"I can sell 'em, an' ya know it, Bore." she replied. "Anyways, I gots a partner taday." She handed half the papers to Clown who nearly dropped them, not realizing how heavy they were. "Me back t'anks ya." Porter grinned, hefting the rest of the papes onto her shoulder.

"They are heavy aren't they?" Lacey replied. Once she'd gotten an idea of the newspapers' weight, however, it didn't take Clown too long to adjust. "I've carried heavier things in the circus."

"Good. Jist t'ink a it as a motive fer gettin' dem sold." Spitfire replied. "Now how is we splittin'? Normally, I'd jist say fifty-fifty-"

"But you're selling for Crutchy, too, right?" Clown nodded. "I understand. Is sixty-forty-?"

"Fine. I hate ta ask fer dat much-"

"Don't let 'er apol'gize too much." Truth had overheard. "Pounce! We goin' or not?" She called across the square.

"I'm comin'! I'm comin'!"

David agreed. "Most people would ask seventy-thirty without a qualm." He gave Jack a meaningful look.

"Who? Me?" Cowboy was all innocence.

"If the shoe fits-"

"Hey, I on'y cheat people wit da money ta afford it." Jack defended. Spitfire laughed.

"Jist whaddya call affordin' it, Cowboy?"

Spot watched from across the square. Apologizing was not something he did very often. Aw right, so it ain't somet'in I do evah! So I'se makin' a exception! So sue me! At least Clown gave him something to think about besides Gardener and Lynn.

"Hey, Spot!" he jumped and turned back to Racetrack. "Ya bettin'?"

"Oh, yeah, shoa. Madison. A dollar." He handed the money to Race and strolled across the square to intercept his cousin and her partner. When Race saw where Spot was heading, his eyes widened and he followed. Something told him that another confrontation between those two was going to be memorable at very least.

"Clown." Lacey turned in question to see Spot looking his cockiest and most self-assured. He exuded confidence - the kind of confidence that immediately set her on edge. "Sell wit me taday? Ya couldn't have a betta teacha." he added.

Dave raised a surprised eyebrow and would have commented, if he hadn't had to assist Jack who had bent over in what appeared to be a sudden heart attack. Spitfire was having similar difficulties.

"Thank you, no. I have a partner." She didn't mean to be that short.

For a moment he looked slightly taken aback, but he recovered quickly. "Well, I gots ta tawk ta ya." That arrogance.

Lacey stiffened and looked straight at him - a bad sign. "You've got five minutes."

Tempers were very obviously rising on both sides. No one could smell a coming fight like a newsie, and everyone was gathering. As before noted, Spot rarely apologized. Spot hated apologizing. In particular he hated apologizing in front of one hundred raucous newsies many of whom (he thought) would love to see him humbled. The Conlon pride matched the Conlon temper. "It'll take a liddle longer an' a lot fewer people."

That was enough to make most of the newsies clear out of the square. David, Jack, Porter and Race (whose gambling bug out argued his good sense) stayed. It only made Clown angrier. "Oh, very nice, Mr. I'm-so-tough-big-leader-of-Brooklyn-I-can-make-people-run. Just what kind of a leader, are you?"

Spot's eyes flashed grey. Jack and Porter sobered instantly. Racetrack and David both backed up very quickly. Even Spitfire wouldn't get in the way of this mood.

"Spot-" Jack said carefully, but stopped almost as soon as he had begun.

Absolutely out of words, Spot clenched his fists, then released them suddenly, turned on his heel and walked away. Dave and Jack gave him a few moments to cool down before following.

"Holy -!" Racetrack exclaimed when Spot was safely out of hearing distance. "You're playin' wit fire, goil!"

"I don't take bullying from anyone." she retorted and stormed off angrily in the opposite direction.

Porter figured she'd give her a few minutes to calm down as well. A thought struck her and she laughed unexpectedly. "Hey, Race?" she said.

Race shook his head after Clown and hefted his papes onto his shoulder. "What is it? I gotta get ta da track."

"Ya can wait a few minutes ta lose yer money." He glared at her. "Five ta one dose two are a couple witin a month."

He gaped at her. "Spot an' Clown? Ya serious?"

She scribbled out an IOU on a piece of paper, folded it into an airplane and flew it across the square, hitting him in the side of the head. "Dat serious enough?"

He read it, then folded it up and tucked it into his vest. "If ya likes losin' yer money. Fine wit me."

She just smiled at him. "Jist rememba in a month dat ya owe me." Then she ran off after her new partner.

He shook his head disbelievingly. "Glutton fer punishment."

"Spot," Jack argued. "Ya know she din't mean it like dat."

Spot glared ahead of him, his papers under his arm. "I ain't tawkin' about it." he answered between clenched teeth. She was right. he thought.

"How many times have you said something you didn't mean when you were angry?" David added. Not that he'd ever admit it. he thought to himself, but pressed the point anyway.

Spot turned and they could see his eyes shifting between angry grey and hurt blue. "I ain't tawkin' about it." He said dangerously. Dey don't unnerstand. he thought. It don't matta whedda she meant what she's sayin' or not, or whedda she knows 'nuff ta judge or not. It's still true.

Neither answered at first. "Ya gonna go see Lynn?" Jack finally asked.

Spot's thoughts had turned inward. He saw an eight year old boy, dying in his arms on the docks of Brooklyn.

"I fought 'em, Spot."

"I know, kid."

"Dere's a lotta a dem, though."

"I know. It's aw right."

"Lynn, she's gonna miss 'er flowers dis week."

She's gonna miss you. Spot thought. "No, she won't. I'll get 'em to 'er."

What kinda leadah are ya, Spot?"

He saw that same boy only hours earlier asking for a partner, for help. He saw, somewhere, a girl he'd never met with the boy's same gold hair and blue eyes. And he saw another girl he had met with flashing grey eyes, curly brown hair and a complete freedom from fear. He shook himself. "Tamorra."

Clown half expected Spitfire to comment when the more experienced newsie came running up after her. When Porter didn't say anything, she decided to get it over with herself. "He may be your cousin, but-"

Spitfire shook her head, trying to think. She was fairly certain that Spot liked Clown, equally certain that Clown liked Spot, but - "He's mad."

Clown laughed. "Really?"

"No, I mean, madder den he normally'd be. Ya musta hit a noive or somet'in, cuz da las' time I seen 'im like dat - I gotta tawk ta Jack."

"Not Spot?" Clown asked, a little surprised.

"Not in dat mood! Evan ain't nevah hit me, but - he ain't safe when he's like dis!"

Clown shook her head a little disbelievingly. She honestly couldn't see anything in the Brooklyn leader to fear. Evan. His real name's Evan. she thought, then. Why do I care?

"C'mon, we's wasted too much time awready." Porter started. "Now, da foist t'ing ya gotta loin is headlines. Good headlines mean good sellin', right?"

"Right." Clown said cautiously. It sounded like a trick question.

"Wrong. Headlines don't sell papes. Newsies . . ."

"I don't like seein' 'im like dat." Jack shook his head. "He's gonna hoit somebody, an' it's prob'ly gonna be hisself." Then he laughed a little. "But, oh, I ain't seen anyt'in so funny since yer foist day as a newsie!"

"What is it?" David was getting a little annoyed with this.

"He likes 'er!" Jack replied.

"Is that all?" It had been fairly obvious for a while now.

"No, I mean he likes 'er, like I ain't seen Spot dat gone on somebody." His mind jumped tracks again. "Dis business wit Gardner an' Lynn-"

David nodded soberly. "I'm worried too."

Pounce and Truth passed by, overhearing and exchanged glances. Spot had a new girl? One his best friends didn't like? And her name was Lynn? It meant only one thing to them - fresh gossip.

"EXTRY! EXTRY! LADIE'S UNDERCLOTHES FOUND IN DRAWER A POLICE CHEIF'S DESK! SCANDAL ROCKS POLICE DEPARTMENT!" Spot hawked the headlines loudly and enthusiastically in an effort to drown out his own thoughts. It was unsuccessful. He was more than a little angry with himself. He'd snapped at his best friends. He'd been responsible for the death of one of his own newsies - one of his youngest newsies, for goodness' sake! His attempt to apologize with Clown had backfired miserably. And speaking of Clown, there was something disturbing in an entirely different way about the new girl.