"Annie McMullen?" one of them finally spoke, looking on a slip of paper he held and examining her face.
"No, I'm Mouse," she answered softly, color creeping into her cheeks. She hated talking to strangers.
"We need to take you into custody," the second policeman, this one with a handlebar mustache and harsh, angular features.
"But I haven't done anything!" Mouse protested, her dusky blue eyes wide and frightened.
"We'll see about that," the first man informed her, and they dove for her arms. Mouse trembled in their grasp but made no move to escape.
"I don't understand...what's going on?" tears came to her eyes at being put on the spot so. Mouse was painfully shy, and being addressed by strangers caused her to lock up. But the circumstances were so confusing that she was literally scared stiff and silent.
The policemen refused to answer her and explain her situation, so she stared at her feet, cheeks blazing, avoiding the gazes of all they passed while walking down the street. Her straight brown hair was coming unbraided again, and tears and sweat caused it to stick to her face. She couldn't wipe away the tears that trickled down her nose and she watched them drip onto the pavement through blurry eyes.
"Mouse!" a pretty girl with soft brown hair called her friend's name. Mouse looked up for a moment, recognizing Frenchy, and a fresh flood of tears fell from her eyes. She hated attention. Hated it terribly.
They entered a stiff, cold building built of bricks and surrounded by iron fencing. It looked none too pleasant and Mouse was not excited by the prospect of going in there. However, she still couldn't struggle against the policemen's strong grips, so she remained a placid girl, albeit confused and frightened.
"Annie McMullen," the policeman told the warden when he brought her in.
"Good, good," the warden narrowed his bushy eyebrows at her. "We'll have to put her in a cell alone...can't keep murderers with other people, even if they are bad folks."
"I'm not a murderer!" Mouse's eyes flew open, her shyness departing in her shock.
"I wouldn't expect it from a little snip like you," the warden shrugged. "They come in all sizes, though, these criminals."
"I didn't kill anyone!" Mouse exclaimed sharply.
"Follow me, gentlemen," the warden instructed the policemen as he began the walk down a damp, cement-block lined hallway. The police roughly shoved Mouse into the cell and surveyed her small form before departing. They left, chattering about nonsense, not realizing the tremendous blow to a young girl's heart and soul they had just dealt.
"I'm as innocent as the day is long," Mouse told the warden as he locked the door behind her. "I couldn't possibly have done what you think I did."
"There are people who would disagree," the warden told her through the door. "You won't need to eat anything. Your court session is tomorrow morning."
"But I - " the sound of the warden's footsteps echoing off the lonely hallway were her only reply. Curling up in a ball on the hard wooden cot in the corner of her cement room, Mouse McMullen, the shyest newsgirl there ever was, cried her sweetness away.
"Psst! Goil!" a heavily accented voice came through the slot in her door and Mouse looked up from her tear-stained sleeves.
"What?" her voice was bitter. "You here to accuse me of more stuff I never did?"
"What're ya in for?" the voice was decidedly male, and came from someone who had been living in Brooklyn or the nearby vicinity for a while, based on the thickness of his accent.
"They say I killed someone," Mouse responded with a low growl.
"Damn! Ya must be some goil!" the voice sounded mildly impressed.
"I didn't do it, you jerk," Mouse spat. Never in her life had she been so horribly rude.
"Lord! I don't need no insults, Jesus, goil. I was jus' thinkin' ya might wanna talk to someone."
"I don't." Her tone was decisive, but her voice faltered and she started crying again.
"Hey, you all right?" the boy sounded concerned.
"Sorry," Mouse sobbed.
"It's all right, I'se been called worse things..." the boy laughed quietly but stopped upon hearing Mouse's crying. "Hey, goil, you all right?"
"No," she whimpered. "I didn't do anything and now I'm here in this awful place, without anyone to talk to..."
"Hey, I'se talkin' to ya."
"I can't see you."
"Come ova' to this 'ere slot an' look through it," he instructed.
Getting up from her painfully rough cot, Mouse crept to the doorway and knelt on the floor in front of it. She opened the slot and carefully peered through it, wondering who it was she was talking to.
A stream of fiery liquid caught her in the eyes. Letting out a sharp cry, she fled to the far wall, frantically trying to rub out the offending juice. Tears of pain and bitterness began to wash some of the poison out of her eyes, but the terrible sting refused to go away. Half-blinded, she fumbled her way to the door.
"Wicked, wicked boy," she spat angrily. "I hate you!"
"It won't come out for days," was all he replied with before she heard his footsteps echoing away from her.
Never in her life had sweet little Mouse been so miserable. Not only was she alone, cold, and accused of something she never would do, but she was almost blind and in terrible pain. Forcing more tears from her eyes to rid herself of the fiery sensation, Mouse contemplated the evils of the world she knew so little of; and even that was too much.
It was late at night, Mouse assumed, because the penitentiary was silent and she felt very tired. Her eyes still burned and she was afraid there might be permanent damage to her vision. Everything looked blurry and grayish, and it hurt to even open her eyes for a second. She lay on her cot, feeling depressed and trying to forget about her sprayed eyes long enough to fall asleep.
The concept of actually being taken to court scared her. Murder? How could she be accused of murder? She had never killed anyone in her life. But she knew someone who had...
The pain in her eyes was forgotten as she recalled the terrible night, when her father had killed her mother, her little sister, and then himself. She cried out, her shrill twelve-year-old voice echoing in the room deprived of all life but her own, echoing off the bedsprings surrounding her like a cloak, echoing in her mind until she could not drive the sound away.
Was she being accused of their death? The concept was too horrible to imagine, and her eyes flew open in frightened earnest at the thought. Yelping, she quickly shut them again, trying to force the pain away from her eyes, trying to keep from rubbing them. There was no way she would be able to get any sleep tonight.
Her mind was sluggish by morning. Whether she'd slept at all, she didn't know, but she was exhausted and her eyes still hurt her when the sound of jangling keys in her lock startled her awake.
"Washroom's down the hall, get yourself presentable, then get in to see the warden; he'll go down to the courthouse with today's batch of kids."
"Excuse me, sir, but do you know what I'm being accused of?" Mouse made her voice as demure as possible in hopes of getting an answer.
"Christ, girl, what do you think I am, a gypsy? I don't know that junk!" the man glared at her with hard black eyes.
"Sorry sir," Mouse ducked her head and disappeared down the hallway he had motioned to. She attempted to rinse the burning liquid out of her eyes, and succeeded only partway. Still, it was better than it had been last night. She washed her face, rebraided her hair, and smoothed her rumpled, faded clothes. She was wearing her favorite outfit - to think once she'd called it lucky! - outfit: a dingy pale blue shirt over a white undershirt and her brown kneepants. Deeming herself as presentable as possible, she headed down the hallway to where she had originally met the warden, wondering what would happen to her next.
"Joseph Griggs, Annie McMullen, Louis Fraunter, Charles Carleson..." the warden surveyed the four children standing in front of him. Mouse was, by far, the smallest and slightest of the group. She was also the only girl. The warden would never admit it, but the girl did not look like the type who could have killed two adults and one child and managed to get away without a scratch. But the court had stated that she was accused of said crime and that they were certain they had infallible proof that she had done the deed. The girl wouldn't survive two weeks in the Refuge after conviction.
The four children trooped doggedly after the warden, flanked on their right by a policeman who looked as if he were very speedy, strong, and quite capable of catching many a youth who attempted any sort of diversion from the path they were to follow. Mouse attempted to make conversation with the youngest of the bunch, a fair-haired, pale-eyed youth called Chase by his friends, and Charles by his enemies.
"Hello," she said to him, falling into step beside him with the eyes of the burly policeman watching her every move and his sharp ears listening to her every word.
"'Lo," his voice was sullen. "Who're you?"
"Mouse," she replied. "And you're Chase, I know."
"How would you know?" Chase turned to look at her, his piercing eyes staring through her.
"I learned a lot in the night I spent in jail," Mouse replied with bitterness creeping into her voice.
"Yeah, everyone does," Chase sighed heavily, returning to his state of contemplation, his crystal gaze fixed on the road ahead of him and ignoring all else.
Mouse stepped back into the single file line which had been created and continued the march to the courthouse. If she had been particularly fast, she would have bolted and risked being caught, but she wasn't. If she had been particularly clever, she would have quietly orchestrated for all of the children to flee at once, realizing that two men, however fast, could not catch four children. But Mouse was simply a quiet, shy little girl with a dull pain of nervousness settling into her chest as she continued the seemingly endless journey.
No one made a mad dash for freedom, although all of the children had a small desire to do so, and no one did anything else rash or ill-fated. Still and quiet as the mouse she was named for, Mouse sat on the hard wooden bench with Chase, Lou and Joe as they watched the first juvenile case of the day be played out in the courtroom which they, too, were going to find their sentence.
"The case of Frederick Jinks: theft," the judge's voice resounded through the courtroom, grating on the ears of everyone present. He had a sharp, gravely tone to his voice which caused Mouse to shudder inwardly upon hearing it.
"I call Mr. Roger J. Francis to speak," a small man, apparently some sort of clerk or lawyer, announced to the room. Mr. Roger J. Francis was an enormous man sporting a bushy black mustache and hard, beady black eyes.
"This boy stole from my fruit stand countless times," Francis attested. "And he should be punished for such disobedient conduct. Whoever his parents are should be ashamed.
"Guilty as charged; six months imprisonment; case dismissed," the judge announced. Mouse watched in horror as Frederick was led away to prison without a moment for himself or anyone else to speak in his own defense. Numbly, Mouse realized that she would probably be treated identically. And murder was not taken so lightly as apple theft.
The court buzzed for a moment while the room got reorganized, and the cases continued. By noon, Mouse and her fellow inmates were beginning to droop noticeably. Then Chase was called for trial.
"Charles Carleson: accomplice to murder, armed robbery, and disorderly conduct," the words seemed to pile onto Chase's head and he looked as if he were sinking slowly into the floor. The boy who had once been regarded as the most street-smart, cocky boy in all of the Bronx looked like he was going to cry.
The men who accounted horrendous deeds which were done by this young men were numerous. Everyone seemed to have a complaint against Chase, and he accepted all of their accusations of petty thefts, skirmishes and inciting to riot with indifferent eyes staring down each of his accusers until they were forced to look away. Until one little girl stood up at the podium and chirped, "That boy killed my momma!" with tears in her innocent eyes.
"Now that, officers, I did not do!" life reappeared on his animated face and sparks seemed to leap from his eyes. "No, I did not!"
The courtroom flew into a frenzy at this, and the judge had to bang his gavel on the counter before him to end the chaos. "This trial will be postponed until this matter can be further investigated, as it was not mentioned before this case. To move it along, I call for the next case, please."
And so the day wore on. Lou was convicted of robbery and assault and sent to prison for nine months. Joe was accused of the same, but little evidence was found to suggest that he had, indeed, stolen anything, so he was convicted solely of assaulting the officer who came to arrest him for the stealing he didn't do. As backward as that was, Mouse could make no sense of it and soon dismissed it as unimportant. Joe was probably the one that sprayed her eyes with the burning stuff, too. At the thought of that, her eyes watered persistently and the pain returned momentarily. But she wasn't permitted to be wrapped up in that for long.
"Anastasia McMullen: the murder of two adults and one child," the judge stated her full name with an air of distaste which made Mouse hate her own name for a moment. The small man with the mustache called an auburn-haired woman with soft, angry gray eyes to his stand. She faced Mouse with a cold stare.
"This girl killed my brother, his wife and their other daughter," she told the judge coolly. "Brutally murdered in their own home by a girl who looked so very, very innocent."
Oh, how the serpentine tongue lied! As if the words were as true as the statement that the sky is blue or the grass green! And yet Mouse was speechless with no reproach.
"She did not," a voice from the courtroom spoke up. All eyes turned to face a boy dressed in faded, patched clothes with soft brown hair and hazel eyes. Mouse was very disturbed to realize that she did not know the boy.
"What is the meaning of this?" Miss Shantry, Mouse's aunt who had been testifying against her, looked simply aghast at the principle of being interrupted by such a boy.
"I mean to say that Mouse did not kill anyone," the boy's voice remained steady and calm although his eyes revealed otherwise to Mouse.
"Who?" the judge forgot his position momentarily and he squinted at the crowd in earnest. "If you're going to give a testimony, get up here."
Such proceedings were all but unheard of, but the judge was in earnest and the brown-haired boy sidestepped his way into the aisle and walked up to the front of the courtroom.
"Tell us why you feel the need to interrupt my court session in such an unruly manner, young man," the judge ordered. Miss Shantry surveyed him with a standoffish, cool glance, and Mouse's frightened eyes looked almost rapturous for a split second. But the boy saw none of that.
"My name," he began in that falsely clear voice, "is Joshua Lirrf, and I have associated with Mouse for a while."
"Who?" the judge looked positively enraged.
"Annie, I mean," the boy finished hastily. Mouse wracked her brain in a frantic attempt to recall who this boy was.
"All right, continue," the judge looked bored.
"I can tell you for a fact that Mouse never killed anyone, because on the night that she fled her house, I intercepted her and took her to the girls' lodging house, here, in the Bronx. I haven't really talked to her since then, but her story spoke nothing of murder done by anyone but her own father!
"Now I don't mean to be going on false evidence, here, but I've watched these proceedings and right now it seems like the word of Mou - Annie - is against the word of Miss Shantry, here. And I'm not about to watch that woman talk without allowing Annie to speak her side of the story, and tell you that she did not commit murder."
"I...I didn't do it," Mouse finally spoke in a shaky, piping voice. She looked as white as a piece of paper and was shaking like a leaf.
"This case is going to need to be handled at a higher level, it seems, since neither of you has any evidence whatsoever and this is becoming so controversial. Bless me if the girl hasn't fainted!"
And indeed Mouse had fainted, and Josh - who she had recently recognized as Spark - was attempting frantically to revive her by patting her cheeks and tugging gently at her hair. One woman from the courtroom happened to have sometime on her which she waved in front of Mouse's face, causing her to stir slightly.
Everything was blurry but refocused sharply and with an almost painful jerk when Mouse remembered where she was.
"Did I faint?" she whispered.
"Yes, but your case is postponed anyhow," Spark - the brown-haired boy who had spoken for her - offered her a hand to get up and then to help her regain her balance.
"Give me the girl." The warden glared at Spark with contemptuous eyes and the policeman who had remained with the group looked levelly at the boy, as if daring him to defy. In a show of obedience, Spark did so and bid a quiet goodbye to Mouse before exiting the courtroom. The warden and the policeman led Mouse and Chase back to the jail for another night of the torture of waiting.
Spark, once he got out of the courthouse without looking foolish, raced over to the girls' lodging house in Midtown wasting no time.
"What'sa matta', Spark?" Lazybones asked with no trace of alarm in her well-composed attitude. Still, the wide-eyed, reckless manner in which Spark had entered the room left no doubt as to the concept of a serious problem, somewhere.
"It seems that one of your own has gotten herself into a massive amount of trouble," he replied with raised eyebrows.
"If you mean Mouse, I was wondering where she'd gotten off to..."
"I do mean Mouse, and she's gotten herself off to jail."
"Jail!" Lazybones looked absolutely astonished. "Mouse? Jail? I neva' thought I'd hea' those words in the same sentence!"
"Well it's obvious she didn't do what they're trying her for..." Spark settled back in a hard-cushioned chair.
"She's on trial?" Lazy's voice remained astonished.
"Yep," Spark paused slightly for effect, "for murder, actually."
"Murder? Mouse!?" Lazybones' eyes looked as if they would pop out of her head. "That's impossible."
"I told them that."
"Ya what?"
"I told them that Mouse couldn't possibly have killed anyone. I had to get them to postpone the rest of the trial somehow...you guys'll come with me to get her out, right?"
"If we break 'er outta jail, they'll jus' come find her ag'in. People's accused a' murder don't get off that easy."
"We can hide her. We've done it before, Lazy."
"Don't call me that," Lazybones glared at Spark but there was a twinkle in her eyes which showed she was kidding. "But you'se totally right. Lord knows we's hidden 'nuff kids to know what we's doin'..." the fact was more one of pride than complaint, and Spark could tell.
"Exactly. So you'll come with me to break her out?"
"Wait, wait, wait...this'll take a bit a' plannin'. An' tonight ain't a good night. It's rainin' an' they're sayin' it'll be a real bad storm."
"Tomorrow we may have a convicted murderer on our hands," Spark muttered to his hands.
"What is this all about murderers?" a voice which tripped over the words with a French accent asked, followed by the entrance of a girl whose golden eyes were displaying interest plainly. She shut the wooden door behind her and looked from the face of Lazybones to Spark with a feeling of dread forming in her. "What is wrong? No one is hurt, are they..."
"No, but Mouse's in jail, gonna be convicted of murder tomorrow," Spark crossed his arms and awaited a reaction from the shy French girl whom he knew was a good friend of the endangered slip of a newsgirl.
"Well this is terrible, we have to do something..."
"Yeah, I was suggesting to Lazy here that we go break her out, but she doesn't seem willing to comply in this weather," Spark stated this in the tone of voice which implied that his temper had something to do with his name.
"Well that is simple, just take me with you," Frenchy offered simply.
"It's too dangerous to go climbin' 'round on buildin's in thunderstorms," Lazybones stated. "Tomorrow night will be fine."
"If I did not know you as well as I do, I would think that you do not care about Mouse," Frenchy's golden eyes fixed themselves on Lazybones' own.
"A' course I care 'bout Mouse!" Lazy threw up her hands. "I care 'bout all my goils, an' if we's all gonna get killed off tryin' to help 'er out of jail, it ain't gonna be 'cause we's rash and can't wait 'til we ain't gonna be killed."
"Meet me outside the guys' house at ten o'clock," Spark told Frenchy without paying Lazybones any mind.
"If you ain't back by curfew, Janie's gonna lock the door on ya!" Lazy warned. "An' if ya get killed slippin' off the roof, it ain't gonna help nobody!"
"I do not want poor Mouse thinking that we do not care enough for her to at least try," Frenchy explained. "But no more than two need go anyhow, so you can stay here and make sure everyone else does not get into trouble."
"I sure will," Lazy sighed. She was not trying to be mean to anyone, only fair. And she hated the thought of anything more happening to her girls. It was bad enough that Mouse was on trial for murder the next day. Due to a headache, Lazy returned to the bunkroom and allowed Frenchy and Spark to plan out their daring rescue. Stubborn kids...
And so it was that late that night, Frenchy made a dash through the thickly flying raindrops, flashing lightning and crashing thunder to the boys' lodging house in the Bronx. By the time she got there, the long, dark gray skirt she was wearing looked black because it was so wet, and her cream-colored oxford shirt was clingy and looked very unbecoming. Her pretty brown hair was drenched and stringy also, but it didn't really matter. They had decided to venture out into the storm anyway.
Spark was carrying a green canvas sack tied with a drawstring rope, but he didn't bother to show Frenchy what was inside. She waved a quick hello and faster goodbye to Duke, a boy from the Bronx who she was seeing, and the two newsies ventured out into the storm with serious, silent faces. They did not speak because all of their energy was focused on working their way through the rain toward the prison.
"All right, you ever been part of a jail break before?" Spark asked upon viewing the imposing gray building which loomed up ahead.
"No, I have not," Frenchy shook her wet head.
"Well...I don't know where they're keeping her, so we're going to have to look as prim and proper as possible and see if we can get that information."
Frenchy raised one eyebrow and looked from Spark's drenched and adhering clothing to her own. "Prim and proper?" she asked with more than a little confusion.
"Lemme go in there and see what I can do. You stand under that little soffit in front," Spark instructed. Frenchy did so and Spark, smoothing his wet hair to his head, opened the large door and entered the mighty building.
�Excuse me, sir?� Spark suddenly felt very small indeed.
A gray-haired man wearing a rather dilapitated black suit looked over the edge of a tall desk where he sat, poring over a black covered book. �Do you have any idea what time it is, young man?�
�I � um � well � we�� he tripped over his tongue.
�What?� the warden looked impatient.
�I was wondering, sir, if I could�see my cousin, sir?� Sparks looked hopeful.
�He�s probably asleep, like all normal children should be. Do your parents know you�re gadding about the city?�
�I suppose they do, sir, or I wouldn�t be in here, sir.�
�Well you can�t see your cousin until tomorrow afternoon.�
�But she�ll be � �
�She? You�re talking about � wait � aren�t you that boy from � you are! Get out of here! Right now!�
�Y-yes, sir,� Sparks turned tail and dashed out of the room , standing beneath the shelter of the slight overhanging ledge above the door.
�What did you find?� Frenchy asked, squeezing the water from her long light brown hair.
�This,� Sparks smiled and pulled out the black covered book.
�What is it?�
�I don�t know, but we�ll find out soon enough.� Sparks opened the book and flipped through it. �Look! There�s a record of everyone in that place in here. This is great. Oh � how marvelous, Mouse is in the absolute most inaccesible room anywhere.�
�Great,� Frenchy replied. �So, Sparks, how are you planning to get her out?�
�This is not working!� Frenchy hissed as she crept across the rough stone floor of the hallway.
�It�s workin� betta� than standin� outside in the rain did,� Sparks shot back. His tone was irritable, as was Frenchy�s, but such stress and being damp and hot didn�t help to make either of them happier.
�Yes, I suppose it is,� Frenchy replied. �Glad you finally thought of something.�
�I didn�t see you volunteering any ideas!� Sparks glared back at her. �Jus� keep yer ideas quiet an� don�t do anythin� I don�t tell ya, �less you wanna be stuck in here yerself!�
Frenchy, despite her testy state, did so.
�All right, you�se gonna hafta do some distractin�,� Sparks finally said, running his hand nervously through his soft brown hair. �I don�t care what �cha do, jus� keep anyone from lookin� my way. I�ll snatch the keys. Run like hell if they catch on.�
�All right,� Frenchy nodded. �I will do my best.�
�Annie,� the word was so tiny that Mouse could have sworn she�d dreamed hearing it. Great, she thought. Now I�m not only going to be convicted of murder, but I�m going simultaneously insane.
�Annie,� the voice came again, more urgently. �Annie McMullen!� the voice hissed at her.
�Um�yes?� Mouse finally asked to the air, sitting up straight.
�Shh!� the voice admonished. �We�re gettin� ya out.�
�But that�s illegal,� Mouse pointed out.
�Yer point bein�?� Sparks hissed at her. �If we let �em convict ya yer facin� mighty steep charges�ya neva� know what they�se gonna sentence ya to.�
Mouse�s eyes went huge at that statement and she finally agreed to such an illegal action. �All right, how do I help?�
�Come to the door an� keep yer mouth shut. Grab my hand an� I�ll walk ya outta hea�.�
Mouse followed the instructions and listened with glee to the sounds of the pins turning in the tumbler of the lock. She would probably have kissed Sparks to within an inch of his life had she been a kissing kind of person, but she was in fact one who remained rigidly well-behaved and such actions would be considered outrageously inappropriate for one her age.
Laughter and catcalls came from a large, brightly lit room on the right side of the hallway, and Mouse contemplated what exactly could be going on in there.
�What the hell is Frenchy doin��?� Sparks asked with a slight shake of his head.
�Frenchy?� Mouse asked, recalling the girl who had been very kind to her.
�Shh!� Sparks admonished, holding her hand so tightly that her fingers tingled. Mouse was far too nervous about what would happen to her if she were caught to worry about the state of her hand, though. She silently followed Sparks and nearly ran into his back when he stopped short a few feet from the band of light strewn across the floor and wall before them. From this room came the loud sounds of people laughing and apparently gambling. Mouse had heard enough pairs of dice being thrown against a wooden floor to know the sound distinctly.
�Hey doll, what�d you say you were doin� here again?� asked a man with a slight slur to his voice.
�I was only wondering about�what do you call it � gam-bling?� Frenchy�s lilting voice came through the din.
�I�ll teach ya anythin�, doll,� a gruff voice spoke.
The look in Sparks� eyes said that he had plenty to apologize for, and recognized it, but at the moment he was too busy calculating escape to worry about it. Finally he dashed across the splotch of light, so quickly that Mouse stumbled on the rough floor in her haste, her shoes clattering loudly.
�What was that?� asked a tinny man�s voice.
Spark and Mouse took off at top speed, but Annie�s ankle had been slightly turned and was hurting her. The best she could do was a very fast limp, but she really needed to sit down for a moment to take the strain off the light injury.
�Wait a minute�� Two men stood in the doorway, peering down the hallway. �Let�s check it out, Jones.�
�No, you�re stayin� here, doll. We can�t have you gettin� hurt when there may be �scaped criminals runnin� about.�
�Who is going to be getting hurt?� Frenchy asked innocently, sidestepping toward the door. �I will not. I am capable of�what do you call it � self-defense?� She smiled and batted her eyelashes one last time before taking off at a dead run down the hallway.
She collided with the two men who had been looking for Sparks and Mouse.
�It�s raining,� Mouse gasped as she and Sparks dove into a nearby alley.
�You�se very bright,� Sparks observed, yanking her down the alley and into the entryway of a building.
�What�s this?� Mouse asked, peering around her. It was a shabbily furnished little room, with a few articles of furniture and a desk.
�Boys� lodging house�the girls� is awfully far away but I�ll take ya there. I told Frenchy I�d meet �er �ere, though.�
�Where is she?� Mouse pursed her lips.
�Last I heard from �er she was�ah�distractin� the crowd.�
�Perhaps we should have helped her,� Mouse asked nervously.
�She�s capable of helpin� �erself,� Sparks shrugged.
�I�I did not do anything!� Frenchy exclaimed to the men who were glaring at her. In the dim lighting of their hand-held lamps, she could see distrust in their eyes.
�Who�s escaped?� the first man asked.
�I do not know what you are talking about, sir. I am new to this speak. Or to this language, I mean.� Frenchy made sure her accent was turned up full throttle.
�Let �er go, she�s just a little whore anyway,� the second man rolled his eyes. �We don�t need her type here.�
�What, you heard the man�scat, brat!� the first man shoved Frenchy, hard enough that she fell against the wall, and turned away, the two of them rushing off to see what had happened.
�Annie must better appreciate this one,� Frenchy murmured to herself, fingering a painful bruise on her arm as she slowly departed from the building.
Epilogue
It was a happy reunion back at the Bronx Newsboys� Lodging House. Mouse was glad to see that her friend had safely gotten out of the prison hall, but she was greatly displeased with Sparks for putting her in that position. Frenchy insisted that it was all right, and the two were closer than ever.
Sparks, contrary to what you may think, did not fall in love with Mouse at first sight. Nor she with him. However grateful she may have been for her rescue, the two tended to argue more than get along. Mouse was significantly more pacifistic than Sparks was, and their opinions on things differed hugely.
Mouse was thrilled to be back in her life as a newsgirl and became even more of a �good girl� than ever before, not wishing to be forced into jail ever again.
**Back to Beth's Bombos Fanfiction**
You are nifty cool person number to read this story since I put it up here on 10/20/99 at 5:14 pm CDT...you rock!