"Jack, I don't get it. Ya didn't accomplish anythin' in Boston," Race said, eying his handful of cards.

"Dat's the point," Crutchy said matter-of-factly, putting two of his cards down.

Jack looked over his cards and sort of shrugged. "Yeah, I know," he muttered.

"I fold," Crutchy said, defeated.

"Call," Race said, chewing on his ever-present cigar.

Jack leaned back and placed his cards on the table, "Full house."

Race raised his eyebrows, "Geez, Jack, you been cleanin' up lately!" Jack just sort of shrugged again. He didn't really feel like playing poker. Neither did anyone else. The three friends all instinctively turned their eyes away from the table and gazed out the Lodging House window.

"Awful day, ain't it?" Crutchy noted.

It was an awful day. It was mid-December and New York was cold and gray. An icy sleet pelted the roof, melting soon after it reached the ground. The selling was equally dreadful and most of the newsies were inside the Lodging House, trying to occupy themselves for the afternoon. Jack sighed. Crutchy watched his friend staring out the window and finally sighed himself. Race turned back to the table and began to gather the cards into a neat pile.

"Ya think it'll snow by Christmas?" Crutchy ventured.

Jack just halfheartedly shrugged at the comment. " I s'pose."

"Aw, yeah, �a course it'll snow," Race said confidently, hoping to shift the conversation to a brighter note. But it was hard, as it always was at that time of year. As the holidays approached, Race was constantly reminded of how his weak celebration paled severely in comparison to most people's Christmases.