So this is it. The last part. I feel sad! But don't worry, more stories are in the works, including the one I've been hinting about, the WW1 story involving Vinnie, which will be out as soon as my friend can read over it. * Glares at SaraBeth, then gives her a Cadbury egg because she is such a good friend to put up with me all the time.*

Thanks for all the reviews, especially T.H. Your reviews really helped me decide what I liked and didn't like about the story. Go read her stuff! It's good! Thanks again.

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Jack Kelly put down the last paper and looked at it, stunned at the power and grace behind the words of a friend he'd known, it seemed, all his life. The words were not eloquent, not elegant, but simple and to the point, making his point in very few words, but carrying it across with both power and hard cold facts. The pages of sloppy writing, scrawled over every available space told a story the world had never heard, had never wanted to hear. It was the story of every newsie, every child of the streets who wanted and deserved so much more than what he was served in life. It was his story, just as much as it was the authors.

Then he got up and made his way out the door to the rooftop. There he saw a dark figure, short in stature, but not in spirit. He had known that before, but never had he been so sure about it.

"Which one's me star, Papa?" A small voice asked. Jack smiled as a small girl with dark curly hair, just like her fathers, and bright crystal clear eyes, just like her mothers, grabbed her father's arm, which held a small baby in it. He listened for his friends answer.

"Take yer pick, kid, ya can have any one ya want so's along as ya reach fer it." The taller boy beside him gave a short laugh, while their father leaned over to pull the smaller boy back from the edge. He smiled. Then he cleared his throat. Racetrack turned around and smiled at has friend.

"Go on down now. It's past yer bedtime, all a ya." He whispered to the little girl by his side.

"But Papa!" Little Marinna whined.

"Pop!" Vinnie cried, unwilling to go inside. Little Dino pouted. But Race shook his head.

"Uncle Jack!" She cried, running towards her much larger "Uncle Jack" Dino was right behind her, wrapping his arms around Jack's legs,

"Please, Uncle Jack, can I stay up widcha? Please?" He smiled at the little girl and boy wrapped around his knees.

"Nah, ya gotta sleep sometime, Waves, youse too Lil' Cowboy. And you, Cards, especially if ya wanna get up and sell tamorroa. Now go on, I'm sure Sarah could tell youse a story before ya go ta bed."

"But she neva tells 'em as good as Papa. And I want one bout da strike!" Vinnie exclaimed. Race laughed.

"Go on, ya little urchins, or youse ain't getting' no story tanight." With that threat, the three of them vanished down the steps, Vinnie carrying his baby sister, and the two old friends were left alone. Race noticed the thick stack of papes Jack held in his hand.

"So?" he asked, flicking his cigar ash away.

"So," Jack began, " it's good." Race glanced at him.

"Good?" Jack nodded.

"Race, well, honestly. I didn't know ya had dis in ya. You'se been holdin' out on us!" Race grinned.

"So ya tink it's good enough?" Jack nodded. "Den I'll take it down ta Denton in da mornin'." Jack smiled.

" Pop! Uncle Jack!" A small shrill voice echoed up the steps pf the apartment building. Jack and Race smiled. Race snuffed his cigar out and tossed it to the ground. Then Jack slapped him on the back and the two wandered inside to tell four small children the story of how they placed all they had on one huge gamble and won.

On April 15, 1909, the first copies of The Game of Life, by R. A. Higgins, hit the stands. It was an instant success.