"You Mickey?" queried Peter.
"Yes. It's you for S.O.S., and I'm to tell you to come on high, and lose no time in starting."
"Am I to come Mickey, or am I too busy?"
"You are to come, Peter, to my room, and in a hurry. Things didn't work according to program."
"Why what's the matter, Mickey?"
"Just what I told you would be when it came to getting a job here; but
I didn't figure on street sharks picking on Junior and robbing him, and
following him to my room, and slugging him 'til he can't walk. You come
Peter, and come in a hurry, and Peter——"
"You better let me start——" said Peter.
"Yes, but Peter, one minute," insisted Mickey. "I got something to say to you. This didn't work out as I planned, and I'm awful sorry, and you'll be too. But Junior is cured done enough to suit you; he won't ever want to leave you again, you can bank on that—and he ain't hurt permanent; but if you have got anything in your system that sounds even a little bit like 'I told you so,' forget it on the way in, and leave instructions with the family to do the same. See? Junior is awful sore! He don't need anything rubbed in in the way of reminiscences. He's ready to do the talking. See?"
"Yes. You're sure he ain't really hurt?"
"Sure!" said Mickey. "Three days will fix him, but Peter, it's been mighty rough! Go easy, will you?"