Before long it came,
"I _like_ to sell papers," in such good imitation of his tone and call
that Mickey's face grew grave and a half-jealous little ache began in his
heart.
"Course we're better off," he commented. "Course I can't go back now, and
I wouldn't if I could; but it makes me want to swat any fellow using my
call, and taking my men. Gee, the kid is doing better than I thought he
could! B'lieve he's got the idea all right. I'll just join the
procession."
Mickey stepped into line and followed, pausing whenever a paper was sold,
until he was sure that his men were patronizing his substitute, then he
overtook him.
"Good work, kid!" he applauded. "Been following you and you're doing well.
Lemme take a paper a second. Yes, I thought so! You're leaving out the
biggest scoop on the sheet! Here, give them a laugh on this 'Chasing
Wrinkles.' How did you come to slide over it and not bump enough to wake
you up? Get on this sub-line, 'Males seeking beauty doctors to renew
youth.'"
"How would you cry it?" asked the boy.
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