Michael O'Halloran Part 85

"Sorry you didn't care for her," he commented.

"It is a pity!" said Leslie. "But I didn't 'miss bringing her along'

any farther than Mrs. Minturn missed taking her to the hospital to be examined and treated!"

"I'll have to go again about that," said Mrs. Minturn. "I just couldn't seem to get at it, someway."

"No, you 'just couldn't seem to,'" agreed Douglas. "And Mr. Winton 'just couldn't seem to' lay covetous hands on Mickey, and bear him away to be his a.s.sistant any more than I could force him to be my Little Brother. I hope all of us have a realizing sense that we are permitted to be good and loyal friends; but we will kindly leave Mickey to make his own arrangements, and work out his own salvation, and that of his child. And Leslie, I didn't hear you offering to buy any of the quaint dishes and old furniture you hoped you might pick up there, either."

"Heavens!" cried Leslie half tearfully. "How would any one go about offering to buy an old platter that was wrapped in a silk shawl and kept in the dresser drawer during repairs, or ask a man to set a price on old furniture, when he was sc.r.a.ping off the varnish of generations, and showing you wood grain and colouring with the pride of a veteran collector? I feel so silly! Let's play off our chagrin, and then we'll be in condition for friends.h.i.+p which is the part that falls to us, if I understand Mickey."

"Well considering the taste I've had of the quality of his friends.h.i.+p, I hope you won't be surprised at the statement that I feel highly honoured," said Mr. Winton, leading the way, while the others thoughtfully followed.

With four days' work the Harding home began to show what was being accomplished. The song of the housewife carried to the highway.

Neighbours pa.s.sing went home to silent, overworked drudges, and critically examined for the first time stuffy, dark kitchens, reeking with steam, heat, and the odour of cooking and decorated with the grime of years. The little leaven of one home in the neighbourhood, as all homes should be, set them thinking. A week had not pa.s.sed until people began calling Mrs. Harding to the telephone to explain just what she was doing, and why. Men would stop to ask Peter what was going on, so every time he caught a victim, he never released him until the man saw sunrise above a kitchen table, a line in the bas.e.m.e.nt for a winter wash, kitchen implements from a pot sc.r.a.per and food pusher to a gas range and electric was.h.i.+ng machine, with a furnace and hardwood floors thrown in. Soon the rip of shovelled s.h.i.+ngles, the sound of sawing, and the ring of hammers filled the air.

The Harding improvements improved so fast, that sand, cement, and the big pile of lumber began acc.u.mulating at Peter's corner of the crossroads below the home, for the playhouse. Men who started by calling Peter a fool, ended by borrowing his plans and belabouring themselves for their foolishness; for the neighbourhood was awakening and beginning to develop a settled conviction as to what const.i.tuted the joy of life, and that the place to enjoy it was at home, and the time immediately. Peter's reward was not only in renewed happiness for himself and Nancy; equal to it was his pleasure over the same renewal for many of his lifelong friends.

Mickey started on his day to At.w.a.ter with joyful antic.i.p.ation, but he jumped from Douglas' car and ran up the Harding front walk at three o'clock, his face anxious. He saw the Harding car at the gate, and wondered at Peter sitting dressed for leisure on the veranda.

"Got anxious about Lily," he explained. "Out on the lake I thought I heard her call me, then I had the notion she was crying for me. They laughed at me, but I couldn't stand it. Is she asleep, as they said she'd be?"

Peter opened his lips, but no word came. Mickey slowly turned a ghastly white. Peter reached in his side pocket, drew out a letter, and handed it to the boy. Mickey pulled the sheet from the envelope, still staring at Peter, then glanced at what he held and collapsed on the step. Peter moved beside him, laid a steadying arm across his shoulders and proved his fear was as great as Mickey's by being unable to speak. At last the boy produced articulate words.

"_He came?_" he marvelled.

"About ten this morning," said Peter.

"He took her to the hospital?" panted Mickey.

"Yes," said Peter.

"Why did you let him?" demanded Mickey.

That helped Peter. He indicated the letter.

"There's your call for him!" he said, emphatically. "You asked me to adopt her so I could give him orders to go ahead when he came."

"Why didn't you telephone me?" asked Mickey.

"I did," said Peter. "The woman who answered didn't know where you were, but she said their car had gone to town, so I thought maybe they'd find you there. I was just going to call them again."

"Was she afraid?" wavered Mickey.

"Yes, I think she was," said Peter.

"Did she cry for me?" asked Mickey.

"Yes she did," admitted Peter, who hadn't a social lie in his being, "but when he offered to put off the examination till he might come again, she climbed from the cot and made him take her. Ma went with her."

"The Suns.h.i.+ne Nurse came?" questioned Mickey.

"Yes," said Peter, "and Mrs. Minturn. She sent for him to see about an operation on a child she is trying to save, so when it was over, he showed her your letter. She brought them out in her car, and Ma went back with them."

"She may be on that gla.s.s table right now," gulped Mickey. "What time is it? When's the next car? Run me to the station will you, and if you've got any money, let me have it 'til I get to mine."

"Of course!" said Peter.

"Will Junior and Mary be all right?" asked Mickey, pausing in his extremity to think of others.

"Yes, they often stay while we go."

"Hurry!" begged Mickey.

Peter took hold of the gear and faced straight ahead.

"She's oiled, the tank full, the engine purring like a kitten," he said. "Mickey, I always wanted to beat that trolley just once, to show it I _could_, if I wasn't loaded with women and children. Awful nice road----"

"Go on!" said Mickey.

Peter smiled, sliding across the starter.

"Sit tight!" he said tersely.

The big car slipped up the road no faster than it had gone frequently, pa.s.sed the station, then on and on; Mickey twisted to look back at the rattle of the trolley stopping behind them, watching it with wishful eye. Peter opened his lips to say: "Just warmed up enough, and an even start!"

The trolley came abreast and whistled. Peter blew his horn, glancing that way with a little "come on" forward jerk of his head. The motorman nodded, touched his gear and the car started. Peter laid prideful, loving hands on his machinery; for the first time with legitimate racing excuse, as he long had wished to, he tried out his engine.

Mickey could see the faces of the protesting pa.s.sengers and the conductor grinning in the door, but Peter could not have heard if he had tried to tell him. Flying it was, smooth and even, past fields, orchards, and houses; past people who cried out at them and shook their fists. Mickey looked at Peter and registered for life each line of his big frame and lineament of his face, as he gripped the gear and put his car over the highway. When they reached the pavement, Mickey touched Peter's arm. "Won't make anything by getting arrested," he cautioned.

"No police for blocks yet," said Peter.

"Well there's risk of life and damage suit at each crossing!" shouted Mickey, so Peter slowed a degree; but he was miles ahead of all regulations as he stopped before the gleaming entrance. Mickey sprang from the car and hurried up the steps. Mrs. Minturn arose from a seat and came to meet him.

"Take me to her quick!" begged Mickey.

Silently she led the way to her suite in her old home, and opened the door. Mickey had a glimpse of Mrs. Harding, his Suns.h.i.+ne Nurse, and three men, one of whom he recognized from reproductions of his features in the papers. A very white, tired-looking Peaches stretched both hands and uttered a shrill cry as Mickey appeared in the doorway. His answer was inarticulate while his arms spread widely. Then Peaches arose, and in a few shuffling but sustained steps fell on his breast, gripping him with all her strength.

"Oh darling, you'll kill yourself," wailed Mickey.

He laid her on the davenport and knelt clasping her. Peaches regained self-control first; she sat up, shamelessly wiping Mickey's eyes and her own alternately.

"Flowersy-girl, did you hurt yourself awful?"

"I know something I won't tell," chanted Peaches, as she had been doing for days.

Mickey looked at her, then up at Peter, who had entered and come to them.

"_Did you?_" eagerly asked Peter of the child.