Michael O'Halloran Part 65

"Surest thing you know," said Mickey. "Why let me tell you----"

And then in a few swift words, Mickey sketched in the young woman so intelligent she had selected him from all the other "newsies" by a description, and sent him to Mr. Bruce; how she had dolls ready to give away, and poor children might ride in her car; how she lived with "darling old Daddy," and there Mickey grew enthusiastic, and told of the rest house, and then the renting of the cabin on At.w.a.ter by the most considerate of daughters for her father and her lover, and when he could not think of another commendatory word to say, Mickey paused, while a dazed man muttered a word so low the boy scarcely heard it.

"I don't know why you say _that!_" cried Mickey.

"Ommh!" said Mr. Chaffner, slowly. "I don't either, only I didn't understand they were _engaged_. It's my business to find and distribute news, and get it fresh, 'scoop it,' as our term is, and so, Mickey, when investigations are going on, and everybody knows a denou--a big surprise is coming, in order to make sure that my paper gets in on the ground floor, I make some investigation for myself, and sometimes by accident, sometimes by intuition, sometimes by sharp deduction we _happen_ to land before the investigators. Of course we have personal, financial, and political reasons for not spoiling the game. Now we haven't gone into the City Hall investigation as Bruce has and we can't show figures, but we know enough to understand where he's coming out; so when the gig upsets, we have our side ready and we'll embroider his figures with what the public is ent.i.tled to, in the way of news."

"Sure! But I don't see why you act so funny!"

"Oh it's barely possible that I've got ahead of your boss on a few features of his investigation."

"Aw-w-wh!" said Mickey. "Well I hope you ain't going to rush in and spoil _his_ scoop. You see he doesn't know who he's after, himself. We talk about it a lot of times. I tell him how I've sold papers, and seen men like he's chasing get their dose, and go sick and white, and can't ever face men straight again; but he says stealing is stealing, and cut where it will, those who rob the taxpayers must be exposed. I told him maybe he'd be surprised, and maybe he'd be sorry; but he says it's got to be stopped, no matter who gets hurt."

"Well he's got his nerve!" cried the editor.

"Yes!" agreed Mickey. "He's so fine himself, he thinks no other men worth saving could go wrong. I told him I wished the men he was after would break their necks 'fore he gets them, but he goes right on."

"Mickey, you figure closer than your boss does."

"In one way I _do_," conceded Mickey. "It's like this: he knows books, and men, and how things _should_ be; but I know how they _are_. See?"

"I certainly see," said the intent listener. "Mickey, when it comes to the place where you think you know better than your boss, while it's bad business for me to tell you, keep your eye open, and maybe you can save him. Books and theories are all right, but there are times when a man comes a cropper on them. You watch, and if you think he's riding for a fall, you come skinning and tell me, not over the 'phone, _come and tell me_. Here, take this, it will get you to me any time, no matter where I am or what I'm doing. Understand?"

"You think Mr. Bruce is going to get into trouble?"

"His job is to get other people into trouble----"

"But he says he ain't got a thing to do with it," said Mickey. "He says they get themselves into trouble."

"That's so too," commented Mr. Chaffner. "Anyway, keep your mouth tight shut, and your eyes wide open, and if you think your boss is getting into deep water, you come and tell me. I want things to go right with _you_, because I'm depending on that poem for my front page, soon."

Mickey held out his hand.

"Sure!" he agreed. "I'm in an awful good place now to work up the poetry piece, being right out among the cows and clover. And about Mr.

Bruce, gee! I wish he was plowing corn. I just hate his job he's doing now. Sure if I see rocks I'll make a run for you. Thanks Boss!"

Mickey had lost time, and he hurried, but things seemed to be happening, for as he left the elevator and sped down the hall, he ran into Mr. James Minturn. With a hasty glance he drew back, and darted for the office door. Mr. Minturn's face turned a dull red.

"One minute, young man!" he called.

"I'm late," said Mickey shortly. "I must hurry."

"Bruce is late too. I just came from his office and he isn't there,"

answered Mr. Minturn.

"Well I want to get it in order before he comes."

"In fact you want anything but to have a word to say to me!" hazarded Mr. Minturn.

"Well then, since you are such a good guesser, I ain't just crazy about you," said Mickey shortly.

"And I'm tired of having you run from me as if I were afflicted with smallpox," said Mr. Minturn.

"If your blood is right, smallpox ain't much," said Mickey. "I haven't a picture of myself running from _that_, if it really wanted a word with me."

"But you have a picture of yourself running from me?"

"Maybe I do," conceded Mickey.

"I've noticed it on occasions so frequent and conspicuous that others, no doubt, will do the same," said Mr. Minturn. "If you are all Bruce thinks you, then you should give a man credit for what he tries to do.

You surprised me too deeply for words with the story you brought me one day. I knew most of your facts from experience, better than you did, except the one horrible thing that shocked me speechless; but Mickey, when I had time to adjust myself, I made the investigations you suggested, and proved what you said. I deserve your scorn for not acting faster, but what I had to do couldn't be done in a day, and for the boys' sake it had to be done as privately as possible. There's no longer any reason why you should regard me as a monster----"

"I'm awful glad you told me," Mickey said. "I surely did have you sized up something scandalous. And yet I couldn't quite make out how, if my view was right, Mr. Bruce and Miss Leslie would think so much of you."

"They are friends I'm proud to have," said Mr. Minturn. "And I hope you'll consider being a friend to me, and to my boys also. If ever a times comes when I can do anything for you, let me know."

"Now right on that point, pause a moment," said Mickey. "You _are_ a friend to my boss?"

"I certainly am, and I'm under deep obligations to Miss Winton. If ever my home becomes once more what it was to start with, it will be her work. Could a man bear heavier obligation than that?"

"Well hardly," said Mickey. "Course there wouldn't likely ever be anything you could do for Miss Leslie that would square _that_ deal; but I'm worried about my boss something awful."

"Why Mickey?" asked Mr. Minturn.

"That investigation you started him on."

"I did start him on that. What's the matter?"

"Well the returns are about all in," said Mickey, "and the man who draws the candy suit is about ready to put it on. See?"

"Good! Exactly what he should do."

"Yes exactly," agreed Mickey dryly, "but _who_ do you figure it is? We got some good friends in the City Hall."

"Always is somebody you don't expect," said Mr. Minturn. "Don't waste any sympathy on them, Mickey."

"Not unless in some way my boss got himself into trouble," said Mickey.

"There's no possible way he could."

"About the smartest man in Multiopolis thinks yes," said Mickey. "I just been talking with him."

"Who, Mickey?" asked Mr. Minturn, instantly.

"Chaffner of the _Herald_," said Mickey.

"_What!_"