection.
"Yeah, bruised me knuckles a bit," she shrugged. Jack caought one of her hands.
"Sure youse okay?" he worried. She rapped the top of his head.
"I'm fine," she said. "Gimme that." Smudge snitched one of the biscuits off his plate.
"Hey!" Denton said as he entered with a freshly printed newspaper. Dutchy waved his fork in greeting. "Look at this." He set the paper in front of Jack. "CHILDREN'S CRUSADE STOPS THE WORLD" the headline blared. On the front was a picture of them, totally unprepared for the picture. Jack stood out at the top, waving his fists in the air. The real Jack stared dumbfounded at the newspaper. Spot started jumping up and down, trying to see over Jack's shoulder.
"Hey, where's my name, where's my name?" he demanded. Jack wiped Spot's enthusiastic spit off his cheek.
"Will ya stop thinkin' bout yourself?"
"What is it? All about us?" Boots asked.
"Hey, look at ya, Jack; ya look like a gentleman," Mush laughed, pointing to the picture. Jack batted his hand away.
"Yeah, will ya please get your fingers off my face?" he groused.
"You got us on the front page!" David exclaimed.
"No, you got yourselves on the front page," Denton countered. "Now I just have to make sure you stay there." Skittery, however, was nonplussed.
"So what?" he asked. "Ya get your picture in da papes, so what does that get ya?"
"What, are ya nuts?" Race shrieked.
"You've been in a bad mood all day," Jack said.
"Glum an' dumb!" Racetrack smacked Skittery, who bumped into Mush. "Ya get your picture in da papes, you're famous! You're famous- you can have anythin' ya want." He banged his fist down on the table, making Smudge jump. "Dat's what's so great about New Yawk!"
"If ya could have anythin' ya wanted, what would ya pick?" Smudge asked.
"A pair of new shoes wit' matchin' laces," Mush said, staring ruefully at the broken laces of his battered boots.
"A permanent box at the Sheepshead Races," Racetrack grinned, his face blissful.
"But ya can't bet worth beans," Smudge laughed. He poked her.
"A porcelain tub wit' boilin' water," admitted Spot.
"What?"
"Nevah mind."
Kid Blink jumped up on a table. "A Saturday night wit' da mayor's daughter," he winked. The others whistled. Smudge clamped her hands over her ears.
"If you're gonna go into all dat goil stuff, I ain't gonna hear it," she warned. Kid Blink made a face at her. Racetrack jumped up on another table.
"I'm the King of New York!" he cheered.
"Can it, youse two," Smudge ordered. Racetrack popped down. Kid Blink dangled his long legs over the side of the table.
"So what do we to from here?" David asked Denton.
"We gotta stay in the papes," Jack said.
"Well, my paper's the only one printing any strike news," the reporter shrugged.
"Then we gotta do somethin' big, so the other papes'll feel stupid if they try to ignore us." Jack's hazel eyes sparkled. "Like a rally! A big newsie rally, wit' all da kids from all over New Yawk. They'd hafta listen to us then." A waiter set a tray of drinks on the table; Jack picked up a glass. "We'll keep fightin' till dang doomsday if it means we get a fair shake." Smudge stuck her hand in between Snitch and Jake and grabbed a glass for herself.
"Hey, guys," Davy said. "To our man Denton!"
"Our man Denton!" the newsies chorused. Smudge downed the sarsaparilla and set the drink back down.
"Where do you think you'll have the rally?" Denton asked.
"Friend of mine runs Irving Hall. Medda Larkson- ya heard of her?" Jack questioned.
"Oh, the vaudeville actress," Denton nodded. "All right, then. Keep me informed." He handed the waiter his money and left Tibby's.
"Spot, ya gonna come?" Jack asked.
"Whaddaya think?" the Brooklyn newsie snorted. "'Course." He got up from the table and stuck his cane back in his red suspenders. "I'll see ya there."
"See ya, Spot," Smudge said. He tipped his gray hat at her and sauntered out.
"I'm gonna go talk ta Medda," Jack said. "You keep an eye on things for me, 'kay, Smudge?"
"All right," Smudge said smugly. "I think we're gonna make some more signs. The ones we used ta have are...kinda dead." Jack stopped.
"Dead?"

"They got trampled when the goons showed up," Smudge shrugged.
"Oh." Jack left, and the crowds began dispersing.
"What are we gonna do again?" Swifty asked.
"Make signs," said Smudge. "Stuff like, y'know, 'Strike' an' 'Stop the World'."
"How do you spell that?" Robby asked. Smudge sighed.
"Which one? Strike, stop, world, or the?"
"Eh...all of 'em. Except 'the'. I can spell that one."
"I'm quite proud of you, Robby." Smudge opened the door to the lodging house. "Kloppman!" she called.
"What, Smudge?" he asked.
"D'ya got any cardboard or paint or anythin'?" Kloppman cocked an eyebrow.
"Check the back room," he said. "And who died and made you queen?" Smudge grinned.
"I get ta be temporary leader," she sang. Kloppman just arched his eyebrow again. "Don't look at me like that. I can do it."
By the time dark fell, she was more than ready to relinquish her title to Jack.
"Smudge, should I use red or blue?"
"I don't know."
"Smudge, did I spell this right?"
"I don't know."
"Smudge, do we have any more cardboard?"
"I don't know."
"Smudge, does 'Pulitzer' have one 's' or two?"
"I don't know."
"Smudge, did I spell this right?"
"I don't know." Dutchy threw up his hands in disgust and lugged his sign to Kloppman's desk.
"So did I spell it right, Kloppman?" he asked.
"S-T-R-I-K-E. Hm, very good."
"Strike," Dutchy said proudly. The door opened and a man dressed in a black suit stalked into the room. He started flipping through Kloppman's logbook. Smudge latched onto Skittery's arm.
"That's Warden Snyder," she hissed. Skitt nodded. Kloppman took the book from Snyder's grasp.
"Can I help you?" he asked. Snyder fixed his cold, fishy eyes on Kloppman.
"I believe you know the whereabouts of a boy who calls himself Jack Kelly," he rasped.
"Eh, Kelly, Jack Kelly...never heard of him. Never heard of him." Kloppman looked over at the newsies clustered in the front room. "Any of you boys ever heard of a Jack Kelly?" Specs stood up.
"That's a usual name for these parts," he said, his voice calm. Race straightened up. Smudge's hand tightened on Skittery's arm as Jack walked in the door. Swifty yanked him back and pointed to Snyder. She could see Jack's eyes widen. Racetrack's dark eyes flicked over at him, then focused on Snyder.
"Oh, you mean Jack Kelly." He pushed his cap back over his curly hair. "Yeah, he was here." Snyder's eyes gleamed. "But he put an egg in his shoe an'...beat it." The newsies hooted. Snyder glared. Jack smirked and ducked behind Bumlets.
"I have reason to believe he is an escaped criminal and possibly dangerous," the warden said. Jack, from behind Snyder's back, mouthed the words, me? No, never! Kloppman's eyes opened innocently.
"Dangerous? Oh, my! I'll have to look in my files." He waved Snyder into his office. Jack disappeared behind Swifty, Mush and Racetrack, who held up their posters to cover him.
"Give to the Newsies Strike Fund, mistah?" Race asked sweetly. Snyder handed him a dime.
"Tightwad," Skittery mumbled. Snyder left the room. Jack peeked out from behind the others. Smudge let the blood start circulating in Skittery's arm again.
"Kelly!" she hissed. Jack held a finger to his lips.
"Ya want him comin' back in?" He glanced towards Kloppman's office. "I'm gonna go out." Without waiting for anyone to answer, he slipped outside. Smudge shook her head.
"If Snyder catches him again, Jack'll be dead," she prophesied. Robby rested his chin on her knee.
"Tell me the story again," he pleaded. Smudge ruffled his blond hair.
"It was back in 1895, when Jack was thirteen," she began. "I had just joined the lodgin' house."
"Yeah, she was a skinny little thing wit' big eyes an' a big mouth," Racetrack joined in. "She ain't changed much, come ta think of it." She yanked a handful of his thick dark hair until he yelped. "Guess I deserved that."
"Yeah, ya did. Anyway, Jack had just learned how ta gamble, an' he'd been winnin', an' then he lost it all. Kinda like Race here."
"Can it, Smudge."
"But he decided not ta ask anyone for help, so he got real hungry and got caught stealin' a loaf of bread," Smudge continued. "He was sent to the Refuge for three months. But ya know Jack; he can't keep his mouth shut. He got in trouble for takin' food from Snyder."
"Why?" Bumlets asked.
"'Cause Snyder don't use the money the gov'ment sends ta take care of the boys. It goes in his own pocket," Smudge snorted. "Jack got three more months for stealin'. But he got out. See, Mistah Roosevelt, the gov'ner of New York, was visitin' the Refuge. Jack sneaked out and hid under his carriage an' he got outa the Refuge an' cam back an' they all lived happily ever after," she finished.
"Kid's asleep," Skittery whispered. "I'll take him upstairs." He scooped the boy up and carried him to the bunkroom. Smudge yawned.
"We'd better go ta bed," Race said. "After all, we's got the rally tomorrow night." Smudge yawned again, this time so hard she popped her jaw.
"Yeah, I s'pose," she said sleepily. "G'night." She vaguely remembered changing clothes and climbing into bed, but she was sound asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. When she finally awoke, Jack wasn't there.
"Racetrack," she hissed. "Racetrack Higgins!" The Italian boy rolled over and looked at her.
"Wha?" he murmured.
"Where's Jack? I don't see him!" Racetrack sat up and rubbed his eyes.
"Don' know. Guess he didn't come back." He yawned and curled up under the covers again. "I'm gonna go sleep again, 'kay?" Smudge ignored him, but slipped out of bed and got dressed.
"Where are you going, Smudge Caraway?" Kloppman demanded as she reached the front door.
"Gonna go look for Jack," she explained as she headed outside. Smudge started walking aimlessly around New York. "If I was Jack Kelly, where would I hide from Warden Snyder?" she asked herself. Abruptly she turned on her heel and walked to the Jacobs' apartment. She paused outside the door. What if she had the wrong tenement? What if the Jacobs' didn't like her? What if David answered the door? Hesitantly she knocked. A tall pretty girl with soft brown hair answered.
"I'se...I'se lookin' for Jack," Smudge stammered awkwardly. The girl smiled.
"You're Smudge Caraway, aren't you?" Sarah asked. "Jack and David told me about you." She opened the door wider. "Come in. I'm Sarah." She pointed to a man sitting in the corner attempting to turn the pages of a book with a broken arm. "That's my father. Papa, this Smudge." Mr. Jacobs looked up and nodded absently.
"Was Jack here this morning?" Smudge asked. Sarah darted a glance at her father and tugged Smudge into the bedroom.
"He slept on the fire escape last night," she whispered. "I woke up and he was curled up outside. I gave him some breakfast and he left." Smudge smiled.
"Good," she said in relief. "I was wonderin' where he was. He's prob'ly at Irving Hall, gettin' ready for the rally tonight."
"Are you coming?" Sarah brightened. "Good! I didn't want to be the only girl."
"Well, you prob'ly will be," Smudge answered ruefully. "I haven't worn a dress since I was in Saint Patrick's, and that was two, three years ago."
"Saint Patrick's?" Sarah frowned. "The orphanage?"
"Yeah. I lived there till I was about twelve." Sarah looked at Smudge carefully. "What? Whaddaya doin'?" Sarah's brown eyes gleamed.
"I'm going to fix you up for the rally tonight," she decided.
"What?" Smudge yelped. Sarah nodded.
"You need to look pretty for tonight." She pushed Smudge onto a chair. "Take your hat off and undo your braid." Bewildered, Smudge shook out her long honey-colored hair. Sarah picked up a hairbrush and started running it through her hair.
"Are ya sure about this?" Smudge asked. Sarah nodded, counting off strokes.
"Positive. Hold still." So she sat frozen while Sarah fussed with her hair.
"Can I see it now?" Smudge ventured.
"Not yet. You need a dress to wear," Sarah waved her hand towards the handful of dresses hanging on pegs. "Go pick one out." Slowly Smudge wandered over to the wall, her fingers running over the smooth fabric of the dresses, skirts, and blouses.
"I like this one," Smudge said finally, holding up a rose colored dress.
"Perfect," Sarah dimpled. "But I'll probably have to alter it. You're a lot smaller than I am." She held the dress up against Smudge. "Definitely. Here, I'll hem it up and you talk."
"About what?" Sarah pulled out a bobbin of pink string.
"Tell me about the strike," she suggested.
"Well, Pulitzer jacked up the price, so we're tryin' ta show him it's unfair. That an' makin' us eat what we don't sell." "Eating newspapers?" "Not really eatin' 'em. It means we pay for what we don't sell." Sarah still looked confused. "Eh...okay. Bumlets bought fifty papes, but he only sold thirty-nine of 'em. So he paid for the eleven papes he didn't sell. It's hard enough eatin' 'em, an' when Pulitzah jacked up the price, it made it harder. So we went on strike. An' we're all soakin' the scabbers-"
"Soaking scabbers?" Sarah asked, looking up from the dress in her lap.
"Soakin' scabs," Smudge repeated. "Scabs is strikebreakers. They knows we're on strike, but they sell anyway. So we soak 'em."
"Soak?"
"We beat 'em up," Smudge clarified. Sarah looked slightly shocked. "Yeah, I can soak 'em too. If youse a newsie, ya gotta be tough."
"I wouldn't make it," Sarah laughed.
"Prob'ly not," Smudge affirmed. "So, ya like Jack, huh?" Sarah's blush gave it away. The two of them talked for a long time, about Jack and cowboys and newsies and papes and scabbers. They had just gotten started when Sarah pulled on her dress and finished curling her hair.
"How do I look?" she asked, twirling around.
"Ya look like Little Bo Peep," Smudge giggled. Sarah pulled a face.
"Oh, well." She grinned at Smudge admiringly. "But you look beautiful." Smudge blushed and smoothed the fabric of the skirt. "I think you should keep the dress."
"Really?" Smudge gasped. She flung her arms around Sarah. "Thank you!" Sarah smiled and hugged her back.
"Sarah, can we go now?" Les whined.
"Is David ready?" Sarah asked.
"I don't want to wear a tie," Davy complained.
"I guess that's a yes," Sarah whispered to Smudge. The two girls left the bedroom. David's jaw dropped.
"Is that Smudge?" he demanded. Smudge giggled.
"I like seein' Davy speechless," she said. Sarah tugged on her brother's arm.
"Come on; we'll be late." She grabbed Les' hand as they left the apartment. David trailed behind, still gaping at Smudge. She tried to act calm like Sarah, but she was too excited.
"Hey, Dave, who's the goils?" Mush whistled.
"Can it, Mush Meyer," Smudge called.
"Hey..." he stammered. "Smudge? Smudge Caraway?" She rolled her eyes.
"Who else d'ya think I'd be? Jenny Lind?" Mush poked Kid Blink.
"Blink, Blink, look! It's Smudge!" Blink rubbed his eyes in disbelief.
"She looks like a goil!" he exclaimed. "I mean, I knew ya was a goil, but ya always looked like a boy...I mean...I mean..."
"Just be quiet before ya stick your whole foot in your mouth," she snorted.
"She's still Smudge," Racetrack said in relief.
"Hey, look at the crowd!" David called.
"Guys!" Jack called. He paused. "Wow."
"Yeah, Smudge looks like a goil for once." She jabbed Blink.
"Nah, I was talkin' 'bout-"He saw Smudge. "Yeah, she does!" Smudge jammed her hands on her hips.
"Stuff it, Kelly, or I'll rip your lips off," she snarled. Jack held his hands up in surrender.
"All right, all right. C'mon; we's about ta start." He took Sarah by the hand and led them into the theater.
"Ew," Les groaned. David and Jack abandoned them to go onstage.
"C'mon," Race said. "There's still some seats up here." Smudge slipped in between Race and Mush.
"Jack's on!" Mush cheered.
"An' there's Dave and Spot. It's gotta be a special occasion. Spot changed his shirt!" Smudge smirked. Onstage Jack waved his hands to quiet down the crowd.
"Carryin' the banner!" he screamed as the crowd erupted. Spot clapped his hands.
"Davy's got stage fright," Sarah pointed out. "Look!" Smudge laughed.
"We've come a long way," Jack continued, yelling to be heard through the theater. "And things are gonna get tough. But we'll just tougher wit' it!" The crowd erupted. Jack clapped a hand on David's shoulder. "Also, we gotta start listenin' ta my pal David, who says stop soakin' the scabs." The crowd was displeased.
"What are we s'posed ta do to the bums? Kiss 'em?" Racetrack snorted. Spot's nostrils flared.
"Hey, any scab I see I soaks 'em. Period," he emphasized.
"No!" David insisted, momentarily forgetting his stage fright. "If we do that, it'll just be playing into their hands!"
"Well, they're gonna be playin' wit' my hands," Spot roared. "'Cause it ain't what they say, it's what we say! And nobody's gonna do it unless we make 'em!" Half the crowd bellowed in approval. Jack shoved forward.
"Got no brains!" he shouted. The crowd quieted. "It's just what the bigshots wanta see! That we're street rats, street trash, wit' no brains! And if we don't stick tageddah, then we're nothin'. If we can't fight tageddah, then we're nothin'. An' if we can't even trust each other, then we're nothin'!"
"Tell 'em, Jack!" Kid Blink hollered from the balcony. Jack leaned on the railing and stared down the audience.
"So what's it gonna be?"
"We're wit' you, Jack," Racetrack nodded. The others murmured in agreement. Jack turned to the feisty leader of Brooklyn.
"What do you say, Spot?" Spot thought for a second, then rose up to look Jack in the eyes.
"I say that what you say..." His blue eyes were freezing. Then he grinned and relaxed. "...is what I say." Jack grinned in relief.
"All right, Jack!" Mush screeched. Smudge jumped on her chair and whistled loudly with her fingers in her mouth. Sarah laughed. Then the curtains parted and Medda appeared onstage.
"Is that Medda?" Sarah yelled. Smudge nodded.
"She was a friend of Jack's faddah." The crowd started singing rowdily.
High times, hard times
Sometimes the livin' is sweet
And sometimes there's nothin' ta eat.
But I always lands on my feet
So when there's dry times
I wait for high times and then
I put on my best and I sticks out my chest
And I'm off to the races again!
Spot, Jack, David collapsed in the chairs next to Sarah and Smudge.
"That went good." Jack grinned at Sarah. "Hey, I'm gonna go see Medda." Sarah smiled happily as Jack retreated into the crowd. Smudge elbowed David.
"Glad it's over?" she asked. Davy nodded. Spot downed a glass of sarsaparilla and laughed.
"Why ain't ya singin', Smudge?" he shouted over the roar of the crowd.
"Don't remember the words. Why ain't you singin'?" she shot back.
"Can't sing," Spot shrugged. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "They's gonna listen to us now!"
"Wait a minute," David called. "That's Snyder!" Smudge and Spot jerked to their feet. The warden with a vendetta was searching through the crowds. David darted off and grabbed Jack. "Jack, it's Snyder!" Before Jack had a chance to get away, the police whistle sounded. Blue-coated bulls swarmed over the place.
"Get out!" Jack barked, grabbing Smudge's thin arm. David dragged Sarah and Les with them. The three of them dashed out of the exit.
"I have to get back!" Smudge cried, her fingers fumbling with the sash on her dress.
"What are you doing?" Sarah asked. Smudge pulled the dress off. Underneath she was wearing a pair of ragged pants and a thin white shirt. The muggy air settled around her neck as she pulled her long hair up and tugged her cap over the heap of shining waves.
"I've got ta go back," she told Sarah as she thrust the dress into Sarah's arms. "These are my brothers. I have to see what happens to them."
"Good luck," Sarah whispered as Smudge pushed her way back into the theater.
"Robby!" she screamed. "Jack! Race!" The coppers didn't notice the tiny figure darting around them. "Get off! Get off!" Frantically she pummeled her small fists into the hard muscled back of a mick copper. He ignored her as he dragged Racetrack's limp body away. She ran faster, her breath coming in rapid gulps. Spot was lying in a heap on the floor. Morris Delancey kicked the boy in the stomach. A police officer carted him off before he could even react. She ran for the front steps. "Run, Jack!" she urged. Kid Blink and Jack were running for the door. Abruptly Jack ran back in, his face pale. He started to run up the stairs when a hired tough materialized at the top of the steps and punched his huge fist in Jack's face.