With shaking fingers he opened the roll, and there were several copies of the _Herald_ similar to the one Peter held, and on the top of one was scrawled in pencil: "Your place, your desk, and your salary are ready whenever you want to begin work. You can't come too soon to suit me.--CHAFFNER."

Mickey read it aloud.

"Gee!" he said. "I 'most wish I had education enough to begin right now. I'd _like_ it! I could just go _crazy_ about that job! Yes honey!

Yes, I'm coming!"

He caught up another paper, and hurried across the room, quietly but decidedly closing the door behind him, so when Mary started to follow, Junior interposed.

"Better not, Molly," he said. "Mickey wants to be alone with his family for a few minutes. Say father, ain't there a good many newspaper men worked all their lives, and got no such show as that?"

"I haven't a doubt of it," said Peter.

"Mickey must have written that, and sent it in before he came home yesterday," said Mrs. Harding. "I call it pretty bright! I bet if the truth was told, something went wrong, and he was at the bottom of shutting it up. Don't you call that pretty bright, Pa?"

"I guess I'm no fair judge," said Peter. "I'm that prejudiced in his favour that when he said, 'See the cat negotiate the rat' out in the barn, I thought it was smart."

"Yes, and it was," commented Junior. "It's been funny for everybody to 'negotiate' all sorts of things ever since that north pole business, so it was funny for the cat too. Father, do you think that note really means that Mr. Chaffner would give Mickey a place on his paper, and pay him right now?"

"I don't know why Chaffner would write it out and sign his name to it if he _didn't_ mean it," said Peter.

"You know he is full of stuff like that," said Junior. "He could do some every day about people other than Peaches if he wanted to. Father, ain't you glad he's in our family? Are you going to tell him to take that job if he asks you?"

"No I ain't," said Peter. "He's too young, and not the book learning to do himself justice, while that place is too grown up and exciting for a boy of his nerve force. Don't you think, Nancy?"

"Yes, I do, but you needn't worry," said Mrs. Harding. "Mickey knows that himself. Didn't you hear him say soon as he read it, that he hadn't the education yet? He's taken care of himself too long to spoil his life now, and he will see it; but I marvel at Chaffner. He ought to have known better. And among us, I wonder at Mickey. Where did he get it from?"

"Easy!" said Peter. "From a G.o.d-fearing, intelligent mother, and an irresponsible Irish father, from inborn, ingrained sense of right, and a hand-to-hand scuffle with life in Multiopolis gutters. Mickey is all right, and thank G.o.d, he's _ours_ If he does show signs of wanting to go to the _Herald_ office, discourage him all you can, Ma; it wouldn't be good for him--yet."

"No it wouldn't; but it would be because he needs solid study and school routine to settle him, and make him _great_ instead of a clown, as that would at his age. But if you think there is anything in the _Herald_ office that could _hurt_ Mickey, you got another think coming.

It wouldn't hurt Mickey; but it would be mighty good for the rest of them. The _Herald_ has more honour and conscience than most; some of the papers are just disgraceful in what they publish, and then take back next day; while folks are forced to endure it. Sit up and eat your dinners now. I want to get on with my work."

"Mickey, what happened?" begged Peaches as Mickey came in sight, carrying the papers.

He was trembling and tensely excited as her sharp eyes could see. They rested probingly a second on him, then on the paper. Her lips tightened while her eyes darkened. She stretched out her hand.

"Mickey, let me see!" she commanded.

Mickey knelt beside her, spreading out the sheet. Then he took her hand, setting a finger on the first letter of his name and slowly moved along as she repeated the letters she knew best of all, then softly p.r.o.nounced the name. She knew the _Herald_ too. She sat so straight Mickey was afraid she would strain her back, lifting her head "like a queen," if a queen lifts her head just as high as her neck can possibly stretch, and smiled a cold little smile of supreme self-satisfaction.

"Now Mickey, go on and read what you wrote about _me_," her Highness commanded.

The collapse of Mickey was sudden and complete. He stared at Peaches, at the paper, opened his lips, thought a lie and discarded it, shut his lips to pen the lie in for sure, and humbly and contritely waited, a silent candidate for mercy. Peaches had none. To her this was the logical outcome of what she had been led to expect. There was the paper. The paper was the _Herald_. There was the front page. There was Mickey's name. She had no conception of Mickey writing a line which did _not_ concern her; also he had expressly stated that all of them and the whole book were to be about her. She indicated the paper and his name, while the condescension of her waiting began to be touched with impatience.

"Mickey, why don't you go on and read what it says about me?" she demanded.

Mickey saw plainly what must be done. He gazed at her and suddenly, for the first time, a wave of something new and undefined rushed through him. This exquisitely delicate and beautiful little Highness, sitting so proudly straight, and so uncompromisingly demanding that he redeem his promises, made a double appeal to Mickey. Her Highness scared him until he was cold inside. He was afraid, and he knew it. He wanted to run, and he knew it; yet no band of steel could have held him as this bit of white femininity, beginning to glow a soft pink from slowly enriching blood, now held and forever would hold him, and best of all he knew that. It was in his heart to be a gentleman; there was nothing left save to be one now. He took both Peaches' hands, and began preparing her gently as was in his power for what had to come.

"Yes, Flowersy-girl," he said, "I'll read it to you, but you won't understand 'til I tell you----"

"I always understand," she said sweepingly.

"You know how wild like I came home last night," explained Mickey.

"Well, I had reason. Some folks who have been good to us, and that I love like we love Peter and Ma, had been in awful danger of something that would make them sore all their lives, and maybe I had some little part in putting it over, so it never touched them; anyway, they thought so, and I was tickled past all sense and reason about it. It was up to the editor of the _Herald_ to decide; and what he did, was what I begged him to. Course left to himself, he would a-done it anyway, _after he had time to think_----"

"Mickey, read my po'try piece about me, an' then talk," urged Peaches.

"Honey, you make me so sick I can't tell you."

"Mickey, what's the matter?"

Peaches' penetrating eyes were slowly changing to accusing. She drew a deep breath, giving him his first cold, unrelenting look.

"Mister Michael O'Halloran," she said in incisive tones, "did you write a po'try piece for the first page of the _Herald, not_ about me?"

"Well Miss Chicken," he cried, "I wish you wouldn't talk so much! I wish you'd let me _tell_ you."

"I guess you ain't got anything to tell," said Peaches, folding her arms and tilting her chin so high Mickey feared she might topple backward.

"I guess I have!" shouted Mickey. "_I_ didn't put that there! I didn't _mean_ it to _be_ there! If I'd a-put it there, and _meant_ it there, and knowed it would _be_ there, it would a-been about you, of course!

Answer me this, Miss. Any single time did I ever _not_ do anything that I said I would?"

"Nothing but this," admitted Peaches.

"There you go again!" said Mickey. "I tell you I _didn't_ do _this_, and when I tell you, I tell true, Miss, get that in your system. If you'd let me explain how it was, you'd see that I didn't have a single thing to do with it."

Peaches accomplished a shrug that was wonderful, and gazed at the ceiling, her lips closed. Mickey watched her a second, then he began softly: "Flowersy-girl, I don't see what you mean! I don't know why you act like this! I don't know what's to have a tantrum for, when I didn't _mean_ it to be there, and didn't _know_ it would be there. Honest, I don't!"

"Go on an' read it!" she commanded.

Mickey obeyed. As he finished she faced him in wonder.

"Why they ain't a d.a.m.n bit of sense to it!" she cried.

"_Course_ there ain't!" agreed Mickey. "Course there _would be_ no sense to anything that wasn't about _you!_"

"Then what did you put it there in my place for?"

"I didn't! I'm trying to tell you!" persisted Mickey.

Peaches shed one degree of royal hauteur. "Well why don't you go on an'

tell, then?"

"Aw-w-ah! Well if you don't maneuver to beat a monoplane! I've tried to tell you, and you won't _let_ me. If you stop me again, I'm going to march out of this room and stay 'til you bawl your eyes red for me."

"If you go, I'll call Junior!" said Peaches instantly.

"Well go on and call him!"