"Mickey, write on the other side of my slate what you said at the door to-night," she coaxed. "Get a little book an' write 'em all down. Mickey, I want to learn all of them, when I c'n read. Lemme tell you. You make all you c'n think of. Nen make more. An' make 'em, an' make 'em! An' when you get big as you're goin' to be, make books of 'em, an' be a poet-man 'stead of sellin' papers." "Sure!" said Mickey. "I'd just as lief be a poet-man as not! I'd write a big one all about a little yellow-haired girl named Lily Peaches, and I'd put it on the front page of the _Herald!_ Honest I would! I'd like to!" "Gee!" said Peaches. "You go on an' grow hel--wope! I mean hurry! Hurry an' grow up!" CHAPTER VI _The Song of a Bird_ "Leslie," said the voice of Mrs. James Minturn over the telephone, "is there any particular time of the day when that bird of yours sings better than at another?" "Morning, Mrs. Minturn; five, the latest. At that time one hears the full chorus, and sees the perfect beauty. Really, I wouldn't ask you, if I were not sure, positively sure, that you'd find the trip worth while." "I'll be ready in the morning, but that's an unearthly hour!" came the protest. "It is almost unearthly sights and sounds to which you are going," answered Leslie. "And be sure you wear suitable clothing." "What do you call suitable clothing?" "High heavy shoes," said Leslie, "short stout skirts." "As if I had such things!" laughed Mrs. Minturn. "Let me send you something of mine," offered Leslie. "I've enough for two." "You're not figuring on really going in one of those awful places, are you?" questioned Mrs. Minturn. "Surely!" cried Leslie. "The birds won't sing to an automobile. And you wouldn't miss seeing such flowers on their stems as you saw at Lowry's for any money. It will be something to tell your friends about." "Send what I should have. I'd ride a llama through a sea of champagne for a new experience." Mrs. Minturn turned from the telephone with a contemptuous sneer on her face; but Leslie's gay laugh persisted in her ears. Restlessly she moved through her rooms thinking what she might do to divert herself, and shrinking from all the tiresome things she had been doing for years until there was not a drop of the fresh juice of life to be extracted from them.