"EXTRY! EXTRY! GIANT DEN OF CRIMINALS CLEANED OUT!" Prob'ly a rat's nest. Porter thought cynically, passing the newsie by and looking for a stand where she could get something to eat. She found a likely prospect, a cheese and sausage stand. The vender loudly proclaimed the virtues of his wares, making Porter's mouth water. Not that it would have taken much to whet her appetite. The last time she'd eaten was two days ago? T'ree? No, wait, I had a apple yestidy mornin'. An' I gotta drink on dat bet earlier today. I'se not dat bad off. A rumble from her hollow stomach loudly refuted her last thought.

"EXTRY! EXTRY! MAYOR TAKES A NIGHT ON DA TOWN WIT FIFTEEN-YEAR-OLD GOIL!" Porter snorted, drawing odd looks from a few passers by. C'mon. Even I know 'is daughter's back from Europe. She had to hand it to the boy, though. He was good. She eyed the sausage cart, licking her lips. It didn't have much business at the moment. She'd have to wait for a crowd. Porter didn't usually condone stealing, but her pockets were empty even of lint and her stomach (even emptier) was arguing much more convincingly than her conscience.

A scrap of blue uniform near the sausage cart caught her eye. She swore. Da bulls! The two newsies had noticed, also and were moving slowly, but surely off. The officer scanned the crowd. Porter flattened herself out against a brick building and edged along until she reached the mouth of an alley. She heard a whistle shrill and took off down the alley. It was fenced off at the back, but she hadn't lived 8 years on the streets for nothing. She scaled the 8 foot fence and swung herself over minutes before he caught up with her. Terrific! Couldn't dey a-waited till I'd eaten ta find me again. Dis ain't fair, God. The divine being, however, did not appear to agree with Porter. So where do I go, now? I'se been ta da Bronx, Queens, midtown, Harlem . . . Dere ain't no way I'se goin' back ta Brooklyn! Da on'y place I ain't been is Manhattan. I never t'ought New Yawk would seem too small!

She glanced over her shoulder. She'd lost him, but didn't stop running until she found herself in Central Park. It was a typical Sunday afternoon. A band was playing in the bandstand. The park was filled with high class ladies and gentlemen out for a stroll in their Sunday best, young couples whispering and giggling together, rich children running about, plaguing their governesses - all of them people with plenty of money and time to spare. Bet none a dem are worryin' 'bout where deir next meal's comin' from. Porter thought. She felt out of place with her ragged clothes and dirty face. Oh, well, dere's prob'ly some newsies aroun' heah somewhere. I ain't dat unusual a sight. Wherevah dere's rich folks, dere's pore folks, too.

She hoped the street kids in Manhattan weren't as zealous at defending their territory as Brooklyn. She snorted aloud. Ain't nobody as serious about territory as Brooklyn. In a swift mood change, she kicked a tree in frustration. She'd been running through New York almost nonstop for a week. Ya might give me a break, God. She cursed Snyder, the bulls, her father, her own stupidity at being caught in being caught in the first place, and the circumstances in general. Her stomach growled again, reminding her once more that she hadn't eaten for a very long time.

"EXTRY! EXTRY! HEIRESS COMES TA NEW YAWK!" Porter looked up at the small crowd near the bandstand. Not great lies, but the boy seemed to be doing as good business as his colleagues in Queens. She got a glimpse of the boy and saw why. Tall, skinny, and curly-haired, he had a stack of newspapers slung over his left arm and held a cap with a reasonable number of pennies in it with the same hand. Under his other arm was a crutch. A crip. Real or fake? she wondered idly, searching the area for a possible meal. There was a fruit vender on the far side of the bandstand - but she gave up on that idea as she watched the vender grab a would-be thief she hadn't even seen. Frustration and anger overtook her. Less than a week ago she'd been contentedly living in Brooklyn, now- She would have complained to God again, had she not been fairly sure by this time that He wasn't listening.

Time for desperate measures. she thought. She looked back at the crippled newsie. He'd sat down against a tree with a pinched look on his face as if he was trying not to show pain. His cap with its coins lay beside him, and his crutch leaned against the wall behind him. Real. she concluded irrelevantly. Normally, she wouldn't even have considered doing what she was about to do. But I done a lot of t'ings I ain't used to lately. And desperate circumstances . . .

Porter waited patiently while two passers-by dropped pennies into the boy's cap and picked up newspapers. He did look pretty pitiful she had to admit. She hesitated, but hunger drowned out conscience once again. Besides, it argued, she'd pay him back - if she ever got any money. She crossed the park casually, at an angle. As she passed the newsie who was beginning to get up again, she leaned down, grabbed a penny and took off.

At least, she started to take off. Five seconds later she was sprawled in the grass in a very undignified manner, wincing at bruises that were going to hurt for a long time. She'd been tripped. The boy she'd tried to rob, da one dat tripped me, she realized, was standing over her. He held out a hand. She rose, brushed the dirt out of her eyes and handed him the penny. He seemed slightly surprised, but she didn't know why.

"I'd a given it to ya if ya'd asked." he said. "Ya aw right?" Porter looked at him blankly for a moment. Then humiliation, frustration, hunger, pain from her bruises, and the stress of being on the run for far too long finally overcame her. She began crying. After a few minutes, she realized what she was doing. She hadn't realized she was so upset as to cry in public. She hadn't even cried when her mother died. She hadn't cried at the worst of her father's beatings. She hadn't cried when they arrested her. Appalled, she tried to stop the tears. The boy was still standing over her, saying something she couldn't understand. She gulped and managed to hold down the tears, finally. Imagine what he must think of her!

"T'ank you, sir. Do ya know what time it is?"

The man nodded and checked his watch. "Two o'clock."

"T'ank you, sir." Crutchy slid to the ground in relief. His leg had been hurting all day, but he refused to allow himself to sit down more once every three hours. He leaned against the tree behind him and tried not to remember that in two minutes he would have to stand up again. A couple of passers-by dropped pennies in his hat and took papers. He had about a minute left. He watched the people listening to the band. Everyone once in awhile he detached himself like that for a few seconds, even from his friends, observing but not participating. He enjoyed it. A governess walked by pushing a baby carriage. Two girls followed her, giggling despite her lectures on lady-like behavior. A boy and a girl about his age (16) passed in the other direction. The boy whispered something in the girl's ear and she blushed. Crutchy felt a twinge of loneliness, but ignored it.

He saw another girl approaching - one who didn't fit the upper-class, Sunday afternoon festivities. She was black, but much lighter skinned than Boots or Snaps (so called because of his tendency to snap his fingers in his sleep - his parents had been performers in a cafe). He wondered if she was mixed. She had short, dark brown hair and was not dressed to fit the scene. Of course, neither was he. In fact, she dressed a lot like a newsie.

His two minutes were up. He sighed and reached for his crutch, forgetting about the girl. Or he would have forgotten about her if she hadn't chosen that moment to grab a penny out of his hat and run. People had tried to rob Crutchy before, mistaking his disability for helplessness. He already had his hand on his crutch and held it across the girl's path. He winced when she fell, and quickly stood and held out a hand to help her up. She looked at the hand blankly and returned his penny, wincing a little. Crutchy felt guilty. He hadn't meant to hurt her. She was probably just hungry. Snitch had stumbled across the newsies in much the same way. "Ya aw right?" he asked.

To his dismay, she began crying. He felt even guiltier. "I'se sorry. I din't mean ta hurt ya. Ya aw right?" When she finally stopped crying, he dug into his pocket and came up with a rag that passed for a handkerchief. He handed it to her, along with the penny.

"I don't take charity." she said harshly, accepting the handkerchief, but not the money.

"Neidder do I. Look, ya can owe me." He gathered his things while she dried her eyes and wiped her nose, then turned back to her. "Ya got a name, so's I can apol'gize?"

She stood up, watching him suspiciously. "Porter. Apol'gize for what?"

"Trippin' ya. Pleased ta meet ya, Porter. I'se Crutchy." He spit in his hand and offered it to her. She considered him a moment, then shook, laughing suddenly. "What is it?"

"I tries ta rob ya, an' your apol'gizin' ta me?" He shrugged, and she laughed again. He offered her the penny again, but she refused it. "How's I s'posed ta pay ya back?"

"Become a newsie." Crutchy answered, handing her half of his remaining papes. "Start wit dese. Dat's ten papes, ya owe me six cents." He added as casually as possible. "I'se gettin' an apple, now. Hungry?"

He watched her trying not to look too eager. "A liddle." She answered, finally accepting the penny.

They paid the fruit vender, and took their apples. Porter devoured hers in less than a minute. Crutchy wondered how long it had been since she'd last eaten. "Ya wanna sell now?" He asked when he'd also finished. "I ain't much of a teacha, but-"

She nodded, waving her papes at the next passer by. EXTRY! EXTRY! MILLIONAIRE GIVES DAUGHTER TA ORPHANAGE TA SAVE MONEY! T'ank you, ma'am. T'ank you, sir."

"Hey, Porter, what page is dat?" Crutchy asked.

"Six." she answered. "T'ank you, ma'am." She nodded to a woman who walked off with a friend, gossiping about the state of the world.

"Rich Man Donates Rare Doll ta Children's Home, Claims Tax-deduction." Crutchy read. He grinned. The girl was as good as Jack! "EXTRY! EXTRY! HEIRESS COMES TA NEW YAWK!"

"I shoulda given ya all me papes." Crutchy joked. "I coulda slept all afternoon! Ya sure ya never done dat before?"

Porter grinned. "I useta know a lotta newsies." It was the truth, if not all of the truth. She handed him six cents back.

He shook his head. "Keep it for now. Ya gonna need ta buy some more papes tamorra. 'Sides we'se partners now." She frowned, but agreed reluctantly. "Ya got a place ta stay?" he asked. "Dere's room in da lodgin' house."

"How much?" She asked. Staying in one place wasn't that good an idea. She didn't want a repeat of Brooklyn. On the other hand, the bulls didn't even know she was in Manhattan yet. And the idea of a real bed was tempting.

"Two cents a night." Crutchy was surprised at how much he was hoping she'd say yes. He'd gotten to like her.

"I'll try it for t'night. Where is it?"

"Right heah." They turned a corner, and she saw a shabby looking building. The peeling sign said Newsboys' Lodging House. "Don't let da sign fool ya. Ya ain't da on'y goil. Da name's ta fool da bulls. C'mon!"

The perfect day had turned into a rainy night. They ran (as well as they could) for the door, laughing, almost falling through when an old man opened the door. "Watch it!" he grumbled, unconvincingly. "Runnin' around in the rain, knockin' people over! Bet ya din't even get any work done!"

"Good evenin', Mr. Kloppman." said Crutchy, hiding a grin. "Dis is Porter. She's gonna stay heah t'night. She's me new partner."

"Eh?" The old man looked at her. "Fine, fine. First night's free. Two cents after that. Get up at six. Be in by midnight. T'ink you can handle that?"

She nodded. "I can pay, though." she said, pride stung.

He shook his head. "First night's free. Aw right then. Go on upstairs. Sleep. Up past midnight an' they wonder why they can't get up in the mornin'." He walked away grumbling. Porter looked after him, blinking.

Crutchy pulled her arm. "C'mon. Da odders are upstairs. 'Sides, we gotta tell Jack yer joinin' us."

Kloppman watched them go. He'd observed them both with each other. Funny how alike they were. He wondered whether Crutchy knew he was in love yet. He didn't know the girl well enough to judge her feelings. Oh well, that situation would work itself out. Things like that always did. He returned to the door to check for the other stragglers.

Several people looked their way when they reached the top of the stairs. They were met by two boys, a blond with an eyepatch over one eye and a taller, dark-haired boy.

"Who's dis?" the taller boy asked, nodding at Porter kindly. "I'se Skittery."

"I was wond'rin." agreed the boy with the eyepatch. "Ya finally got a goil, Crutchy?" He took Porter's hand and raised it to his lips. "Charmed." he said in what Porter guessed was his best 'high class' voice. "Kid Blink's da name."

"Heya, fellas. Dis heah's Porter. She's joinin' us. Where's Jack?"

"I dunno." answered Kid Blink. "Anybody seen Jack?" he yelled to the others.

"He an' Dave an' Race was s'posed ta be sellin' down at da Sheepshead races taday." A blond boy with glasses called back. "Race tawked Cowboy inta spottin' 'im on a hoss. But dey shoulda been back by now."

As if on cue, the sound of feet pounding up the stairs caught everyone's attention and two more boys entered. The first, a short, black-haired Italian, sported a black eye. A cigar, apparently a permanent part of him dangled from the corner of his mouth. He was followed by a tall, dark blond boy wearing a red bandana and a black cowboy hat. He also had a few bruises. They were greeted by loud yells and mock punches.

"Cowboy! Ain't youse a sight for sore eyes?" exclaimed a blond girl, the first one Porter noticed.

"Hey, Race, nice shina!" someone else called.

"Yeah, Race, what happened? Somebody tryin' ta collect on a bet?" laughed Crutchy.

"Nah, we ran inta da Delancey brudders." The tall one, Cowboy, answered. "Deys blamin' da newsies cuz Pulitzer fired 'em after da strike. Race and me had ta 'explain' deir mistake."

This brought laughs and cheers from everyone.

"Pore Oscar an' Morris." broke in Race, grinning. "I feel so responsible." He, Blink, and a third boy, darker-complected with curly hair, laughed and traded mock punches.

Cowboy grinned back, but added seriously. "Yeah, well, ev'body jist watch out for 'em, aw right? Dey ain't too happy about da soakin' we gave 'em, an' dey might try somebody else."

Da Delancey brudders. It sounded vaguely familiar to Porter, and she glanced at Crutchy in question. She was surprised to see a look of fear cross his face for an instant. He met her eyes and looked away.

Crutchy had a bone-deep fear of the Delanceys that he'd never confided in anyone, not even Jack. They reminded him of the worst parts of his childhood. He usually hid it behind smart remarks, but it had been worse since they caught him during the strike. He'd been trying hard to forget that soaking. He saw Porter looking at him and averted his eyes.

"Hey, Jack. Crutchy's got a new pet." Dutchy said elbowing Crutchy with a grin.

Jack groaned. "Crutchy, Kloppman said no more strays, rememba? Da last one nearly tore 'is arm off when 'e tired ta pet it."

"She's a bit larger den a cat, Jack." said Truth winking at Porter.

"Oh no, not a dog! Dere's no way Kloppman'll let us keep one after Shakes had puppies in 'is bed an wouldn't move for two weeks.

"It ain't a dog, eidder." said Boots.

"What is it a hoss?" Jack asked with a comically frightened look on his face. He caught sight of Porter for the first time. "An' who're you?"

Crutchy grinned. "Oh, dis is me new pet, Jack. I found 'er in Central Park. Can we keep 'er?"

Even Porter had to laugh at the dumbfounded expression on Jack's face. She spat in her hand and held it out. "Da name's Porter. I'se da new newsie."

To give him credit, Jack was only surprised for a moment. He spat in his own hand, and they shook. "Welcome ta da fam'ly, Porter."

Jack was welcoming, but he had responsibilities as leader. As soon as Firefly, Truth, and the other girls, had shown Porter the girls' sleeping quarters, he pulled her and Crutchy away from the others to talk. "We'd betta take da roof - no, it's rainin' ain't it - Kloppman's office den, odderwise we won't have no privacy."

Once they'd taken his advice, he turned to Porter. "Aw right," he began, "Ev'y newsie has 'is secrets, so I ain't askin fer dose. I jist wanna know so's I can protect ev'body. Why're ya heah?"

She looked at Crutchy, embarrassed. "Well, I-"

"She tried ta rob me, so I ast 'er ta join us." Crutchy supplied as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Seeing Jack's face, he took pity on his friend and explained.

Jack stifled a laugh. "Aw right. Where'd ya lose yer money?" he asked after he recovered enough to speak.

Porter eyed him suspiciously. "Whaddaya mean?"

Jack gave his expert analysis. "One, ya ain't used ta stealin', or ya wouldn't a been caught. Two, ya ain't used ta starvin', even if ya have been lately, cuz ya don't look it. T'ree, ya used ta da streets, an' don't ast me how I know dat. I jist do. So ya had money, but lost it - where?"

She studied him carefully. Crutchy she already trusted almost without thinking, but Jack . . . "Da Refuge." she answered finally. "I 'ad a chance ta get out, an' I din't feel like stoppin fer it. Speakin a which, I'se got a lotta people lookin' fer me. I don't want anybody else in trouble, so if ya don't want me heah, I unnerstand."

"Da bulls?" Jack asked.

"Some a dem." she answered, waiting for him to turn her out.

"Don't worry about it. Dere ain't a single newsie, 'cept maybe Dave, dat ain't had da bulls lookin' for dem at one time or anudder."

"Who's Dave?" she asked. The boy hadn't been among those she'd met.

"Davey don't live heah." Crutchy answered. "He's got a fam'ly. He an' Les live wit deir parents an' deir older sista." He watched Jack go starry-eyed, thinking a particular member of that family and whispered to Porter. "Davey's sista's Jack's goil." He edged around behind Jack and shouted in his ear. "Hey, Cowboy! Where are ya?"

Jack jumped a full foot in the air, and came back to earth. He grinned mischievously. "Heaven. Sorry 'bout dat."

At that moment, Kloppmann entered. "Aw right. Ev'body ta bed. Ya gotta sleep, so ya can get up an' eat an' work all day an' come back here an' sleep again. C'mon! C'mon." He herded the three of them upstairs, where he began shouting at the others. "Ta bed! Ta bed! Lights out. Finish da game. Ev'body ta bed!"

Race, who was on a winning streak in his card game with Truth, Blink, and Snoddy, protested loudly. The others were only too happy to comply. Slowly, but surely, everyone sought their beds.

As she settled into her first real bed in a week - Dis feels good. T'anks, God. Ya not dat bad after all. - Porter listened to the girls around her.

"G'night, Pounce!"

"G'night, Truth!"

"Hey, Firefly. Ya owe me five cents."

"I'll get it in the mornin'."

"Night, Jack!"

"G'night, Crutchy!"

"Hey, Blink! Betcha a sandwich at Tibby's dat Mush snores tanight."

"I don't snore!"

"I'se more careful wit me money den dat!"

"T'anks, Blink - Hey!"

And Porter's last thoughts before sleeping were not (as they had been for the past few week) of that awful day in Brooklyn, but of the lodging house and her new friends, Jack - and Crutchy.