It's my fault. I shouldn't'a suggested we change sellin' spots. Porter had been sitting by Crutchy's bed since the previous afternoon, and he hadn't moved once. She closed her eyes. God, give me dis one t'ing an' I won't ast fer anyt'in again, I swear Send me back ta Refuge, even, an' I won't complain! All dat he's been t'rough, don't ya t'ink ya owe 'im dis once? Ya ain't gonna hold ev'yt'in I done against Crutchy, is ya? Cuz if dis is yer way a punishin' me, den we need ta have a serious tawk. She laughed at that thought, a short, harsh sound. Lissen ta me, 'a serious tawk' wit God! Porter Conlon, dis is jist one more example a how messed up ya is. She opened her eyes and looked at Crutchy again. Oh, wake up, please. "Crutchy Morris, if ya die on me I'se gonna kill ya!"

"Ain't dat defeatin' da poipose, a liddle?" he croaked, opening his eyes, and managing a smile.

Porter was speechless for several minutes, then: "If it wasn't a waste a all da time I spent takin' care a youse, I'd kill ya now!" she exclaimed. "I nearly had a heart attack! Don't do dat ta me!"

"All da time - how long has it been? Ya aw right?"

"Ya been lyin' heah, scarin' da life outta ev'ybody fer a day an' a half. An' I'se fine." She didn't mention what had been done to her arms. "I met Sarah, by da way. She helped me get ya heah. She's loinin' ta be a nurse." she paused. "I'se sorry. I'se so sorry." she said in a rush. "It was my idea we go ta Wall Street. I shoulda been payin' attention. I shoulda seen 'em comin'. If I hadn't been so wrapped up in meself - I shoulda stopped 'em. I ain't nevah been a good fighta. Even Spot couldn't teach me anyt'in."

"It's aw right!" he stopped her, upset that she should blame herself so much. "Da Delanceys've got it in fer da newsies. Always have. I shoulda remembered dey might be around dere." A vivid memory of Morris grinning as he put on a pair of brass knuckles surfaced, but he pushed it aside.

"But dey din't hardly touch me! I was dere, too, an'-"

"Ya wanna get soaked?" he reasoned. I don't know. Maybe. Aloud she said. "No, I jist-"

"No buts. It. Ain't. Yer. Fault." He said forcefully, then laughed. "'Sides, ya ain't dat bad a fighta. Oscar must have some pretty bruised shins!"

She had to laugh, too. "What can I say? I was mad." He tried to sit up, and she saw him wince. "Ya aw right?" she started immediately. "Ya hungry? thoisty? need anyt'in? Sarah said ta ast if ya gots a headache."

"Not much a one. I t'ink I slept off ev'yt'in 'cept da bruises. An' I don't need anyt'in. Ya shouldn't be so worried 'bout me."

"Five minutes ago I wasn't shoa if ya was gonna wake up! O' coise, I'se worried 'bout ya! Anyways, thoisty or not, ya's s'posed ta drink dis tea dat Sarah made." She got up to get it, then turned in the door, grinning wickedly. "I 'ad ta drink it, too. Ya gonna hate it!" He stuck his tongue out at her, and they both laughed.

"Here." Porter came back several minutes later, carrying a mug of steaming tea. She bowed mockingly and handed it to him, still relieved past expressing it.

He was starting to take a sip when he realized there was no one else in the lodging house. Oh, he supposed Kloppman was downstairs, but the other newsies were gone. O' coise. Dey's out sellin'. Which made him wonder . . .

Perhaps it was the pain, greater than he'd admit, that made him ask the question. "Why you?" Normally, he would have bitten off his tongue first. "Why're ya doin' all dis fer me? stayin' heah wit me, an' not one a da odders?"

Porter was less hurt, but equally tired, and certainly as emotionally drained as Crutchy. Which could be why she drew in her breath, and actually answered 'the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth' like they'd told her in court. "Cuz if anyt'in happened ta ya, I'se not shoa what I'd do, cuz ya me best friend - an' cuz maybe we could be more den best friends."

"Why Crutchy?" He heard Carrie ask, as he approached the school building. Neither of the girls had seen him yet. "All dose handsome boys in da newsies, an' ya pick him?"

"He's nice!" Eliza defended. "Prob'ly da nicest one a dem all. He's sweet an' funny an'-" she blushed - "he likes me."

"I know, but-" Carrie shifted her books and called good-bye to another friend.

"An honestly, I feel sorry fer 'im. He can't help bein' a gimp."

"So, ya don't like 'im."

"I like 'im! He's one a me best friends. Ain't dat enough?"

"No."

"No!"

He'd said it quietly, then, but he said it louder this time - and more angrily - which was probably also a side effect of the pain and the weariness and a week's worth of pent up emotional anguish but Porter was feeling all three, too. Neither could be expected to be rational at the moment.

Porter gave a credible impression of someone who had just been slapped, but Crutchy continued. "No! I don't need yer help! I don't need yer pity! An' I don't need yer friendship, eidda!"

The Delanceys hadn't hit this hard.

Stiff and tight-lipped, Porter stood, lifted her chin, and stalked out of the room with all the dignity she could muster.

Crutchy was regretting his words almost as soon as the door closed behind her.

Ya idiot!

But she din't mean it. She couldn't have-

Yeah? his conscience replied acidly. Dat's why she jist left da room cryin'!

She wasn't cryin' . . .

As if ya din't know 'er well enough ta know dat da on'y reason she wasn't was cuz she's too proud ta cry in front a someone dat hates 'er.

I don't hate 'er - I love 'er. "I love 'er." he repeated aloud. There. He'd admitted it.

A great way ya got a showin it, too. His mind replied sarcastically. She's ya best friend, for goodness' sake! Even if ya wasn't in love wit 'er. An' if she did mean it. She hates ya now, anyways. Ya jist lost ya best friend.

Porter didn't let herself cry until she was halfway down the stairs. By then, the tears refused to be held back. She pulled her hat down over her eyes so Kloppman wouldn't see them. She stopped at the desk. "I'se on me way, now, Kloppman. T'anks for lettin' me stay. Tell da odders g'bye for me, will ya?" Despite her attempt at carefree farewell, her voice trembled just a bit. She ran out of the lodging house before he could stop her.

"Hey, Spot!" greeted Jack. He and Dave were the first to return to the lodging house that afternoon, and had met Spot on his way in.

"Well if it ain't Jack-be-nimble, Jack-be-quick." Spot smirked at him. "Heya, Mouth." he nodded at David, also.

Jack grinned. "So ya spies at woik, Spot? Oh, I forgot, 'a little boid told ya'. Can ya believe I lost money on a bet I won? I nevah t'ought da day'd come when I'd be dat stupid."

"Aw, I had faith." teased Spot. He grew serious. "Me little boidies been tellin' me odder t'ings dat ain't so funny." He gestured at the upstairs window with his head. "He aw right?"

Jack shrugged his shoulders, worried and angry. "He wasn't awake when we left. Porter's staying wit him. By da way," he added, making sure only Spot and Dave were listening. "Speakin' a Porter, I know who she is."

Spot raised his eyebrows. "She tell ya, or ya figure it out for yaself?" He asked, as they walked upstairs.

"Kinda both. She called me Frankie once. Reminded me a dat liddle cousin a yours in pigtails dat useta tag along afta us."

"An' dare ya ta jump ovah candlesticks?" Spot smirked.

"Yeah, yeah. Give it a rest awready." said Jack. He was going to as why Spot was so set against anyone knowing, but saw Crutchy sitting up in bed as he rounded the top of the stairs. "Heya, Crutchy!" he got a low 'heya' in reply. "Ya aw right?" he asked anxiously. "Where's Porter?" This time the reply was even softer. He walked around to the side of the bed and looked at his friend in concern. "What?"

"She left." said Crutchy aloud.

"Left?" asked Spot who had joined them. "Jist when I was gonna apol'gize to 'er!" Dave looked at him in something akin to shock. "Yeah, apol'gize, an' don't spread it around, awright!" He turned back to Crutchy. "Left as in-?"

"Left as in poimanently."

"Where'd she go?"

"I don't know! Kloppman says she says g'bye ta ev'ybody. She-" Crutchy stopped.

"What-?" Jack did not like the look on his friend's face, or the sound in his voice.

"Why-?" started Dave.

"She say anyt'ing else?" Spot began at the same time. He had always felt a certain responsibility for his younger cousin, even when he was mad at her. He'd noticed how Crutchy defended her, and he could could put 2 and 2 together. If Crutchy didn't know anything-

Crutchy looked away from them all. "I don't know, aw right." he said to himself, more than anyone. Jist-"

"Leave him alone." whispered Dave to the other two.

The others began entering in bunches, everyone coming over once to see that Crutchy was all right, Specs and Snaps bearing the get-well gift of a new crutch. Truth soon launched into a tall tale of how she had escaped from the bulls by hiding in the mayor's office - while he was in it.

"You know, Truth," commented Dave when she finished. "That sounds an awful lot like a certain 'Teddy Roosevelt and the carriage' story - which we do not want to hear again, Jack!" he added to laughter that grew when Jack snapped his mouth shut on yet another 'improved' version of the infamous story.

"Porter hasn't hoid it." said Blink. "Where is ya goil, Crutchy?" he asked. Three elbows, belonging to Dave, Jack, and Spot, respectively, caught him in the side. He was complaining about his bruised ribs when Boots came racing up the stairs.

"Jack! It's da bulls. Dey's downstairs an' all ovah outside. Kloppman's stallin' 'em, but dey'll be up heah soon."

Jack was on his feet in seconds. His first thought, coincided with his first words. "Pip, Boots, Les, Grins, Slider, Snipes, youse out foist!" He said, trying to get the youngest newsies out as quickly as possible Spot, more experienced than Jack at dealing with police raids, was helping to organize the others. Manhattan, however, did not fare as well as Brooklyn with its network of escape routes, considered necessary by Spot, but that Jack had dismissed as paranoid. Jist don't say I told ya so, till we'se outta heah. he thought grimly, glancing at his friend. Spot, probably guessing at the thought grimaced back at him, resumed working.