"Well, I've never heard of you," the man said. Jack Kelly sighed. He'd been getting that alot lately. Ususally he didn't bother trying to explain, but he really wanted this job.

"Ya remember the strike, doncha? The newsies strike? I was the leadah. I was in the papes.... We beat 'The Woyld'...." Jack trailed off, studying the man's clean-shaven face, hoping for some sign of recognition.

"Look son, I don't care about the games you played when you were a kid. You have no experience, no references, and no education. Lets say I did hire you. You'd be fired as soon as the boss found out how unqualified you are. And then I'd be fired for hiring you in the first place. Understand?" Jack nodded and toyed with the edge of his shirt sleeve. It was coming unraveled. It seemed like everything in his life was coming unraveled. He stood up.

"Well, I thank ya fer yer time," he said softly. The man shook his hand, adding,

"A piece of advice, kid. If you want to get a respectable job in New York City, you're going to have to get rid of that awful accent. You sound like ignorant street trash." Jack blushed, managed to nod, and made his way out of the office building.

He stepped out into the cool morning air and looked around for Racetrack. He spotted him at the corner, talking to a stranger. Jack approached and snatched his cowboy hat from Racetrack's hands.

"Didn't go so well, eh Cowboy?" Racetrack asked. Jack didn't answer. He stormed off, stopping only for a second to pick up a discarded newspaper lying in the gutter. He glanced at the front page, realizing he had no idea what day it was. September 17, 1902 was what the paper claimed. Jack crumpled the page in his hands and slumped against a building. So much had changed in three years. He was legal now, an immature twenty. He hair was a little longer and his stride a little slower. But that wasn't from age, it was from a lack of hope. Jack sighed. Racetrack had caught up with him.

"Whacha thinkin' about, Cowboy?" he asked.

"The strike." Racetrack nodded. Jack thought about the strike alot. He was like an old, toothless war veteran. He had no purpose, no ambition, so he lived in his glory days of the past. Jack thought about hanging out at Tibby's with the newsies; he thought about Spot Conlon and the Brooklyn boys; but mostly Jack thought about David.

David's father got his job back not long after the strike ended. David had returned to school, then gotten a real good job. He moved his family to a nicer part of New York. Sarah married the owner of a big fish processing factory. Les was shipped off to boarding school in Vermont. Jack hadn't seen the Jacobs' in over two years.

That was also the last time the newsies were together. Not long after David left Kloppman died, and with him went the Newsboys Lodging House. The newsies scattered to the streets, still meeting up to sell papes, but it was hard to go on every day when you slept on a bench. Night air in Manhatten seemed to bite right through your clothes.

The day Jack turned eighteen his old pal Crutchy was found beaten to death in an alley, and Jack decided it was time to leave the "care-free" days of carrying the banner behind and find his place in the world. That involved getting a real job, which proved to be a challenge.

He was alone for the first time since his parents abandoned him, and he hated it. Fortunately it didn't last for long. A month after Jack bade farewell to the newsies he found Racetrack lying in an alley, beaten and nearly dead. Jack took him to a doctor, and when Racetrack regained conciousness he made the decision to try to get off the streets.

Since then, Jack and Racetrack had been together. Leaving the newsies was easy, getting off the streets wasn't. Jack and Racetrack slept inside whenever they could, but it wasn't very often. They worked any odd jobs they could find, cleaning the streets where the horses had messed for 10 cents a day, hauling rotten fruit to the dumps for a dollar a week, or scrubbing toilets in an office building for permission to sleep in the lobby. Of course, these jobs were few and far between, and most of the time the boys ended up stealing food to survive.

"So, Jack. Whadaya think we should do now?" Jack snapped back to reality. He rubbed the sides of his forehead, trying to think. Finally, he spoke.

"I can only think of one thing ta do, Race."

"Whats dat Cowboy?"

"Find Davy."

Jack had no idea where David lived. He knew David had some wonderful job somewhere in New York, but beyond that he was clueless. In the past he would've rounded up some of his newsies and they would've set off on a grand adventure. But those days were gone, and finding any of his old pals would be impossible. So Jack slung his arm around Racetrack's scrawny shoulders and pulled him into a nearby bar. They sat at a booth in the corner and miunched on the bowl of complimentary peanuts. Racetrack broke the silence.

"So how we gonna find Davy?" He asked.

"I was thinkin' we could find Sarah, cuz she still lives in Manhatten wid her snooty husband. Sarah could tell us where Davy is." Jack looked hopeful. Racetrack groaned inwardly. He had a feeling Jack just wanted to see Sarah again. He never really got over her, and he never forgave her for marrying a bigshot like Bill Schmitz. Bill Schmitz embodied everything Jack was against. Of course, that included a stable family life, which was what Sarah had been seeking. Racetrack wondered if maybe seeing Sarah would be a bad idea. Jack had been pretty down lately, and seeing Sarah happy with another man might just rip him to shreds. But Jack was the Cowboy. So Racetrack just smiled.

"Yeah Jack. Dat sounds like a good plan! A really swell plan, Jack." Jack looked happy that Racetrack approved. The two boys planned how they would find Sarah and ate peanuts until a mean looking waiter approached their booth.

"I'm sorry, but this isn't a soup kitchen. I'm going to have to ask that you leave, or order something. Peanuts are for paying customers, not hungry street trash." Used to this, Jack and Racetrack hastily made their way out onto the street. Jack sat down on the curb and rubbed his hands together for warmth. It was going to be a cold winter, and he'd like to have a place to live by then. Then he remembered the small package tucked away in his pocket, a package he carried like valuable jewels. He pulled out the bag and fished around inside for a cigarette. Cigarettes were precious now that he couldn't afford them, because they were very hard to steal. He had only a few left, but it was cold and a Lucky Strike could warm him right up. He asked a passing businessman for a light, and sat back, puffing away with pleasure. When he had smoked almost half the cigarette he began to go over the plan with Racetrack.

"So, we finds dis Schmitz guy's fish factory, whatsit called?"

"Reel Big Fish Co., I think."

"Yeah. We go dere an' pretend we's lookin' fer Schmitz's address so's we can deliver some flowers to his house." Racetrack nodded. It was as good a plan as any.

It wasn't hard to find out where Reel Big Fish Co. was located. It was the biggest fish processing plant in New York, and you could smell it a mile away. Jack and Racetrack had tried to clean themelves up, look presentable, but alas, they were denied access to private information about the factory's owner.

"I'm sorry, but without any paperwork I just can't release that information," the classy looking woman at the front desk told them. Jack had tried some of his boyish charm. He slicked back his hair with his hands and flashed her a winning smile.

"Aw, come on sweetheart. I ain't askin' fer his medical records, I just wants ta know his address! You can help me, can't ya?" The woman wasn't impressed. So Jack and Racetrack found themselves back on the street and still unsure where Sarah lived.

"I guess it wasn't such a good idea, Cowboy. I mean, maybe we should just try ta find Davy, widout Sarah gettin' involved," Racetrack said, scuffing the toe of his shoe on the sidewalk.

"Hey, I ain't ready ta give up yet. I say we break in tonight. We can find out where dis Schmitz guy lives no problem!" Racetrack didn't like that idea at all. He wanted to stay away from the bulls. Stealing food was one thing, but breaking into a big, rich factory was another. But he was the Cowboy. So Racetrack just nodded.

It was dark and the temperature had dropped several degrees. Jack could see his breath in the night air as he hurried around the giant factory, looking for an open window. He knew Racetrack was right behind him, holding a rope. Jack circled the building twice before deciding he would have to open a window himself. So he untied the extra shirt from around his waist and wrapped it around his fist. He found a window close to the ground and out of sight from the street, and slammed his fist through it. The factory was in an industrial area, so Jack wasn't worried about anyone hearing anything suspicious. However, he knew the bulls would notice the break-in when they made their rounds, and he wanted to be long gone by then.

Jack and Racetrack quickly made their way to the front desk. Jack found a card file of all the employes' personal information in a drawer, and he grabbed the card for Bill Schmitz, owner. He didn't bother looking at it until he and Racetrack had safely run back to the park where they would be sleeping.

"My God," he breathed, shocked. Racetrack looked over Jack's shoulder to see what could be so surprising. The address on the card was in a nice neighborhood not ten minutes walking from the old Newsboys Lodging House. " All dat time she lived dere, an' never once came ta visit. Damnit! Davy said she lived too far ta visit. All dat time!" Racetrack had fitfull dreams of Jack seeing Sarah and completely losing it.

When Racetrack woke up it was light and Jack was missing. He hoped Jack was out "acquiring" some breakfast, and he stretched his arms above his head and basked in the kind sun which had already cut the chill from the night before. When he heard Jack's distinctive voice calling his name, Racetrack sat up and waved.

"Heya Cowboy! Wow! Ya sure cleaned yerself up!" It was true, Jack was practically radiant. His hair was combed and his skin looked fresh and young. His eyes sparkled in a way they hadn't in years, and Jack had even washed the stains from his clothes and scrubbed the dirt and grime from under his fingernails. His trademark cowboy hat hung from a string around his neck, and Jack had even added an accessory Racetrack hadn't seen since the strike-- a red bandana. "Cheez Jack, ya look like yer dressed ta meet someone important! Got somethin' scheduled today dat I don't know about?" Jack slapped him playfully.

"Come on Race, git yer lazy ass up an' lets go!" Racetrack quickly combed his hair and splashed some water from a puddle on his face.

"Awright, I'm ready."

The two hurried to the area where Sarah's apartment was. They stood infront of a huge brick building and stared up at at.

"Ain't ya gonna go in, Cowboy?" Racetrack asked. Jack nodded and confidently strode through the huge glass doors. Once inside he climbed three flights of stairs and walked through the fourth floor, looking for apartment #416. It was at the end of a long hall, right next to a window. Jack pulled back the curtain and looked down at the street. He saw Racetrack sitting on the curb, smoking a cigar. Jack took a deep breath and knocked on the door. After a minute he heard chains being removed, and a familiar voice called out,

"Who is it?" Jack felt shivers run down his spine. He hadn't heard that sweet voice in so long.

"Why doncha open the door an' find out?" He called out, louder than he had meant. In a moment the door swung open, and there she stood. It was the same Sarah he remembered, except now she was very, very pregnant. Her jaw dropped.

"J-Jack? Oh my God, Jack!" She opened her arms for a hug, and Jack grabbed her happily. After embracing, she invited him in. Jack sat down on the couch while Sarah prepared some coffee and crackers. He glanced around. The apartment was beautiful, it was obvious Sarah never wanted for anything. There were paintings on the walls and gorgeous furniture. There was even a bowl of candy on the coffee table. Sarah returned with a tray and offered Jack a cup. He took it and sipped the coffee, surprised at its strange flavor. Sarah must have noticed the look on his face, because she explained,

"Its cherry walnut coffee. Bill brought it back from his last trip to France...." She trailed off. "So Jack... whats going on? How have you been? I mean really. I asked about you once-- some newsie near here. He said you'd given up the newsie way of life, that you were out making a place for yourself in the world. Have you? I can help you, you know." Jack blushed and shrugged.

"Not-- Not like I planned. But dat's not why I'm here. I needs ta find Davy. I-I thought maybe you'd know where he was bettah den anybody else." He looked at her, pleading with his eyes. Sarah nodded. She got up and disappeared into a back room. She returned with a piece of paper in her hand. She handed him the paper. On it was an address in Brooklyn. Under that was written "First Bank of Brooklyn".

"Its where he works, the bank," she explained. Jack nodded.

"Thanks Sarah." He got up and headed towards the door, but stopped. "Sarah, can I ask ya aquestion?"

"Of course, Jack."

"Are you happy? Wid Bill? Here in dis apartment?"

"Happier than I've ever been in my life."

"Awright. Good-bye Sarah."

"Good-bye Jack."

"Did ya see her? Huh? Did ya, Cowboy? Did ya?" Racetrack was hopping up and down beside Jack as he stormed down the street. He held the paper in his hand and kicked trash as he walked.

"Ya, I saw her Race."

"How she doin', Jack?"

"She's pregnant Race. She's real pregnant." Race sighed. He knew Jack would be upset. He knew Jack secretly thought he would go in there and Sarah would be unhappy, and Jack would whisk her away like a knight in shining armor. But why would Sarah want an overgrown, penniless newsie when she already had one of the richest men in Manhatten?

"So.... How bout Davy? Did ya find out where he is?" Jack shoved the paper at him, and Racetrack read it. "Hey! Awright! We's goin' ta Brooklyn! I ain't seen Spot in years!"

It was always safer to travel to Brooklyn at night. Jack knew that, so he and Racetrack didn't even begin heading towards the bridge until well after 10:00. They had spent the day at the horsetracks, and Race managed to loose everything he bet. Finally they stole some bread and began the long walk.

The path to Brooklyn led Jack and Racetrack through a well-known part of town. There were bars and clubs where men could go to buy a woman. Jack was uncomfortable walking down the street, passing homeless and prostitutes on every corner, sitting in every doorway. Some of the women stood up and were following the boys, calling out to them obscenely. When one of them grabbed Racetrack's collar and kissed his cheek, he and Jack took off running. The prostitutes stood behind them, laughing.

Jack and Racetrack ran and ran, turning corners and cutting across streets and just trying to get away. They would've kept running except Racetrack bumped into a large man coming out of a shabby building. The force knocked both to the ground. Jack stopped and offered his hand to Racetrack.

"Ya okay Race?" He asked.

"Yeah, I'm okay, Jack," he replied, brushing himself off. "I think those women are gone," he said, glancing over his shoulder. When he looked, he noticed the man he had knocked down was getting up from the concrete. He was wearing a giant overcoat, but a shadow camofauged his features. Jack grabbed Racetrack's arm and began to steer him down the street, not wanting to be around incase the man was angry. But before the two had gone a foot, a voice called out,

"Wait!" Jack groaned inwardly. He wasn't the fighter he used to be. He turned around slowly, trying to think of a way to talk themselves out of a confrontation. Before he could speak, the man in theovercoat had grabbed him.

"Cowboy! I just knew it was you! Cheez, dis is great!" When the man pulled away, Jack immediately recognized him.

"Mush? Mush! How ya been?"

"I been good, Jack," Mush replied, grinning. "Heya Race!"

"Heya Mush! What are ya doin' in dis part a town at dis time a night?" Racetrack asked.

"Woykin'," was Mush's answer. Jack looked at Racetrack. Working? Not as a newsie, obviously.

"So what've ya been up ta?" Jack asked slowly.

"Well, I stopped sellin' papes not long afta you guys left. It just waddn't fun no more! Especially afta what happened ta Crutchy... well, ya know.... I been woykin' around here ever since. Ya wouldn't believe how many rich, lonely old ladies come around here! Its good money, man. Good money." Jack shook his head. He never dreamed Mush would end up like this. Just then Mush got real excited. "Heya! Over here! Come here, I got a surprise!" He was waving madly to someone across the street.

"Oh my God! Jack! Race! I never thought I'd see you two here!" It was Kid Blink, patch and all, grinning broadly.

"Not you too, Blink?" Jack asked. Blink laughed.

"No, no. I ain't got the body fer it like Mush here does. I handle the buisness."

"Yeah, Blink finds me, an' some goyls, customers, an' we pay him a little bit," Mush chimed in.

"Dat's awful," Race said soflty.

"Well somebody's gotta do it," Blink replied, suddenly defensive. Jack thought it was awful, too, but didn't want to offend anyone, so he stayed quiet.

"Hows about we take ya ta dinner? Our treat!" Blink offered, to make peace. They agreed, and went to a nice resteraunt with their long lost friends. It was the nicest resteraunt Jack had been in since-- well, ever! He enjoyed a hot meal of steak and potatoes. He had never had steak before, and it was the best thing he ever tasted. Over dinner, the four friends talked about old times and really bonded. It killed Jack to know that in a few hours he and Racetrack would resume their trek to Brooklyn and Mush and Blink would go back to that awful street to do that horrible thing.

"So, youse guys never told us what yer doin' in our little corner a town! Goin' ta Brooklyn?" Blink knew that the bridge was practically just around the corner. At that moment Jack decided what he had to do.

"Yeah, we's goin' ta Brooklyn. Toyns out our old pal Davy woyks at a bank dere. We decided its time ta do somethin' wid our lives, an' Davy seems ta be our only option. You guys don't really like woykin' the streets, do ya? Come wid us!" Mush looked at Blink. They leaned in close and whispered for a few moments.

"Awright Cowboy. We're wid ya."

They crossed the bridge and were in Brooklyn just as it was getting light. They had spent a long time at the resteraunt. They could no longer rely on the cover of night to keep them safe from Brooklyn goons. And sure enough, it wasn't long before all four boys were grabbed by big thugs.

"Hey hey! Watch it! We's newsies! From Manhatten.... Jack Kelly...." But the Brooklyn newsies were young and had never heard of the famous Cowboy. "We's friends wid Spot!" Jack cried. After a little consulting, the goons decided to hold off on pummeling the strangers and take them to Spot. If they really were friends of Spot's, he would be angry if they were beaten.

Spot was in his place at the pier. He was shooting at birds with his slingshot and talking to an enormous red-haired boy. He looked up when the four strangers were shoved infront of him.

"Well well well. If it ain't Jacky-boy an' his groupies."

"How ya been, Spot?" Jack asked, spitting on his hand and offering it to Spot, to shake. Spot just stared at him.

Spot was still the newsie super-power he had been three years ago when Brooklyn aided Manhatten in the strike. Then, he and Jack were buddies, and had the common bond of being newsie leaders. But Jack had punked out, quitting the business and practically disappearing just because some cripple got killed. Spot had no respect for that. Being a newsie wasn't a last resort to stay alive, it was a way of life! It just wasn't right for Jack to leave his newsies like he did. And Spot had heard stories from Manhatten. He knew what happened since Jack left. Things had fallen apart. Without a leader the newsies were just street rats, poor kids who roamed the streets and were disrespected by everyone. And Spot hated that more than anything.

"So, Jack Kelly. I hear you's tryin' ta be straight now, huh? You's tryin' ta be a man," Spot said snidely.

"Yeah, well, we all gotta, at some point, eh Spot?" Jack responded. Spot was only eighteen, still a kid.

"Leavin' the way ya did ain't bein' a man, Cowboy," Spot told him. Now Jack was angry.

"An' what the hell do you know about bein' a man, Conlon?" Jack hissed in Spot's face.

"Apparently a lot more den you do, Jack. I mean, cheez, not only did ya just up an' leave all those newsies alone, widout a leader, but ya didn't tell anyone! Ya didn't tell me! I found out when one a me boys came back wid the news. By den it was too late ta do anything. Cheez, Jack, dat totally disappointed me. You totally disappointed me." Jack sighed.

"What would you've done, Spot? Ya couldn't have stopped me. What would you've done?"

"I would've gone dere, ta keep order wid yer newsies, so dey wouldn't have fallen apart like dey did. Do you know how dat kills me? Dat the Manhatten newsies, who used ta be the second most powerful newsies, the famous newsies who started the strike, are now just a rag-tag bunch a street trash? I coulda stopped dat, Jack. I coulda maintained some order until someone else took over. Dats what I woulda done."

Jack was quiet. He realized that Spot was really upset about what had happened in Manhatten. Spot was truely a newsie, and would be until he died. "Now I heard what you boys are doin' here, in Brooklyn. I want ya ta take care a yer business an' den get the hell outta me territory. Or else I will let me friends here do what dey will wid ya. Understand?" Spot stepped back and the four Manhatten newsies found themselves looking at a line of the biggest newsies in New York. They all looked angry and held weapons, ready to kick some ass.

Up until that point Racetrack, Mush, and Kid Blink had remained silent, but when they saw the gang ready to tear them limb from limb, they felt compelled to speak up.

"Ah, Jack? I think we better git outta here," Racetrack said first.

"Yeah Jack. We don't want no trouble," Mush pleaded.

"No trouble at all. Nice seein' ya, Spot," Blink finished. For a while everything was still-- Jack and Spot stared at each other in silence. Spot was full of anger, Jack was full of regret and remorse. What if he had stayed with the newsies? What if he hadn't decided to search for the good life? Why couldn't he have been satisfied on the streets like Spot?

"Look Spot...." Jack started, but Spot interuppted him.

"Look nothin'! I want you an' yer boys outta me sight now." Jack nodded and turned, quickly leaving the pier where Spot spent his time. Racetrack, Mush, and Blink followed on his heels, eager to disappear before Spot changed his mind about sparing them.

When the boys were fully on land and had walked in silence for some time, Blink spoke up, saying what was on the minds of his friends.

"Boy, Spot sure has changed." Jack stopped and looked at him.

"No, Spot ain't changed. We've changed. Look at us! We ain't newsies no more, but we're still leadin' a miserable life. Are we unfortunate or just stupid?" Jack asked angrily. His friends looked at one another, shocked, but said nothing. They remained quiet, afraid to speak, as they approached a huge brick building in a nicer part of Brooklyn. Jack stopped infront of it, halting his friends.

"Wow," he breathed. "So dis is where ol' Davy woyks. Not too shabby, eh boys?" The others nodded in agreement. "Awright, I'm gonna go in, an' scope the place out, see where Davy is. You'se guys stay out here. Okay?"

"Yeah, okay. We'll be right here," Racetrack told Jack as he lit a cigar and sat down on the curb. Mush and Blink followed, and Jack opened the door to the bank.

Once inside, Jack stopped dead in his tracks. He had never been inside a bank, and was shocked by the freshness of it all. It didn't smell like the street just outside-- like sewers and dirty children. The marble floor was so shiny Jack could see every smudge on his face in his reflection. He could hear the murmur of voices all around as people in dresses and suits interacted with other people in dresses and suits. They were banking. Jack had never banked. He had never had enough money at one time to need to bank.

Sarah hadn't told him what David actually did, so Jack had no idea where to look. He began walking around the main floor, trying to be inconspicuous. At every desk he paused to peek at the face of the worker sitting behind it. No David. He came upon a desk where a man was sitting, clutching a briefcase and staring at an empty chair across from him. Jack glanced at the nameplate infront of the empty chair, and read:

DAVID JACOBS

Jack quickly sat down in a chair hidden by a potted tree. He took a moment to marvel at a tree indoors, then he sat back and waited for David.

It wasn't long before a familiar face strode across the room and sat down in his chair. David hadn't changed. His face had a little more hair, and he was a little taller, but he really hadn't changed. He was wearing a nice suit, and his hair had some slimy gel in it. It reminded Jack of the first time he saw David, infront of the statue of Horace Greeley, when Jack was running from the Delanceys, all those years ago.

"Well, Mr. Donaldson, everything is all taken care of. I've taken the liberty of setting up an account for you, as well as a safety deposit box. You could not be putting your money in better hands." The man handed over his breifcase and stood up. David stood up, too, and shook the man's hand. Then the man left, and David sat down, shuffling papers. It was the perfect opportunity for Jack to surprise him. But something held Jack back. He wanted to observe some more. He wanted to watch David, to see his old friend doing what Jack wanted so desperately to do-- wear a suit and have a clean-shaven face and smell nice and smile and all the while make money. Lots of money. So Jack shifted his chair a little further behind the tree and watched. He watched David set up an account for a woman in a silk dress. He watched David file papers in a drawer. He watched David go over some papers with his boss. Then another worker at the bank stormed up to David's desk and tossed a folder down.

"Jason tells me you still won't join the union. Damnit David! We need all the support we can get! You've been working here for two years and you've been dodging the union the whole time. Whats going on, David?" He said angrily. "Thomas, I'm sorry. I just don't think the union is a good idea. I mean, what is the necessity? Why can't we all just be happy and let the management do what they deem right? Why must we question? Why must we fight?" Jack was shocked to be hearing these words from David's mouth. He leaned out farther to get a better view. The other man, Thomas, had opened the folder and was holding a newspaper clipping under David's nose.

"You sure thought unions were 'swell' back then, didn't you David? When you were just street trash in Manhatten. Come on, David. What changed in three years? Didn't like the way winning felt? Hated being part of a group? Afraid you might do something useful again?" It was from the New York Sun-- a picture of a group of newsies, posing for the camera after beating the thugs sent to end their strike. David sighed and looked at the picture as Jack watched in awe.

"Oh wow. That was so long ago. Three years... feels more like three decades. I can't believe I was ever a part of that silliness. You don't understand, Thomas. We weren't a union. We were a bunch of street rats with pipe dreams. We were revolting against a price hike of ten cents a hundred. Such a menial little thing! We just got lucky, thats all. We were never a union. We never had a voice. The room at the top can not hear the cries from the street, no matter how loud. And I don't want anything to do with unions. Not now, not ever, so please stop asking." When David had finished he crumpled the newspaper clipping in his hand and dropped it on the desk. Thomas picked it up and walked off silently. Jack was left feeling completely crushed. He stood up and pushed his hair back from his face. No one noticed as the grubby boy made his way out of the bank.

"Hey! Its Jack! Guys! Its Jack!" Kid Blink was the first to notice Jack as he approaced the three sitting on the curb, playing cards.

"So.... How'd it go, Cowboy? Davy was glad ta see ya, no doubt," Racetrack said, slapping Jack's back. Jack pushed him off, thinking. His eyebrows furrowed and he bit his knuckles.

"Awright. Plan one is dead. Its time ta move on ta plan two," he finally said. Mush looked confused.

"But Jack, I didn't know we had a plan two!"

"We do now."

Mush knew that none of the boys were comfortable with what they were about to do, including Jack. But Mush felt the worst of all. Racetrack, Blink, and of course Jack had all been to jail, many times, for many different reasons. Most newsies had. But Mush was unusual. He had never been in any kind of trouble. He would rather starve than take what wasn't his. And he had, often. The truth was there weren't as many rich, lonely, old women as he had made it seem. There were alot of nights he'd go to bed hungry. Blink, on the other hand, made plenty, and offered to help him out, but Mush would rather starve than take charity. But now he was tired of being hungry, and he was ready to do whatever Jack told him, even if it gave him a funny feeling inside.

They had spent the day preparing, and slept in a park close to David's bank. It was early when Jack shook the other boys awake. They stretched and stood up, going over in their minds the roles they were to play in Jack's plan. They went to a corner deli for breakfast.

"Eat well, boys. It'll be awhile before ya eat again," Jack had told them. They gulped down cup after cup of hot coffee, hoping it would calm their nerves. They ate eggs and pancakes and sausage, spending more on that one meal than they would normally spend on food in a week. Then Blink ran over to a drugstore and bought a pack of cigarettes, which he split up among the four boys. They sat outside on the curb, chain smoking and in complete silence. No one really knew what to say. Finally, the sun was higher in the sky and the streets were beginning to fill with people. Jack stood up, squinted into the sky and placed his cowboy hat on his head. He turned to his friends.

"Lets do it, boys."

It was a warm, lazy day-- unusual for a New York September, and exactly the kind that Spot loved. He was sitting at the end of his pier, studying a few new shooters he had "acquired" from some boys from the Bronx. He placed one in his slingshot and closed one eye. He searched for the perfect target, and his glance fell upon two boys running at him, full speed. They were his informants-- his eyes and ears on the streets of Brooklyn. Spot smirked and let the marble fly. It broke a bottle right above the heads of the running boys, sending shards of glass flying. One of the boys let out a cry, and the other covered his head. Spot laughed.

"What's goin' on, boys?" He called out to them. They were breathless by the time they reached him, and it took awhile before Spot fully understood what they were saying.

They told him that "those Manhatten scrubs", meaning Jack, Race, Blink, and Mush, had done something crazy. They had robbed the First Bank of Brooklyn, and gotten away with it. They were long gone before the bulls had shown up, and had left no trace. They could have gone anywhere, just hopped a train and disappeared forever. And most likely, they would never be found. The witnesses weren't quite sure what they saw.

Spot grinned to himself and reloaded his slingshot.

"Where ever ya are, Jackie-boy, I'm proud of ya," he thought to himself as he stared up at the sun.

David Jacobs squirmed in the hard chair, trying to find a comfortable angle, but it just didn't seem possible. He knew that the police officer would soon be finished questioning Thomas and Julia, his co-workers, and he would be called into the tiny office to tell what he saw. David still couldn't believe what had happened. He had seen four familiar faces, faces that only the day before had been staring up at him from an old newspaper photograph, reminding him of old times. He wouldn't even have recognized them, everything had happened so fast, but when he got home the night before, there was a letter from his sister in Manhatten waiting. She wrote that she had a visit from an old friend, Jack Kelly, who had inquired as to David's whereabouts. David had spent the entire day trying to figure out what he would say to Jack. Would he be happy to see his former best friend? Or just sad? He knew Jack was in a bad way, Sarah had said he looked tired and pale. David figured Jack was looking for help, and he was having a hard time deciding if he wanted to give him anything. He had never expected what had happened. After it happened, he put two and two together and figured out who had robbed his bank. But no one else knew what he did, and David wasn't sure he didn't want to keep it that way. He would have to decide quickly, because at just that moment the door to the office opened and the policeman led his friends out.

"David Jacobs?" The policeman asked. David nodded and stood up, following him into a dark, bare room. The walls were balnk and the only light came from a lightbulb hanging from a string above the only furniture in the room, a small table with two chairs facing each other. The policeman pointed to one of the chairs and David sat down. It was more uncomfortable than the one in the waiting room. He noticed a mirror stretching across one wall, and for some reason it made him very uncomfortable. He looked down at his hands, which he folded on the table infront of him.

"So, Mr. Jacobs. We'd really appreciate any information you can give us about the robbers... what they looked like, and characteristics, identifying marks, unusual mannerisms, voice patterns, whatever you remember." The policeman stared at him.

"How much was stolen?" David suddenly asked, not sure why he was curious.

"I'm not at liberty to say... a nice amount, but not enormous. Thats why we don't think it was professional. They didn't go for the real valuble stuff-- in the safe. They just took what the tellers had in their cash drawers. Now, what do you remember?" David smiled.

"I didn't see anything. I was busy doing paperwork. I didn't even know the bank had been robbed until after they left."

Four boys sat on a train, looking out the window. One was a blonde with one sparkling blue eye hidden by a patch and a dazzling smile; one had dark, curly hair, a beautiful body, and a charming grin; one was small and Italian, a cigar dangling from the corner of his mouth; one was tall and strong and proud, with a cowboy hat on his head and a red bandana around his neck. The first three were clutching paper bags to their chests and nervously fidgeting in their seats. The last was asleep, dreaming of a western city with cactus and cattle, sand and sun, and a new life, off the streets.

THE END