"It's twice as long as mine ever are," she said. "I don't see how they 'membered."
"Oh that!" cried Mickey. "Why honey, that's easy! Those fellows jump on to a thing like chained lightning, and they got a way of writing that is just a lot of little twists and curls, but one means a whole sentence—they call it 'shorthand'—and doing that way, they can set down talk as fast as anybody can speak, and there were a dozen of them there with pencils and paper in their fingers. That wasn't anything for them!"
"Mickey, are you going to learn to write that way?"
"Sure!" said Mickey. "Before I go to the Herald to take my desk, and my 'signment,' I've got to know, and you ought to know too; 'cause I always have to bring what I write to you first, to see if you like it."
"Yes, if the mean old things don't go an' steal my place again, when you don't know it," protested Peaches.
"Well, don't you fret about that," said Mickey. "They got away with me this time, but they won't ever again, 'cause I'll be on to their tricks. See? Now say you forgive me, and eat your dinner, 'cause it will be spoiled, and you must have a good rest, for there's going to be something lovely afterward. You ain't mad at me any more, Lily?"
"No, I ain't mad at you, but I'm just so——"
"Wope! wope!" cautioned Mickey.
Peaches pulled away indignantly.
"—so—so—so estremely mad at those paper men! Mickey, I don't think I'll ever let you be a Herald man at all if they're going to leave me out like that!"