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"Me that's made my way since I can remember?
Coward, did you say?"
"Of course not, Mickey!" cried Douglas. "Excuse me. I shouldn't have said
that. But it is unlike you. What the devil _is_ the matter with you?"
"I helped carry in a busted head and saw the glass table once," he cried.
"Inch more and it would a-been my head--and I might have been knocked out
for days. O Lord! What will I _do?_"
"Mickey you're not afraid?" asked Douglas.
"'Fraid? Me? 'Bout as good as coward!"
"What is the matter with you?" demanded Douglas.
Mickey stared at him amazedly.
"O Lord!" he panted. "You don't s'pose I was thinking about _myself_, do
you?"
"I don't know what to think!" exclaimed Douglas.
"Sure! How could you?" conceded Mickey.
He choked back another big dry sob.
"Gimme a minute to think!" he said. "O God! What have I been doing? I see
now what I'm up against!"
"Mickey," said Douglas Bruce, suddenly filled with compassion, "I am
beginning to understand. Won't you tell me?"
"I guess I got to," panted Mickey.


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