"Well since you insist on it, I will," said Peter.

"And while you are in there," suggested Mickey, "after you finish with that strip of brown oilcloth and the pans and skillets adorning it, cotton up to that cook stove, and imagine standing over it while it is roaring, to get three meals a day, and all the baking, fruit canning, boiling clothes, and such, and tell me if Lily's bed was in so much hotter a place than your wife is, all but about three hours each day."

Mickey listened as intently as he could for the separator he dared not stop, heard not a sound for what seemed a long time, and then came amazing ones. He grinned sympathetically as Peter emerged red faced and raging.

"And you're about the finest man I ever met, too," commented Mickey, still busy with the cream. "You can see what a comfort this separator must be, but it's the _only_ thing your nice lady has got, against so many for your work it takes quite a large building to keep them in.

Junior was showing me last night and telling me what all those machines were made for. You know Peter, if there was money for a hay rake, and a manure spreader, and a wheel plow, and a disk, and a reaper, and a mower, and a corn planter, and a corn cutter, and a cider press, and a windmill, and a silo, and an automobile--you know Peter, there _should_ have been enough for that window, and the pump inside, and a kitchen sink, and a bread-mixer, and a dish-washer; and if there wasn't any other single thing, there ought to be some way you sell the wood, and use the money for the kind of a summer stove that's only hot under what you are cooking, and turns off the flame the minute you finish. Honest there had Peter! I got a little gasoline one in my room that's better than what your nice lady has. The things she should have would cost something, cost a lot for all I know, but I bet what she needs wouldn't take half the things in the building Junior showed me did; and it couldn't be the start of what a sick wife, and doctor bills, and strange women coming and going, and abusing you and the children would cost----"

"Shut up!" cried Peter. "That will do! Now you listen to me young man.

Since you are so expert at seeing things, and since you've traded work with my wife, to _rest her_ by _changing her job_, suppose you just keep your eyes open, and make out a list of what she should have to do her work convenient and easy as can be, and of course, comfortably.

That stove's hot yet! And breakfast been over an hour too! Nothing like it must be going full blast, and things steaming and frying!"

"Sure!" said Mickey.

"Watch a few days, and then we'll talk it over. If it is your train time, ride down with Junior, and I'll stay in the house till she comes.

I guess Little White b.u.t.terfly won't wake up; and if she does, she'll be all right with me. Mary dresses herself and Bobbie. Is Mary helping her Ma right?"

"Well some," said Mickey. "Not all she could! But her taking care of Bobbie is a big thing. Junior could do a lot of things, but he doesn't seem to see them, and----"

"And so could I?" asked Peter. "Is that the ticket?"

"Yes," said Mickey.

"All right young man," said Peter. "Fix us over! We are ready for anything that will benefit Ma. She's the pinwheel of this place. Now you scoot! I can see her coming."

"It's our secret then?" asked Mickey.

"Yes, it's our secret!" answered Peter gravely.

Mickey took one long look at Peaches and went running to the milk wagon. Junior offered to let him drive, so for the first time he took the lines and guided a horse. He was a happy boy as he spun on his heel waiting a few minutes for the trolley. He sat in the car with no paper in which to search for headlines, no anxiety as to whether he could dispose of enough to keep Peaches from hunger that night, sure of her safety and comfort. The future, coloured by what Mrs. Harding had said to him, took on such a rosy glow it almost hurt his mental eyes. He revelled in greater freedom from care than he ever had known. He sat straighter, and curiously watched the people in the car. When they entered the city and the car swung down his street near the business centre, Mickey stepped off and hiding himself watched for the pa.s.sing of the boy, on his old route. Before long it came, "I _like_ to sell papers," in such good imitation of his tone and call that Mickey's face grew grave and a half-jealous little ache began in his heart.

"Course we're better off," he commented. "Course I can't go back now, and I wouldn't if I could; but it makes me want to swat any fellow using my call, and taking my men. Gee, the kid is doing better than I thought he could! B'lieve he's got the idea all right. I'll just join the procession."

Mickey stepped into line and followed, pausing whenever a paper was sold, until he was sure that his men were patronizing his subst.i.tute, then he overtook him.

"Good work, kid!" he applauded. "Been following you and you're doing well. Lemme take a paper a second. Yes, I thought so! You're leaving out the biggest scoop on the sheet! Here, give them a laugh on this 'Chasing Wrinkles.' How did you come to slide over it and not b.u.mp enough to wake you up? Get on this sub-line, 'Males seeking beauty doctors to renew youth.'"

"How would you cry it?" asked the boy.

"Aw looky! Looky! Looky!" Mickey shouted, holding his side with one hand and waving a paper with the other. "All the old boys hiking to the beauty parlours. Pinking up the glow of youth to beat Billie Burke.

Corner on icicles; Billie gets left, 'cause the boys are using all of them! Oh my! Wheel o' time oiled with cold cream and reversed with an icicle! Morning paper! Tells you how to put the cream on your face 'stead of in the coffee! Stick your head in the ice box at sixty, and come out sixteen! Awah get in line, gentlemen! Don't block traffic!"

When the policemen scattered the crowd Mickey's subst.i.tute had not a paper remaining. With his pocket full of change he was running to the nearest stand for a fresh supply. Mickey went with him and watched with critical eye while the boy tried a reproduction of what he called "a daily scream!" The first time it was rather flat.

"You ain't going at it right!" explained Mickey. "'Fore you can make anybody laugh on this job, you must see the fun of life yourself.

Beauty parlours have always been for the Swell Dames and the theatre ladies, who pink up, while their gents hump to pay the bill. You ought always take one paper home, and _read_ it, so you know what's going on in the world. Now from what I've read, I know that the get-a-way of the beauty parlours is cold cream. And one of the show ladies the boys are always wild over told the papers long ago 'bout how she used icicles on her face to pink it up. Now if you'd a-knowed this like you should, the minute you clapped your peepers on that, 'Chasing Wrinkles,' you'd a-knowed where your laugh came in today, like I've told you over and over you _must_ get it. Bet Chaffner put that there on purpose for me.

Which same gives me an idea. You been calling the Hoc de Geezer war, and the light-weight champeen of Mexico, and 'the psychological panic'

something fine; but did you sell out on them? Not on your topknot! You lost your load on the scream. _Get the joke of life soaked in your system good_. On this, you make yourself see the plutes, and the magnates, and the city officials leaving their jobs, and hiking to the beauty parlours, to beat the dames at their daily stunt of being creamed and icicled and--it's funny! When it's so funny to you that you just howl about it, why it's catching! Didn't you see me catch them with it? Now go on and do it again, and get the _scream_ in."

The boy began the cry with tears of laughter in his eyes. He kept it up as he handed out papers and took in change. Satisfied, Mickey called to him: "Tell your sire it's all over but polishing the silver."

He started down the street glancing at clocks he was pa.s.sing, with nimble feet threading the crowds until he reached the _Herald_ office; there he dodged in and making his way to the editorial desk he waited his chance. When he saw an instant of pause in the work of the busy man, he started his cry: "Morning papers! I _like_ to sell them!" and so on to the "Chasing Wrinkles." There because he was excited, for he knew that his reception would depend on how good a laugh he gave them, Mickey outdid himself. Reporters waiting a.s.signments crowded around him; Mr. Chaffner beckoned, and Mickey stepped to him.

"Found it all right, did you, young man?"

"The scream lifted the load!" cried Mickey. "War, and waste, and wickedness, didn't get a look in."

"I thought you'd like that!" laughed the editor.

"Biggest scoop yet!" said Mickey. "Why it took the police to scatter the crowd. They struggled to get papers, 'til they looked like the bird on the coin they were pa.s.sing in, trying to escape the awful things it goes through on the money, and get back to nature where perfectly good birds belong. Honest, they did!"

"Have you any poetry for me yet?"

"No, but I'm headed that way," answered Mickey.

"How so?" inquired the editor.

"Why I've got another kid so he can do my stunt 'til n.o.body knows the difference, and I've gone into Mr. Bruce's office, and we're after the grafters."

"Douglas Bruce?" queried Mr. Chaffner.

"Yes," said Mickey. "He's my boss, and say, he's the finest man you ever met; and his Joy Lady is nice as he is, and prettier than moonshine on the park lake. I never saw a lady who could hold a candle to Miss Leslie Winton, and they just love to tell folks they're engaged."

Suddenly the editor arose from his chair, gripped his desk, leaned across it toward Mickey, and almost knocked him from his feet with one word.

"_What?_"

Mickey staggered. At last he recovered his breath.

"Mr. Bruce and Miss Leslie don't care if I tell," he defended. "They all the time tell it!"

"_What?_"

"Why that they are going to be married, soon as Mr. Bruce gets the grafter who's robbing the taxpayers of Multiopolis, and collects his big fee. That's what."

As suddenly as he had arisen Mr. Chaffner dropped back, and in a stupefied way still looked at Mickey. Then: "You come with me," Mr.

Chaffner said rising, and he entered a small room and closed the door.

"Now you tell me all about this engagement."

"Maybe they don't want it in the papers yet," said Mickey. "I guess I'll let Mr. Bruce do his own talking."

"But you said they told everybody."

"So they do," said Mickey. "And of course they'd tell you. You can call him. His number is 500-X."

The editor made a note of it, studying Mickey.

"Yes, that would be the better way, of course," he agreed. "You have a long head, young man. And so you think Miss Leslie Winton is a fine young lady?"