Michael O'Halloran Part 16

"Society life," answered Leslie, "as it is lived by people of wealth who are aping royalty and the t.i.tled cla.s.ses."

"A branch of them--possibly," conceded Douglas. "I know some t.i.tled and wealthy people who would be dumbfounded over that woman's ideas."

"So do I," said Leslie. "Of course there are exceptions. Sometimes the exception becomes bigger than the rule, but not in our richest society.

Douglas, let's keep close together! Oh don't let's ever drift into such a state as that. I should have asked them to lunch, but I couldn't. If that is the way she is talking before her friends, surely she won't have many, soon."

"Then her need for a real woman like you will be all the greater,"

answered Douglas. "I suppose you should have asked her; but I'm delighted that you didn't! To-day began so nearly perfect, I want to end it with only you and your father. Will he resent me, Leslie?"

"It all depends on us. If we are selfish and leave him alone he will feel it. If we can make him realize gain instead of loss he will be happier than he is now."

"I wish I hadn't felt obliged to reject his offer the other night. I'm very sorry about it."

"I'm not," said Leslie. "You have a right to live your life in your own way. I have seen enough of running for office, elections and appointments that I hate it. You do the work you educated yourself for and I'll help you."

"Then my success is a.s.sured," laughed Douglas. "Leslie, may I leave my basket here? Will you care for it like yours, and may I come to see it often?"

"No. You may come to see me and look at the basket incidentally," she answered.

"Do you think Mrs. Minturn will go to the swamp to listen to those birds?" he asked.

"Eventually she will," answered the girl. "I may have to begin by taking her to an orchard to hear a bird of gold sing a golden song about 'sewing, and mending, and baby tending,' to start on; but when she hears that, she will be eager for more."

"How interesting!" cried Douglas. "'Bearer of Morning,' sing that song to me now."

Leslie whistled the air, beating time with her hand, then sang the words:

"_I can wash, sir, I can spin, sir, I can sew and mend, and babies tend._"

"Oh you 'Bringer of Song!'" exulted Douglas. "I'd rather hear you sing that than any bird, but from what she said, Nellie Minturn won't care particularly for it!"

"She may not approve of, or practise, the sentiment," said Leslie, "but she'll love the music and possibly the musician."

CHAPTER V

_Little Brother_

"Now what am I going to do yet to make the day shorter, Lily?" asked Mickey.

"I guess I got everything," she answered. "There's my lunch. Here's my pictures to cut. Here's my lesson to learn. There's my sky and bird crumbs. Mickey, sometimes they hop right in on the sheet. Yest'day one tried to get my lunch. Ain't they sa.s.sy?"

"Yes," said Mickey. "They fight worse than rich folks. I don't know why the Almighty pays attention if they fall."

"Mebby n.o.body else cares," said Peaches, "and He feels obliged to 'cause He made 'em."

"Gee! You say the funniest things, kid," laughed Mickey as he digested the idea. "Wonder if He cares for us 'cause He made us."

"Mebby he didn't make us," suggested Peaches.

"Well we got one consoling thing," said Mickey. "If He made any of them, He made us, and if He didn't make us, He didn't none of them, 'cause everybody comes in and goes out the same way; She said so."

"Then of course it's so," agreed Peaches. "That gives us as good a chance as anybody."

"Course it does if we got sense to take it," said Mickey. "We got to wake up and make something of ourselves. Let me see if you know your lesson for to-day yet. There is the picture of the animal--there is the word that spells its name. Now what is it?"

"Milk!" answered Peaches, her eyes mischievous.

Mickey held over the book chuckling.

"All right! There is the word for that, too. For being so smart, Miss Chicken, you can learn it 'fore you get any more to drink. If I have good luck to-day, I'm going to blow in about six o'clock with a slate and pencil for you; and then you can print the words you learn, and make pictures. That'll help make the day go a lot faster."

"Oh it goes fast enough now," said Peaches. "I love days with you and the window and the birds. I wish they'd sing more though."

"When your back gets well, I'll take you to the country where they sing all the time," promised Mickey, "where there are gra.s.s, and trees, and flowers, and water to wade in and----"

"Mickey, stop and go on!" cried Peaches. "Sooner you start, the sooner I'll get my next verse. I want just norful good one to-night."

She held up her arms. Mickey submitted to a hug and a little cold dab on his forehead, counted his money, locked the door and ran. On the car he sat in deep thought, then suddenly sn.i.g.g.e.red aloud. He had achieved the next installment of the doggerel to which every night Peaches insisted on having a new verse added as he entered. He secured his papers, and glimpsing the headlines started on his beat crying them l.u.s.tily.

Mickey knew that washing, better air, enough food, and oil rubbing were improving Peaches. What he did not know was that adding the interest of her presence to his life, even though it made his work heavier, was showing on him. He actually seemed bigger, stronger, and his face brighter and fuller. He swung down the street thrusting his papers right and left, crossed and went up the other side, watching closely for a customer. It was ten o'clock and opportunities with the men were almost over. Mickey turned to scan the street for anything even suggesting a sale. He saw none and started with his old cry, watching as he went: "I _like_ to sell papers! _Sometimes_ I sell them!

Sometimes I _don't_----!"

Then he saw her. She was so fresh and joyous. She walked briskly. Even his beloved nurse was not so wonderful. Straight toward her went Mickey.

"I _like_ to sell papers! _Sometimes_ I sell them! Sometimes I _don't!_ Morning paper, lady! Sterilized! Deodorized! Vulcanized! Nice _clean_ paper!"

The girl's eyes betokened interest; her smiling lips encouraged Mickey.

He laid his chin over her arm, leaned his head against it and fell in step with her.

"_Sometimes_ I sell them! Sometimes I _don't!_ If I _sell_ them, I'm happy! If I don't, I'm _hungry!_ If you _buy_ them, you're happy!

Pa--per?--lady."

"Not to-day, thank you," she said. "I'm shopping, so I don't wish to carry it."

Mickey saw Peaches' slate vanishing. It was a beautiful slate, small so it would not tire her bits of hands, and its frame was covered with red. His face sobered, his voice changed, taking on unexpected modulations.

"Aw lady! I thought _you'd_ buy my paper! Far down the street I saw you _coming_. Lady, I like your gentle _voice_. I like your pleasant _smile!_ You don't want a nice _sterilized_ paper?--lady."

The lady stopped short; she lifted Mickey's chin in a firm grip, looking intently into his face.

"Just by the merest chance, could your name be Mickey?" she asked.

"Sure, lady! Mickey! Michael O'Halloran!"

Her smile became even more attractive.