"Well what's the matter with me?" asked Mickey. "Have you run into the yellow jackets too? 'Cause if you have, I'm ahead of you, so I know what to do. Just catch on to me!" "Think you are big enough to serve as a straw for a drowning man, Mickey?" inquired Douglas. "Sure! I'm big enough to establish a _Pertectorate_ over you, this minute. The weight of my body hasn't anything to do with the size of my heart, or how fast I can work my brains and feet, if I must." "Mickey," said Douglas despairingly, "it's my candid opinion that no one can save me, right now." Mickey opened his lips, and showed that his brain _was_ working by shutting them abruptly on something that seemed very much as if it had started to be: "Sure!" "Is that so?" he substituted. "Yes, I'm in the sweat box," admitted Douglas. "And it's uncomfortable and weakening. What's the first thing we must do to get you out?" "What I'm facing now is the prospect that there's no way for me to get out, or for my friends to get me out," admitted Douglas. "I wish I _had_ been plowing corn." The boy's eyes were gleaming. He was stepping from one foot to the other as if the floor burned him. "Gosh, we must saw wood!" he cried. "You go on and tell me. I been up against a lot of things. Maybe I can think up something. Honest, maybe I can!" "No Mickey, there's nothing you or any one can do. A miracle is required now, and miracles have ceased." "Oh I don't know!" exclaimed Mickey. "Look how they been happening to me and Lily right along. I can't see why one mightn't be performed for you just as well. I wish you wouldn't waste so much time! I wish you hadn't spent an hour fooling with what I was telling you; _that_ would keep. I wish you'd give me a job, and let me get busy." Douglas Bruce smiled forlornly. "I'd gladly give you the job of saving me, my dear friend," he said, "but the fact is I haven't a notion of how to go to work to achieve salvation." "Is somebody else getting ahead of you?" "Not that I know of! No I don't think so. That isn't the trouble," said Douglas. "I do wish you'd just plain tell me," said Mickey. "Now that I got the _Pertectorate_ all safe over Lily, I'd do anything for you. Maybe I could think up some scheme. I'm an awful schemer! I wish you'd _trust_ me! You needn't think I'd _blab!_ Come on now!" Suddenly Douglas Bruce's long arms stretched across the table before him, his head fell on them, and shuddering sobs shook him. Mickey's dance steps became six inches high, while in desperation he began polishing the table with his cap. Then he reached a wiry hand and commenced rubbing Douglas up and down the spine. The tears were rolling down his cheeks, but his voice was even and clear. "Aw come on now!" he begged. "Cut that out! That won't help none! What shall I _do?_ Shall I call Mr. Minturn? Shall I get Miss Leslie on the wire?" Bruce arose and began walking the floor. "Yes," he said. "Yes! 'Bearer of Morning,' call her!"