Michael O'Halloran — The Fingers in the Pie
"Which ain't answering where she is."
"So 'tain't!"
said Mickey, starting the machine.
"Well if you'll line up, I'll show you.
Train your peepers down that green subway, and on out to glory as presented by the Almighty in this particular stretch of country, and just beyond your cows there you'll see a spot about as big as Bobbie, and that will be your nice lady heading straight for sunrise.
She said she'd wanted to go for fifteen years, but there always had been churning, or baking, or something, so this morning, as there wasn't a thing but what I could do as good as she could, why we made it up that I'd finish her work and let her see her sunrise, since she seems to be set on it; and when she gets back she's going to wash and dress Lily for a _change_.
Strange how women folks get discouraged on their job, among their best friends, who would do anything in the world for them, 'cept just to see that a little bit of change would help them.
It will be a dandy scheme for Lily, 'cause it lets her get her sleep out, and it will be good for you, 'cause if Mrs. Harding doesn't get to sit under that apple tree and watch sunup pretty soon, things are going to go wrong at this house."
Peter's lower jaw slowly sagged.
"If you don't hurry," said Mickey, "even loving her like you do, and loving you as she does, she's going to have them nervous prostrations like the Swell Dames in Multiopolis get when they ask a fellow to carry a package, and can't remember where they want to send it.
She's not there _yet_.
She's ahead of them now, for she _wants_ to sit under that apple tree and watch sunup; but if she hadn't got there this morning or soon now, she'd a-begun to get mixed, I could see that plain as the City Hall."
"Mickey, what else can you see?"
asked Peter.
"Enough to make your head swim," said Mickey.
"Out with it!"
ordered Peter.
"Well," said Mickey gravely, and seemingly intent on the separator, but covertly watching Peter, "well, if you'd a-cut that window she's wanted for fifteen years, right over her table there where the line comes, she would a-been seeing that particular bit of glory--you notice Peter, that probably there's nothing niftier on earth than just the little spot she's been pining for; look good yourself, and you'll see, there she's just climbing the hill to the apple tree--look at it carefully, and then step inside and focus on what she's faced instead."
"What else does she want?"
inquired Peter.
"She didn't mention anything but to watch sunup, just once, under that apple tree," said Mickey.
"I don't know _what_ she wants; but from one day here, I could tell you things she _should_ have."
"Well go ahead and tell," said Peter.
"Will you agree not to break my neck 'til I get this cream in the can, and what she keeps strained, and these buckets washed?"
asked Mickey.
"I want to have her job all done when she gets back, 'cause I promised her, and that's quite a hike she's taking."
"Well I was 'riled' for a minute, but I might as well hold myself," said Peter.
"Looks like you were right."
"Strangers coming in can always see things that folks on the job can't," consoled Mickey.
"Well go on and tell me what you've seen here Mickey!"
Mickey hoisted the fourth bucket.
"Well, I've seen the very nicest lady I ever saw, excepting my mother," said Mickey.
"I've seen a man 'bout your size, that I like better than any man I know, barring Mr. Douglas Bruce, and the bar is such a little one it would take a microscope to find it."
Peter laughed, which was what Mickey hoped he would do, for he drew a deep breath and went on with greater assurance: "I've seen a place that I thought was a new edition of Heaven, and it is, only it needs a few modern improvements----" "Yes Mickey!
The window, and what else?"
"You haven't looked at what I told you to about the window yet," said Mickey.
"Well since you insist on it, I will," said Peter.
"And while you are in there," suggested Mickey, "after you finish with that strip of brown oilcloth and the pans and skillets adorning it, cotton up to that cook stove, and imagine standing over it while it is roaring, to get three meals a day, and all the baking, fruit canning, boiling clothes, and such, and tell me if Lily's bed was in so much hotter a place than your wife is, all but about three hours each day."
Mickey listened as intently as he could for the separator he dared not stop, heard not a sound for what seemed a long time, and then came amazing ones.
He grinned sympathetically as Peter emerged red faced and raging.
"And you're about the finest man I ever met, too," commented Mickey, still busy with the cream.
"You can see what a comfort this separator must be, but it's the _only_ thing your nice lady has got, against so many for your work it takes quite a large building to keep them in.
Junior was showing me last night and telling me what all those machines were made for.
You know Peter, if there was money for a hay rake, and a manure spreader, and a wheel plow, and a disk, and a reaper, and a mower, and a corn planter, and a corn cutter, and a cider press, and a windmill, and a silo, and an automobile--you know Peter, there _should_ have been enough for that window, and the pump inside, and a kitchen sink, and a bread-mixer, and a dish-washer; and if there wasn't any other single thing, there ought to be some way you sell the wood, and use the money for the kind of a summer stove that's only hot under what you are cooking, and turns off the flame the minute you finish.
Honest there had Peter!
I got a little gasoline one in my room that's better than what your nice lady has.
The things she should have would cost something, cost a lot for all I know, but I bet what she needs wouldn't take half the things in the building Junior showed me did; and it couldn't be the start of what a sick wife, and doctor bills, and strange women coming and going, and abusing you and the children would cost----" "Shut up!"
cried Peter.
"That will do!
Now you listen to me young man.
Since you are so expert at seeing things, and since you've traded work with my wife, to _rest her_ by _changing her job_, suppose you just keep your eyes open, and make out a list of what she should have to do her work convenient and easy as can be, and of course, comfortably.
That stove's hot yet!
And breakfast been over an hour too!
Nothing like it must be going full blast, and things steaming and frying!"
"Sure!"
said Mickey.
"Watch a few days, and then we'll talk it over.
If it is your train time, ride down with Junior, and I'll stay in the house till she comes.
I guess Little White Butterfly won't wake up; and if she does, she'll be all right with me.
Mary dresses herself and Bobbie.
Is Mary helping her Ma right?"
"Well some," said Mickey.
"Not all she could!
But her taking care of Bobbie is a big thing.
Junior could do a lot of things, but he doesn't seem to see them, and----" "And so could I?"
asked Peter.
"Is that the ticket?"
"Yes," said Mickey.
"All right young man," said Peter.
"Fix us over!
We are ready for anything that will benefit Ma.
She's the pinwheel of this place.
Now you scoot!
I can see her coming."
"It's our secret then?"
asked Mickey.
"Yes, it's our secret!"
answered Peter gravely.
Mickey took one long look at Peaches and went running to the milk wagon.
Junior offered to let him drive, so for the first time he took the lines and guided a horse.
He was a happy boy as he spun on his heel waiting a few minutes for the trolley.
He sat in the car with no paper in which to search for headlines, no anxiety as to whether he could dispose of enough to keep Peaches from hunger that night, sure of her safety and comfort.
The future, coloured by what Mrs. Harding had said to him, took on such a rosy glow it almost hurt his mental eyes.
He revelled in greater freedom from care than he ever had known.
He sat straighter, and curiously watched the people in the car.
When they entered the city and the car swung down his street near the business centre, Mickey stepped off and hiding himself watched for the passing of the boy, on his old route.
Before long it came, "I _like_ to sell papers," in such good imitation of his tone and call that Mickey's face grew grave and a half-jealous little ache began in his heart.
"Course we're better off," he commented.
"Course I can't go back now, and I wouldn't if I could; but it makes me want to swat any fellow using my call, and taking my men.
Gee, the kid is doing better than I thought he could!
B'lieve he's got the idea all right.
I'll just join the procession."
Mickey stepped into line and followed, pausing whenever a paper was sold, until he was sure that his men were patronizing his substitute, then he overtook him.
"Good work, kid!"
he applauded.
"Been following you and you're doing well.
Lemme take a paper a second.
Yes, I thought so!
You're leaving out the biggest scoop on the sheet!
Here, give them a laugh on this 'Chasing Wrinkles.'
How did you come to slide over it and not bump enough to wake you up?
Get on this sub-line, 'Males seeking beauty doctors to renew youth.'
" "How would you cry it?"
asked the boy.
"Aw looky!
Looky!
Looky!"
Mickey shouted, holding his side with one hand and waving a paper with the other.
"All the old boys hiking to the beauty parlours.
Pinking up the glow of youth to beat Billie Burke.
Corner on icicles; Billie gets left, 'cause the boys are using all of them!
Oh my!
Wheel o' time oiled with cold cream and reversed with an icicle!
Morning paper!
Tells you how to put the cream on your face 'stead of in the coffee!
Stick your head in the ice box at sixty, and come out sixteen!
Awah get in line, gentlemen!
Don't block traffic!"
When the policemen scattered the crowd Mickey's substitute had not a paper remaining.
With his pocket full of change he was running to the nearest stand for a fresh supply.
Mickey went with him and watched with critical eye while the boy tried a reproduction of what he called "a daily scream!"
The first time it was rather flat.
"You ain't going at it right!"
explained Mickey.
"'Fore you can make anybody laugh on this job, you must see the fun of life yourself.
Beauty parlours have always been for the Swell Dames and the theatre ladies, who pink up, while their gents hump to pay the bill.
You ought always take one paper home, and _read_ it, so you know what's going on in the world.
Now from what I've read, I know that the get-a-way of the beauty parlours is cold cream.
And one of the show ladies the boys are always wild over told the papers long ago 'bout how she used icicles on her face to pink it up.
Now if you'd a-knowed this like you should, the minute you clapped your peepers on that, 'Chasing Wrinkles,' you'd a-knowed where your laugh came in today, like I've told you over and over you _must_ get it.
Bet Chaffner put that there on purpose for me.
Which same gives me an idea.
You been calling the Hoc de Geezer war, and the light-weight champeen of Mexico, and 'the psychological panic' something fine; but did you sell out on them?
Not on your topknot!
You lost your load on the scream.
_Get the joke of life soaked in your system good_.
On this, you make yourself see the plutes, and the magnates, and the city officials leaving their jobs, and hiking to the beauty parlours, to beat the dames at their daily stunt of being creamed and icicled and--it's funny!
When it's so funny to you that you just howl about it, why it's catching!
Didn't you see me catch them with it?
Now go on and do it again, and get the _scream_ in."
The boy began the cry with tears of laughter in his eyes.
He kept it up as he handed out papers and took in change.
Satisfied, Mickey called to him: "Tell your sire it's all over but polishing the silver."
He started down the street glancing at clocks he was passing, with nimble feet threading the crowds until he reached the _Herald_ office;
there he dodged in and making his way to the editorial desk he waited his chance.
When he saw an instant of pause in the work of the busy man, he started his cry: "Morning papers!
I _like_ to sell them!"
and so on to the "Chasing Wrinkles."
There because he was excited, for he knew that his reception would depend on how good a laugh he gave them, Mickey outdid himself.
Reporters waiting assignments crowded around him; Mr. Chaffner beckoned, and Mickey stepped to him.
"Found it all right, did you, young man?"
"The scream lifted the load!"
cried Mickey.
"War, and waste, and wickedness, didn't get a look in."
"I thought you'd like that!"
laughed the editor.
"Biggest scoop yet!"
said Mickey.
"Why it took the police to scatter the crowd.
They struggled to get papers, 'til they looked like the bird on the coin they were passing in, trying to escape the awful things it goes through on the money, and get back to nature where perfectly good birds belong.
Honest, they did!"
"Have you any poetry for me yet?"
"No, but I'm headed that way," answered Mickey.
"How so?"
inquired the editor.
"Why I've got another kid so he can do my stunt 'til nobody knows the difference, and I've gone into Mr. Bruce's office, and we're after the grafters."
"Douglas Bruce?"
queried Mr. Chaffner.
"Yes," said Mickey.
"He's my boss, and say, he's the finest man you ever met; and his Joy Lady is nice as he is, and prettier than moonshine on the park lake.
I never saw a lady who could hold a candle to Miss Leslie Winton, and they just love to tell folks they're engaged."
Suddenly the editor arose from his chair, gripped his desk, leaned across it toward Mickey, and almost knocked him from his feet with one word.
"_What?
_" Mickey staggered.
At last he recovered his breath.
"Mr. Bruce and Miss Leslie don't care if I tell," he defended.
"They all the time tell it!"
"_What?
_" "Why that they are going to be married, soon as Mr. Bruce gets the grafter who's robbing the taxpayers of Multiopolis, and collects his big fee.
That's what."
As suddenly as he had arisen Mr. Chaffner dropped back, and in a stupefied way still looked at Mickey.
Then: "You come with me," Mr. Chaffner said rising, and he entered a small room and closed the door.
"Now you tell me all about this engagement."
"Maybe they don't want it in the papers yet," said Mickey.
"I guess I'll let Mr. Bruce do his own talking."
"But you said they told everybody."
"So they do," said Mickey.
"And of course they'd tell you.
You can call him.
His number is 500-X." The editor made a note of it, studying Mickey.
"Yes, that would be the better way, of course," he agreed.
"You have a long head, young man.
And so you think Miss Leslie Winton is a fine young lady?"
"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 Atwater 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 entitled 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?"
