"So what was Spot so mad about?" David asked. He and Jack were walking to the Jacobs' home.

"Ya want da long version or da short version?" replied Jack.

Dave looked at him sideways. "I better say short."

"Okay, basic'ly Spot's mad cuz he t'inks Porter got t'ree a da Brooklyn newsies t'rown in da Refuge an' I wouldn't let him soak her for it."

"Did she?"

Jack shrugged. "She says no. 'Course she admits she was standing dere wit Snyda when dey was tried. She blames it on Snyda'-"

"-Which is believable." interrupted Dave.

He nodded and continued. "-but dat ain't good enough for Spot."

"The last I heard, that wasn't good enough for Jack Kelly, either." David said shrewdly. "So why're you standing for her?" His eyes narrowed. "Personal reasons?"

Jack laughed. "Don't worry Dave, I ain't cheatin' on Sarah." He grew quieter and said seriously. "But yeah, ya could call it a poisonal reason. Crutchy reminded me a how - well, durin' da strike . . an' Pulitzer . . . an' I . . . ya know?"

It took Dave a few minutes to figure out what his friend was talking about. "What? Oh! I see." He saw something else, as well. That Crutchy would challenge Jack and Spot for Porter bespoke a more than impartial interest. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind for now. "But how does Crutchy know about that? He was-"

"In da Refuge. Yeah, but so was I dat foist night. He wanted ta know what was wrong - an' he can be damned persistent - so I told him." He laughed. "Ya know, da las' poison I evah t'ought would t'row dat in me face again was Crutchy." They reached the Jacobs' building and ran up the stairs to their apartment.

"Yeah, she got da keys for us." said Pickles a huge boy of about seven feet. He was munching on one of his namesakes while answering Spot's question. "T'ought she was feelin' guilty."

Spot swore silently. It woulda been nice ta know dat earlier. "Tell me what happened."

"Wit da keys?" asked Pickles.

Spot opened his mouth for a sarcastic retort, then changed his mind and shut it again. "Naw, start wit da raid." Might as well heah it again from da beginnin'.

"Kay. Since Spitfire'd jist disappeared, most a da gang'd been out lookin' fer her all day, an' what wit dat an' sellin' we was all tired. You was still out dat night when da bulls showed up. Hosses, carts, tons a cops - jist like at da rally las' month when dey came after Cowboy. We got da liddle kids out an' Legs went lookin' fer you. Mighta got ev'ybody out, 'cept Cards - well, ya know Cards! He was fightin' mad, an' when Splitz an' me tried ta get 'im calmed down an' outta dere, dey got us all.

"Dey was takin' us ta da court da next mornin' an' Splitz digs me in da side, an' tells me ta look. I look 'round ta tell 'im ta watch where he's puttin' his elbow, an' maybe ast one a da bulls dat don't seem so bad if he'll give me a pickle, when I sees Spitfire standin' at da back a da courtroom, starin' at us. I'se about ta ast 'er what she's doin', wit us all worried about 'er an' practically tearin' da city apart lookin' fer her, when Splitz digs me in da side again, an' I sees Snyda' wit 'er. He's tawkin' loud 'nuff fer us ta hear 'im across da room, 'T'ank youse.' an' 'What a good job!' an' 'What a great help' she been.

"Well, dat jist set Cards off, an' dey gots ta hold him down, an' him yellin' da whole time dat he's gonna soak her. He got t'ree months more'n Splitz an' me jist for 'tempt a court, or whatevah dey calls it. An' Spitfire goes white an' won't look at any a us straight, jist drops her eyes ev'ytime anybody looks her way - but I see her outta da corner a me eye, watchin' us till we leave."

"What was dat about da keys?" Spot asked.

"Oh, well, we's in jail fer almost a week, when she shows up at me room. Splitz was somewheres else, cuz I made ten, an' da room was full, an' Cards was on his lonesome cuz 'e started a fight wit someone. Anyways, dere's da key in da lock, an' we all jumped up, waitin' fer Snyda', but it ain't him! She pokes her head 'round da door an' looks around, sees me, tosses me da keys an' a piece a paper, says 'I'se sorry. Dis is da best I can do.' - an' disappears!

"Wit da keys in me hand, I din't spend too much time scratchin' me head. I was outta dere once I saw dat da paper's got Cards an' Splitz's room numba's on it. I got Splitz out foist, an' tell 'im how I got da keys while we's lookin' fer Cards. Den I tell Cards while I'se woikin on his door. I dropped da keys once, an' I'se tryin' da door again, when Splitz goes real quiet. Now, he ain't one ta say much anyways, so I jist keep woikin' da lock. I opened da door, but Cards don't come out, jist looks ovah me shoulda, so I turns around an' see Snyda' standin' dere wit his hand on Splitz's shoulda, an' Splitz jist looks like he's about ta cry.

"So we all gets anudder six months for 'tempted escape, an' we's wond'rin' why Spitfire goes so far, an' don't get us all out. She got off home free. Us gettin' caught was da best t'ing fer her - an' maybe it jist wasn't an accident. After all, we knowed she snitched on us, so she had ta pretend ta help us, Cards says. Or maybe she was feelin' guilty. I likes ta give people da benefit a da doubt, ya know?" Apparently starving from talking so long without eating, he popped the whole pickle in his mouth, and dug another one out of his pocket to chomp on.

"Yeah, I know." said Spot, keeping all sarcasm out of his voice, since it would only roll off Pickles like water off a duck. He polished the handle of his cane distractedly. Spot Conlon dis has gotta be one a yer all-time blunders. he thought. So proud a gettin' all da facts, huh? An' den ya let yer temper run away wit ya. Ya shoulda known -

"Den when ya got us out, da odder day, we told ya about it." added Pickles.

"'Cept fer dat one small piece a information." Spot was glad of one thing, at least. "An' I told youse ta look for her, but leave 'er till I gets ta tawk to her. An' ya might be interested ta heah dat I'se tawked ta her - an' yeah, it's still hands off, Cards, so don't ask." he added over his shoulder to the crowd he knew had gathered at a respectfull distance.

"But-" That was Cards himself, an incurable gambler who always had an ace of diamonds tucked in his hat - for luck, he said - and carried a grudge until doomsday.

Spot slid off the barrel he'd been sitting on, turned lazily, and pinned him with a glare. "Yeah?" He was proud of that glare; it had taken years to perfect. It certainly had the desired effect on Cards who gulped once, and shook his head.

"Nothin', Spot."

"It ain't none a me business-" began Crutchy.

"-But yer gonna ast anyway, so ast, awready." Porter completed with a slight smile.

"If ya can run 'im off a pier fer teasin' ya, why's ya so scared a Spot?"

She looked down. "I ain't nevah had 'im dat mad at me before, ya know? I mean I love 'im, but he gots a temper, an' even I can't say he don't have a right ta be mad. It was me da bulls was afta. An' Spot when he's angry-" Da Conlon tempa. Runs in da fam'ly, I guess.