She was so fresh and joyous. She walked briskly. Even his
beloved nurse was not so wonderful. Straight toward her went Mickey.
"I _like_ to sell papers! _Sometimes_ I sell them! Sometimes I _don't!_
Morning paper, lady! Sterilized! Deodorized! Vulcanized! Nice _clean_
paper!"
The girl's eyes betokened interest; her smiling lips encouraged Mickey. He
laid his chin over her arm, leaned his head against it and fell in step
with her.
"_Sometimes_ I sell them! Sometimes I _don't!_ If I _sell_ them, I'm
happy! If I don't, I'm _hungry!_ If you _buy_ them, you're happy!
Pa--per?--lady."
"Not to-day, thank you," she said. "I'm shopping, so I don't wish to carry
it."
Mickey saw Peaches' slate vanishing. It was a beautiful slate, small so it
would not tire her bits of hands, and its frame was covered with red. His
face sobered, his voice changed, taking on unexpected modulations.
"Aw lady! I thought _you'd_ buy my paper! Far down the street I saw you
_coming_. Lady, I like your gentle _voice_. I like your pleasant _smile!_
You don't want a nice _sterilized_ paper?--lady.
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