Michael O'Halloran (Children's Adventure Novel). Stratton-Porter Gene
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.
"I really don't want to be bothered with a paper," she said; "but I do wish a note delivered. If you'll carry it, I'll pay you the price of half a dozen papers."
"Gets the slate!" cried Mickey, bouncing like a rubber boy. "Sure I will! Is it ready, lady?"
"One minute!" she said. She stepped to the inside of the walk, opened her purse, wrote a line on a card, slipped it in an envelope, addressed it and handed it to Mickey.
"You can read that?" she asked.
"I've read worse writing than that," he assured her. "You ought to see the hieroglyphics some of the dimun-studded dames put up!"
Mickey took a last glimpse at the laughing face, then wheeling ran. Presently he went into a big building, studied the address board, then entered the elevator and following a corridor reached the number.
He paused a second, glancing around, when he saw the name on the opposite door. A flash passed over his face. "Ugh!" he muttered. "'Member now—been to this place before! Glad she ain't sending a letter to that man." He stepped inside the open door before him, crossed the room and laid the note near a man who was bending over some papers on a desk. The man reached a groping hand, tore open the envelope, taking therefrom a card on which was pencilled: "Could this by any chance be your Little Brother?"
He turned hastily, glancing at Mickey, then in a continuous movement arose with outstretched hand.
"Why Little Brother," he cried, "I'm so glad to see you!"
Mickey's smile slowly vanished as he whipped his hands behind him, stepping back.
"Nothin' doing, Boss," he said. "You're off your trolley. I've no brother. My mother had only me."
"Don't you remember me, Mickey?" inquired Douglas Bruce.
"Sure!" said Mickey. "You made Jimmy pay up!"
"Has he bothered you again?" asked the lawyer.
"Nope!" answered Mickey.
"Sit down, Mickey, I want to talk with you."
"I'm much obliged for helping me out," said Mickey, "but I guess you got other business, and I know I have."
"What is your business?" was the next question.
"Selling papers. What's yours?" was the answer.
"Trying to be a corporation lawyer," explained Douglas. "I've been here only two years, and it is slow getting a start. I often have more time to spare than I wish I had, while I'm lonesome no end."
"Is your mother dead?" asked Mickey solicitously.
"Yes," answered Douglas.
"So's mine!" he commented. "You do get lonesome! Course she was a good one?"
"The very finest, Mickey," said Douglas. "And yours?"
"Same here, Mister," said Mickey with conviction.
"Well since we are both motherless and lonesome, suppose we be brothers!" suggested Douglas.
"Aw-w-w!" Mickey shook his head.
"No?" questioned Douglas.
"What's the use?" cried Mickey.
"You could help me with my work and share my play, while possibly I could be of benefit to you."
"I just wondered if you wasn't getting to that," commented Mickey.
"Getting to what?" inquired Douglas.
"Going to do me good!" explained Mickey. "The swell stiffs are always going to do us fellows good. Mostly they do! They do us good and brown! They pick us up a while and make lap dogs of us, then when we've lost our appetites for our jobs and got to having a hankerin' for the fetch and carry business away they go and forget us, so we're a lot worse off than we were before. Some of the fellows come out of it knowing more ways to be mean than they ever learned on the street," explained Mickey. "If it's that Big Brother bee you got in your bonnet, pull its stinger and let it die an unnatural death! Nope! None! Good-bye!"
"Mickey, wait!" cried Douglas.
"Me business calls, an' I must go—'way to my ranch in Idaho!" gaily sang Mickey.
"I'd like to shake you!" said Douglas Bruce.
"Well, go on," said Mickey. "I'm here and you're big enough."
"If I thought it would jolt out your fool notions and shake some sense in, I would," said Douglas indignantly.
"Now look here, Kitchener," said Mickey. "Did I say one word that ain't so, and that you don't know is so?"
"What you said is not even half a truth, young man! I do know cases where idle rich men have tried the Little Brother plan as a fad, and made a failure of it. But for a few like that, I know dozens of sincere, educated men who are honestly giving a boy they fancy, a chance. I can take you into the office of one of the most influential men in this city, right across the hall there, and show you a boy he liked who has in a short time become his friend, an invaluable helper, and hourly companion, and out of it that boy will get a fine education, good business training, and a start in life that will give him a better chance to begin on than the man who is helping him had."
Mickey laughed boisterously, then sobered suddenly.
"'Scuse me, Brother," he said politely, "but that's most too funny for any use. Once I took a whirl with that gentleman myself. Whether he does or not, I know the place where he ought to get off. See? Answer me this: why would he be spending money and taking all that time for a 'newsy' when he hardly knows his own kids if he sees them, and they're the wickedest little rippers in the park. Just why now?"
Douglas Bruce closed the door; then he came back and placing a chair for Mickey, he took one opposite.
"Sit down Mickey," he said patiently. "There's a reason for my being particularly interested in James Minturn, and the reason hinges on the fact you mention: that he can't control his own sons, yet can make a boy he takes comfort in, of a street gamin."
Mickey's eyes narrowed while he sat very straight in the chair he had accepted.
"If he's made so much of him, it sort of proves that he wasn't a gamin. Some of the boys are a long shot closer gentlemen than the guys who are experimenting with them; 'cause they were born rich and can afford it. If your friend's going to train his pick-up to be what he is, then that boy would stand a better chance on his own side the curb. See? I've been right up against that gentleman with the documents, so I know him. Also her! Gee! 'Tear up de choild and gimme de papers' was meant for a joke; but I saw that lady and gentleman do it. See? And she was the prettiest little pink and yellow thing. Lord! I can see her gasping and blinking now! Makes me sick! If the boy across the hall had seen what I did, he'd run a mile and never stop. Gee!"
Douglas Bruce stared aghast. At last he said slowly: "Mickey, you are getting mighty close the very thing I wish to know. If I tell you what I know of James Minturn, will you tell me what you know and think?"