wake up, crutchy -- the world is waitin'. on me back, mush. who says you're fakin' it? try any banker, bum or barber jack rinses his face, takes skittery * special care adjusting his they almost all knows how to red bandana. read what's your leg say, crutch? feel like rain? ain't decided yet. jack spots a passing wagon and helps crutchy on board -- he and mush jump on for the ride and they all move off -- your last sure t'ing's still * runnin', racetrack. * stupid question. better choke it, blink -- 'fore you need another patch. nothing personal, blink, but. you shouldn't be callin' people ugly little shrimps. oscar. unless you're referrin; to the family resemblance in your brother here. the brothers glower, look at each other, then back at jack, who grins at them. that's right. it's an insult. and so's this -- jack deftly reaches out both hands and flips the derbys off both their heads. the brothers scramble for them and the chase is on. runnin'. ya miss me, weasel? don't rush me -- i'm perusin' * the mercandice. mr. weasel. * the newsies love it as jack deliberately takes a paper, turns and scans. seeing les staring at him, jack winks. les smiles back, fascinated. jack turns back to weasel with a fifty-cent piece. the usual. weasel grabs for the coin -- jack flips it out of his * grasp and onto the counter. the newsies whoop. scans the newspaper for a catchy headline; race, crutchy, the others wander up, doing the same. a commotion o.s. and they look up to see -- -- at the window, weasel is in david's face. * nineteen, weasel. an honest mistake -- on account of oscar * can't count to twenty with his * shoes on. * weasel glowers -- but wants to get back to business. he backhands morris who looks surprised. hold it. race -- spot me two-bits. race flips him a coin. jack slaps it on the counter. another fifty for my friend here. sure you do. every newsie wants more papes. that and a lotta other things -- including jack kelly, which is what my mudder called me. what do they call you, kid? no kiddin'. how old are you, les? no good. anybody asks, you're seven. younger sells more papes, les -- and if we're gonna be partners -- you owe me two bits, right? okay, so i consider it an investment. we sell together, split 70-30, plus you get the benefit of observin' me -- no charge. i don't need you, pal. but i ain't * got a cute little brother to front * for me. and les here. * . with this kid's puss and my god-given talent, we can easy move a thousand papers a week. whattaya say? deal? sixty-forty. or i forget the whole t'ing. david reluctantly offers his hand. jack spits in his palm and shakes. les whoops and they move off, jack already being the mentor -- the name of the game is volume, dave. you only took twenty papes -- why? first t'ing you gotta learn -- headlines don't sell papes, newsies sell papes. we're what holds this town together -- without newsies, nobody knows nuttin'! they move away from newsie square as above them, the golden dome of the world building glistens in the morning sun. some newsies got corners, see -- same spot, same customers. me, * i like to keep moving, enjoy the life of the big city. i spot an opportunity, i sell a pape. that's the advantage of being an independent businessman, instead * of workin' for wages. * you're a natural, kid. you remind me of me -- and i can't say greater than that. nextry, nextry -- 'ellis island in flames -- big con-fla-gration!' page nine -- thank you, sir. nextry, 'thousands flee in panic -- ' 'terrified flight from flaming inferno!' thank you, much obliged -- mine taught me not to starve. so we both got an education. i don't do nothin' the guys who write this stuff don't do. it ain't lyin' -- it's just improvin' the truth a little. les comes running back, wiping his mouth, with a quarter. hey, no drinkin' on the job -- it's bad for business. what if somebody called a cop or somethin'? beat it -- the bulls! he races off. david, confused, races after him, les looks very worried as he runs with david -- mistaken identity -- all micks look alike to these birds! sleeper! no? what're they doin' then? the refuge is this jail for kids. that guy, snyder, he's the warden. i was starvin'. i stole some food. yeah, food. my name's kelly, jack kelly, like i told you. think i'm lyin'? because i escaped. this big shot gimme a ride out in his carriage. nah. teddy roosevelt. ever heard of him? david starts to reply when he sees something behind jack * that makes his mouth drop open. at the top of a short * flight of stairs, a vision is frowning down at them, * speaking in a theatrical swedish accent. * you wouldn't kick me out without a kiss goodbye, wouldya, medda? surprised, she gasps in delight -- throwing her arms around jack. david can't believe it. medda's accent quickly disappears. this is david and les. and this is the greatest star of the vaudeville stage today, miss medda larkson, the swedish meadowlark. medda also owns the joint. okay if we hang here awhile, medda? 'til a little problem outside goes away? they're out west lookin' for a place for us to live -- -- like this. it's the cover of a dime novel with a blue-perfect sky over a perfect yellow desert; a large red sun shines down on a perfect adobe. that's sante fe -- out in new mexico? soon's pop finds us the right ranch, they're sendin' for me. maybe tomorrow we get a decent headline. what i saw today, i gotta say your boys are born newsies, mr. jacobs. with my experience and their hard work -- just a little more, thanks -- -- i figure we can peddle a thousand a week and not break a sweat. more when the headline's good. catchy words -- like, uh, 'corpse' or 'maniac,' or, let's see, 'love nest' or 'nude' -- sarah and david giggle; esther looks shocked. 'scuse the language there, uh, maybe i'm talkin' too much. how'd your pop get hurt? i got my own place. but thanks. * your family's real nice, dave. * * like mine. * david nods, climbs in the window. * carryin' the banner. how'd it go at the track, race? i ate, mr. kloppman, i. . i was dinin' with a family. awright, pipe down! don't you see it's a gag? just weasel bein' a weasel. joke's over, wease. gimme a hunnerd. he plops fifty cents on the counter. weasel's grin gets weaselier as he slides it back. i ain't payin' no sixty -- you bet -- i move right over to the journal. why the jack-up, weasel? it stinks here anyway -- let's go! nobody's goin' anywhere -- they ain't gonna get away with this! one thing for sure. if we don't sell papes, then nobody sells papes. nobody comes through those gates 'til they put the price back where it was. yeah, a strike -- good idea, dave. we go on strike, we're a union, right? keep it comin', dave -- yeah, we organize -- we get all the new york newsies to join us! this is great, dave, keep talkin' -- another great idea! any newsie don't join with us, we soak 'im -- just like the trolley workers! dave's right again! we gotta think this through! old man pulitzer and hearst and all them other rich geezers, they run this city. do we really think a buncha streetrats like us would have a chance against people like them? the choice has gotta be yours -- are we gonna just take what they give us? or do we strike? the newsies are silent, faltering, suddenly uncertain. then a small figure steps forward and raises his fist: pulitzer and hearst have to respect the workin' boys of new york! keep it comin' -- what else. we talk to 'em. then we soak 'em. jack and the others jump pulitzer may own the down from the wagon and with world but he don't own us! david and les following, move across the square. all we gotta get word out to all the * newsies in new york! i gotta have * some. whattaya call 'em -- right! you guys gotta be embastards and tell 'em we're on strike! bumlet, specs, skittery take queens; pie eater and snotty, the east side -- snipeshooter, go with 'em; okay, who wants brooklyn? spot conlon's territory? whatsamatter? scared of brooklyn? well, he don't make me nervous. you and me, boots, we take brooklyn. dave can keep us company. okay, dave? me? to pulitzer? maybe the kid'll soften him up a little. so's your ol' lady! tell pulitzer he needs an appointment with me! the doors slam shut; denton scribbles, intrigued. -- so this snooty mug is sayin', 'you cawn't see mr. pulitzer, no one sees mr. pulitzer' -- real hoity-toity, you know the type -- -- so i says, 'i ain't in the habit of transactin' business with no office boy -- tell him jack kelly is here to see him now.' yeah, lookit me, i'm tremblin'. denton smiles, closes his notebook. gets up, handing david a card. my name really gonna be in the papers? not as long as you get it right -- kelly, jack kelly. and, denton? no pictures. you're movin' up in the world, spot -- got a ocean view and everything. spot and jack exchange "heh-hehs." david's getting more nervous. it's a mouth with a brain -- and if you got half-a-one you'll listen. tell 'im, davey. 'cause i'm tellin' you. maybe you lost your guts, spotty- boy -- -- or maybe you traded 'em to some chicken for that beak of yours. maybe you gotta show me you ain't afraid to join the strike. murder's in the air: david and boots are paralyzed; the henchmen are ready to explode. spot's eyes are locked on jack's for an excruciating moment -- then spot grins. he was concerned about us bein' serious -- you imagine that? some newsies gather around, concerned. at least somebody's got the right idea. who we kiddin' here. spot was right. just a game to these guys. cheezit -- the bulls! the house of refuge. my home- sweet-home. how can i be sure the delanceys stink -- 'cause that's how things work. an orphan gets arrested, snyder gets him sent here to be 'rehabilitated' -- -- the more kids in the refuge, the more money the city sends to take care of 'em, and the more snyder can steal. he's here alright. whattayasay, tenpin. you got a new guy, crutchy -- that's tenpin -- s'posed to get out last christmas but snyder keeps tackin' more time on his sentence -- go get your hat, crutch -- kiss snyder good-bye. later, crutchy -- get your stuff. crutchy stops jack's hand prying at the bars. they hurt you? don't worry, we'll carry you -- crutchy won't last in there. i seen stronger guys than him not make it. not in it. on it. runnin' for governor. showin' his concern, like all pols during elections. anyway, he's there. i see his fancy coach waitin' for 'im, so i sneaks on top of it. teddy gets in and he's wavin' goodbye, and all the guys are wavin' goodbye, and snyder's wavin' -- 'good-byeeee, colonel roosevelt!' so just as we're goin' out the gate, i stands up and -- 'good-byeee, warden snyder!' it was in the papes and everything. he only seen what snyder wanted him to -- good food, everything the city pays for that snyder usually steals. last year he was a hero. this year he's a politician. look out -- ! a wagon is roaring out of the gates full-speed -- barrel- * ling towards the line of newsies -- * where's it say that? we ain't goin' away. we'll never go away. we'll do it up big, all right -- we'll show 'em we ain't tired, or * bored, and the hungrier we get, the more we fight -- we'll have a rally -- every newsie * in new york -- and we're gonna send * a message: there's a lot of us and we ain't goin' away -- we'll keep fightin' until doomsday if it means gettin' what's ours! we got money, medda. some, anyway. medda's gotta look out for herself same as anybody. we'll find another place. take it, medda. please? * * thanks. * didn't wanna disturb nobody. anyway, it's like the waldorf out here. great view, cool air -- your mom and pop are worried about me? you'd like it out there -- they got this big yellow desert and the air's real blue, see, from the sky, and the sun, it's bigger out there. no. no, it ain't. not that i been there or nothin'. sure. big family reunion. soon's i get the dough for train fare. sounds like you and dave don't do nothin' but talk about me. not that i blame you -- me bein' such an interestin' guy and all -- what'd i tell ya -- interestin', right? sarah giggles. the leaflet gyrates in the wind as we hey, denton -- sit down front! you're the guest of honor! carryin' the banner! we come a long way but we ain't there yet -- and maybe it's only gonna get tougher from now on! that means we get tougher too -- -- it also means we get smarter! that's why we're gonna listen to my pal david and stop soakin' the scabs -- i personally wouldn't go that far, race. that's right -- start fightin' each other! prove what the big shots say is true -- we're street rats with no brains and no respect for nothin' -- includin' ourselves! here's how it is: we don't stick together, we're nothin'. we don't trust each other, we're nothin'. we don't act together, we're nothin' -- and we might as well go back to the streets where we belong. what's it gonna be? whattaya say, spot? carryin' the banner! hiya, fellas! hey, denton -- guess we made all the papes this time, huh? how'd my picture look? you two know each other? ain't that nice. -- like demandin' you give us the food you steal from us -- -- last time wasn't no attempt, remember, snyder? me and teddy roosevelt wavin' bye-bye -- -- for my own good, right, movealong? -- and for what snyder kicks back to ya -- very impressive. so where do they keep the trains in this station? seitz shows him into an elegant library. snyder tries to follow but seitz stops him, closing the doors. inside, jack looks around to see the imposing figure of pulitzer staring at him, framed by luxurious furnishings. for a moment, the two just stare at each other. then -- sorry to see you ain't doin' so good, joe. * i heard of it. you win? heard of that, too. i don't just sell ya papes, joe. sometimes i read 'em. pulitzer ignores the impudence, continues quietly. you bribin' me, joe? thanks for the compliment, but i ain't got the power to stop the strike -- ring for my coach, willya? it's past my bedtime -- -- or what? you'll send me back to the refuge? i'll bust out again -- i told ya. i can't call off the strike. and be a scab? forget it -- you shouldn't'a done this, david. they could put you in jail -- you go to jail, what happens to your family? you don't know nothin' about jail! thanks for what you done, but you gotta get outta here -- i don't either -- i don't understand nothin' no more! jack pushes david down the street. just go! so what's it git'cha? we was beat when we was born. crutchy, concerned, hears something and closes the panel. jack looks at the will you keep a candle moonlight shining burnin'? through the bars. will you help me find my way? guess i can't be somethin' i ain't. nah. smart. * i got no choice. i stay here, they lock me up 'til i'm twenty- one. who needs it? i go down to the train yards, hop me a freight, go in the best style -- free. they got it all wrapped up, sarah and nothin' i can do is gonna make one bit of difference. denton looked out for hisself just like i gotta do -- so save it. keep reading. can these words really be about him? as we go to -- all them sweatshop kids are listenin' to me? the minute i show my face, i'm back in the refuge. yeah. i'm thinkin' of newsie square full of kids. -- every workin' kid from every sweatshop in new york. we gotta get the word out -- let's go get the newsies -- they still think i'm a scab. we're newsies, ain't we? so we make our own paper. whattaya need to start a paper? writers, right? so we got denton. what else? les. go set me straight with the newsies, okay? tell 'em to meet us later at the world building. so happens i know a guy with a printing press. they're right above us -- and if weasel catches us, it won't be just me they'll throw in the slammer -- they can barely hear over the din of the presses. i said shhhh! -- or we all go to jail! the others shush him hastily; music begins as they go into -- shhh! you're makin' me nervous! stay calm! i'm beggin' ya! cheese it, souse it. choke it, douse it. david * but -- * sante fe bound, boots -- but not without givin' pulitzer one last kiss goodbye -- they ain't comin'. there ain't gonna be nobody but us. the boys are silent, disappointed, feeling alone and defeated. like i said, i don't transact business with no office boys. we talk to old joe hisself or we don't talk. period. i'd like to, joe -- -- but i can't hear ya. maybe. but you can't put every kid in that square in jail. they ain't goin' away, joe. you sure about that? it ain't about money, dave -- if joe gives in, that would mean nothin's like us got power. he can't let that happen -- no matter what it costs him. right, joe? ya got me, joe -- but tell me one thing, willya? how'd ya like our paper -- nice printin', ain't it? right off the presses of one of new york's greatest newspapers -- hearst? nah, it was yo -- david quickly stops him, seeing the gleam in pulitzer's eyes. not enough, joe -- you gotta deal with our demands. otherwise, our lips are sealed. we just wanna say, 'thanks, joe.' and hearst and them other owners? maybe they don't have to know. depends. the strike's over -- we beat 'em! crutchy -- i don't get it. what happened -- ? what're you talkin' about -- who come chargin' in? think he could drop me at the train yards? it's now or never, racetrack. yeah, blink, keep ya eye peeled. i'll miss ya, crutch. crutchy hobbles off to the dock. jack looks off at the waiting coach, then holds out his hand to les, who runs up and clings to him. i ain't no good at writin' and stuff but. i'll be thinkin' of ya. maybe that's what scares me. suddenly, the emotions are too much for him -- he turns, runs across the square, not looking back, racing towards the coach. les starts after him -- david catches him, holds him, as he and sarah watch -- call it, les!