"It's being _done_ every day. I know men, hundreds of them, just scraping,
and slaving and half starving to get together the dough to pull out. I
hear it on the cars, on the streets, and see it in the papers. They're
jumping their jobs and going every day, while hundreds of
Schmeltzenschimmers, O'Laughertys, Hansons, and Pietros are coming in to
take their places. Multiopolis is more than half filled with crowd-outs
from across the ocean now, instead of home folks' cradles, as it should
be. If Junior has got a hankering for Multiopolis that is going to cut him
out of owning a place like this, and bossing his own job, dearest lady,
cook him! Cook him quick!"
"Would you come here?" she questioned.
"Would I?" cried Mickey. "Well try me and see!"
"I'm deeply interested in what you say about Junior," she said. "I'll talk
it over to-night with Peter."
"Well I don't know," said Mickey. "He might put the grand kibosh on it.
Hard! But if Junior came back asking polite for his mush and milk, and
offering his Christmas pennies for the privilege of plowing, or driving
the cream wagon, believe me dear lady, then Peter would fall on your neck
and weep for joy.
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