It was about an hour before Kloppman was to wake up the boys for the day. The sun was just beginning to rise and all the newsies were still dreaming. Without warning Spot Conlon, who had run all the way from Brooklyn, sprinted up the stairs. "Where's Jack?" he shouted. It was loud enough to wake most of the boys and cause Blink to roll right off the edge of his top bunk. "Dammit Spot!" Boots yelled. "How're we sposed ta know? We was sleepin'!" "Are ya shoutin' at me? That's a mistake Boots." "Sorry man but ya woke us up." "Where's Jack?" "In his bunk prodly. I don't know." Spot walked to Jack's usual bunk by the window and there he was, still in his clothes. Spot shook him violently. "Son-of-a-bitch! What's da matta wid ya?!" Jack shouted, causing a number of stabbing pains in his head. "I need ta talk to ya," Spot said. "So talk." Spot hesitated. "Fire secape." Jack followed Spot out the window. "I've got a problem." "I told ya. De rash'll go away. Jus don't scratch." "No. A different problem." "What?" "One of my younger boys was jumped." "Right. And?" "The guy dat jumped him was from Manhatten. I know it wasn't any of your guys but if I soak him it'll start a war and I got my hands full wid Bronx." "I can't do it." "I know. So, what do I do?" Jack thought for a minute. He leaned into the window and called Crutchy over. Crutchy hobbled over to the window still in his pyjamas. "Who was dat guy dat beat the shit outta Morris Delancey?" "Some guy named Em has his boys go after punks who pick on little kids and crips."