"She is there now, Mickey. Can you find your way?"
"Sure!" laughed Mickey. "If you put the address on. She started me from the street."
"The address is plain. For straightening my rooms and carrying the note, will that be about right?"
"A lady-bird! Gee!" cried Mickey. "I didn't s'pose you was a plute! And I don't s'pose so yet. You want a Little Brother bad if you're willing to buy one. This number ain't far out, and I wouldn't have sold more than three papers this time of day—twenty-five is about right."
"But you forget cleaning my rooms," said Douglas.
Mickey grinned, his face flushed.
"Me to you!" he said. "Nothing! Just a little matter of keeping in practice. Good-bye and be good to yourself!"
Douglas turned to the telephone.
"Leslie!" he said, "I'm sending Mickey back to you with a note, not because I had anything to say I couldn't say now, but because I can't manage him. I pretended I didn't care, and let him go. Can't you help me? See if you can't interest him in something that at least will bring him back, or show us where to find him. Certainly! Thank you very much!"
When Mickey delivered the letter the lovely young woman just happened to be in the hall. She told him to come in until she read it, to learn what Mr. Bruce wanted. Mickey followed into a big room, looked around, then a speculative, appreciative gleam crossed his face. He realized the difference between a home and a show room. He did not know what he was seeing or why it affected him as it did. Really the thought that was in his mind was that this woman was far more attractive, but had less money to spend on her home, than many others. He missed the glitter, but enjoyed the comfort, for he leaned back against the chair offered him, thinking what a cool, restful place it was. The girl seemed in no hurry to open the letter.