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Now
you say, 'Mickey, please get my breakfast,' like a lady, or you won't get
a bite."
"'Mickey, please get my breakfast,'" she imitated.
Mickey advanced threateningly with the pillow.
"Won't do!" he said. "That ain't like no lady! That's like _me_. You'll
say it like _yourself_, or you won't get it."
She closed her lips, burying her face in her own pillow.
"All right," said Mickey. "Then I'll get my own. If you don't want any,
I'll have twice as much."
He laid the pillow on the foot of the bed, saying politely: "'Scuse me,
Lily, till I get _me_ a bottle of milk."
Soon he returned and with his first glimpse of the bed stood aghast. It
was empty. His eyes searched the room. His pallet on the floor outlined a
tiny form. A dismayed half smile flashed over his face. He took a step
toward her, and then turned, getting out a cloth he had not used since
being alone. Near the bed he set the table and laid a plate, knife, fork
and spoon. Because he was watching Peaches he soon discovered she was
peeking out at him, so he paid strict attention to the burner he was
lighting.


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