The Boy Who Loved Cigars

15

"Well, well, well." Came a familiar voice. I took a deep breath, and turned to face the newsie who it belonged to.

"Spot Conlon."

"Quick Kelly. Quick outta trouble, Quick outta buildings, Quick outta Brooklyn, huh?" He asked, crossing his arms. Of course we were doing this now, in the middle of a strike. Here, in front of Jack.

"Quick outta Brooklyn? What's that supposed to mean?" Jack scoffed, a playful grin resting on his face. I could tell he was trying not to look confused.

"I guess ya sista' just didn't feel like stickin' around afta'." Spot shrugged, his eyes never leaving my face.

"Y/N, what's he ramblin' about?" Jack asked, looking more and more flustered with each second.

"It don't matter, Jack, now let's go. Are we talkin' to Pulitzer or what?" I urged, trying to shove my brother towards the door. He didn't budge.

"Why'd ya do it, Y/N? Cause'a Brooklyn? Cause'a the boys? Or was it cause'a me?" Spot asked. I looked into his eyes, silently begging for him to stop, and also thanking God that Race had already left with the others.

"Quick, what's goin' on?" Les asked, pulling on my sleeve.

"Nothing, Les. C'mon, let's give them a minute." Davey instructed, pulling the younger boy back. I looked into his eyes and saw that he was hurt, so I made a mental note to thank him later.

"Y/N, when the hell did you go to Brooklyn alone?" Jack demanded, and I didn't answer.

"Jack, c'mon. We gotta talk to Pulitzer before it's too late!" I begged, and he looked me in the eyes before turning to Spot.

"This ain't over." He warned us, and we raced into Pulitzer's office, taking everyone by surprise. "How    we    doin'    this    morning,    gents?" He teased, waving a copy of our pape.

"You're    behind    this?    We    had    a    deal." Pulitzer growled, and Jack threw the money back on his desk.

"Guess it came wit' a warranty." I shrugged, and the older man's face darkened.

"I demand to know who broke my ban on printing about the strike!" He declared, and Jack sat down in Pulitzer's recliner.

"We're ya loyal employees!"

"We'd neva' take our business elsewhere." Spot finished smugly, and everyone else's eyes widened at the realization.

"The old printing press in the cellar." Pulitzer spoke quietly. "I    made    you    the    offer    of    a    lifetime.    Anyone    who    does    not    act    in    his    own    self-interest    is    a    fool."

"What's    that    make    you?" Davey scoffed. "This    all    began    because    you    wanted    to    sell    more    papers.    But    now    your    circulation    is    down    seventy    percent.    Why    didn't    you    just    come    talk    to    us?"

"Guys    like    Joe    don't    talk    with    nothin's    like    us.    But    a    very    wise    reporter said a    real    boss    don't    need    the    answers.    Just    the    smarts    to    snatch    the    right    one    when    he    hears    it." I shrugged. We heard voices singing down in newsies square, and Pulitzer approached the window.

"Have    a    look    out    there,    Mr.    Pulitzer.    In    case    you    ain't    figured    it    out,    we    got    you    surrounded." Spot told him.

"New    York    is    closed    for    business.    Paralyzed. You    can't    get    a    paper    or    a    shoe shine. You    can't    send    a    message    or    ride    an    elevator    or    cross    the    Brooklyn    Bridge.    You    can't    even    leave    your    own    building.    So,    what's    your    next    move?" I asked, and he turned about three different shades of red turning to look back at me.

"Good    morning,    Mr.    Pulitzer.    I    think    you    know    the    Governor." Came a deep, bellowing voice, and I turned to see the mayor standing with Medda, Katherine, and our special guest.

"Joseph,    Joseph,    Joseph.    What    have you    done    now?" Sighed Governor Roosevelt, shaking his head. "Thanks    to    Miss    Medda    Larkin    bringing    your    daughter    to    my    office,    I    already    have    a    thorough    grasp    of    the    situation- graphic    illustrations    included. Bully is    the    expression    I    usually    employ    to    show    approval.    But    in    your    case    I    simply    mean    bully!" He turned to Katherine and gestured towards me and Jack. "Are these the two you told me about?" Katherine nodded.

"Nice to meet you, sir. Uh, Your Honor, Mr. Governor, sir." I stuttered as the taller man laughed. Governor Roosevelt offered his hand to me politely, and I shook it in awe.

"The pleasure's all mine. And you," he turned to Jack, "I'm told I shared a ride with you once."

Shaking the Governor's hand, my brother responded proudly and formally, "Pleasure's mine, Mr. Governor."

Governor Roosevelt finally worked Pulitzer into a corner, when Jack was requested. Alone. "Keep your eyes on the stars, and your feet on the ground, young man." Roosevelt told him. We all left the room and entered the square, leaving Jack and Pulitzer alone upstairs. Race met me in the front of the crowd, grabbing my hands.

"Hey, what's goin' on in there, Quick?" He asked me nervously. I shook my head.

"I dunno yet. Pulitzer asked to see Jack alone. Cigar?" I pleaded, and Race took it out of his mouth, passing it to me instantly. After a few more moments, the large doors opened. Jack stepped outside onto the platform, and the crowd silenced. Jack gestured for Race, Davey, Les, and I to join him, so we did.

"Newsies of New York City..."