"You'll have to wait again," said Mickey. "I got hit in the back with a box and it knocked the poetry out of me. You'll have to wait 'til after supper to-night, and then I'll fix the grandest one yet. Will that do?" "Yes, if the box hit hard, Mickey," conceded Peaches. "It hit so blame hard, Miss Chicken, that it knocked me down and knocked me out, and Mr. Bruce picked me up and carried me three blocks in his car before I got my wind or knew what ailed me." Peaches' face was tragic; her hands stretched toward him. Mickey was young, and his brain was whirling so it whirled off the thought that came first. "And if it had hit me _hard_ enough to bust my head, and I'd been carried to a hospital to be mended and wouldn't a-knowed what hurt me for days, like sometimes, who'd a-fed and bathed you, Miss?" Peaches gazed at him wordless. "You close your mouth and tell me, Miss," demanded Mickey, brutal with emotion. "If I hadn't come, what would you have done?" Peaches shut her mouth and stared while it was closed. At last she ventured a solution. "You'd a-told our Nurse Lady," she said. Mickey made an impatient gesture. "Hospitals by the dozen, kid," he said, "and not a chance in a hundred I'd been took to the 'Star of Hope,' and times when your head is busted, you don't know a thing for 'most a _week_. What would you _do_ if I didn't come for a week?" "I'd have to slide off the bed if it killed me, and roll to the cupboard, and make the things do," said Peaches. "You couldn't get up to it to save your life," said Mickey, "and there's never enough for a week, and you couldn't get to the water--what would you _do?_" "Mickey, what would I do?" wavered Peaches. "Well, I know, if you don't," said Mickey, "and I ain't going to tell you; but I'll tell you this much: you'd be scared and hurt worse than you ever was yet; and it's soon going to be too hot for you here, so I got to move you to a cooler place, and I don't risk being the only one knowing where you are another day; or my think-tank will split. It's about split now. I don't want to do it, Miss, but I got to, so you take your drink and lemme straighten you, and wash your face, and put your pretties on; then Mr. Douglas Bruce, that we work for now, is coming to see you and he's going to stay for supper--Now cut it out! Shut right up! Here, lemme fix you, and you see, Miss, that you act a _lady_ girl, and don't make me lose my job with my boss, or we can't pay our rent. Hold still 'til I get your ribbon right, and slip a fresh nightie on you. There!" "Mickey----" began Peaches. "Shut up!" said Mickey in desperation. "Now mind this, Miss! You belong to _me!_ I'm taking care of you. You answer what he says to you pretty or you'll not get any supper this night, and look at them bundles he got. Sit up and be nice! This is a party!" Mickey darted around arranging the room, then he flung the door wide and called: "Ready!"