She was on his bed; she was on his pillow; she had been lonely; both arms were stretched toward him.
"Mickey, hurry!" she cried. "Mickey, lemme hold you 'til I'm sure! Mickey, all day I didn't hardly durst breathe, fear the door'd open an' they'd 'get' me. Oh Mickey, you won't let them, will you?"
Mickey dropped his bundles and ran to the bed. This time he did not shrink from her wavering clasp. It was delight to come home to something alive, something that belonged to him, something to share with, something to work and think for, something that depended upon him.
"Now nix on the scare talk," he comforted. "Forget it! I've lived here three years alone, and not a single time has anybody come to 'get' me, so they won't you. There's only one thing can happen us. If I get sick or spend too much on eating, and don't pay the rent, the man that owns this building will fire us out. If we, if we" Mickey repeated impressively, "pay our rent regular, in advance, nobody will ever come, not ever, so don't worry."
"Then what's all them bundles?" fretted Peaches. "You ortn't a-got so much. You'll never get the next rent paid! They'll 'get' me sure."
"Now throttle your engine," advised Mickey. "Stop your car! Smash down on the brakes! They are things the city you reside in furnishes its taxpayers, or something like that. I pay my rent, so this is my share, and it's things for you: to make you comfortable. Which are you worst—tiredest, or hungriest, or hottest?"
"I don't know," she said.
"Then I'll make a clean get-a-way," said Mickey. "Washing is cooling; and it freshens you up a lot."
So Mickey brought his basin again, bathing the tired child gently as any woman could have done it.
"See what I got!" he cried as he opened bundles and explained. "I'm going to see if you have fever."