"I do wish you'd just plain tell me," said Mickey. "Now that I got the
_Pertectorate_ all safe over Lily, I'd do anything for you. Maybe I could
think up some scheme. I'm an awful schemer! I wish you'd _trust_ me! You
needn't think I'd _blab!_ Come on now!"
Suddenly Douglas Bruce's long arms stretched across the table before him,
his head fell on them, and shuddering sobs shook him. Mickey's dance steps
became six inches high, while in desperation he began polishing the table
with his cap. Then he reached a wiry hand and commenced rubbing Douglas up
and down the spine. The tears were rolling down his cheeks, but his voice
was even and clear.
"Aw come on now!" he begged. "Cut that out! That won't help none! What
shall I _do?_ Shall I call Mr. Minturn? Shall I get Miss Leslie on the
wire?"
Bruce arose and began walking the floor.
"Yes," he said. "Yes! 'Bearer of Morning,' call her!"
Mickey ran to the telephone. In a minute, "Here she is," he announced.
"Shall I go?"
"No! Stay right where you are.
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