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Buck lay down, in the bottom of the boat, covered with a piece of sacking, and Sam took up the oars, when a long, sibilant whistle like a night bird floated keenly through the air. Buck started up and turned suspicious eyes on Sam: "What's that?" "It's Mikky, I reckon," said Sam softly, reverently. "He couldn't sleep. He's huntin' yer!"
The boy Mikky had been familiar enough with saloons, looking upon them as a necessary evil, where drinking fathers spent the money that ought to have bought their children food. He had been in and out of them commonly enough selling his papers, warming his feet, and getting a crust now and then from an uneaten bit on the lunch counter.
Is that the boy that took the shot in place of the little girl?" The boy nodded and looked anxiously into the kindly face of the doctor. "Yep. Hev you ben in dare? Did youse see Mikky? He's got yaller hair. Is Mikky deaded?" "No, he isn't dead," said the physician kindly, "but he's pretty badly hurt. The ball went through his shoulder and arm, and came mighty near some vital places.
The whole defiant face became eager, the black eyes danced with question, the brows settled into straight pleasant lines, and the mouth sweetened as with pleasant thoughts. "Is't Mikky?" He asked in earnest voice. "Kin we get in? I'll call de kids. He'll want 'em. He allus wants der kids."
Mikky didn't do nothin', Mikky jes' tried to save der little kid. Mikky's a good'un. You get the folks to put Mikky out here. We kids'll take him away" The policeman finally attended to the fierce pleading of the ragamuffins. Two or three newspaper men joined the knot around them and the story was presently written up with all the racy touches that the writers of the hour know how to use.
Endicott came home one afternoon to find Mikky down in the reception room dressed in black velvet and rare old lace, with his glorious sheaf of golden hair which had grown during his illness tortured into ringlets, and an adoring group of ladies gathered about him, as he stood with troubled, almost haughty mien, and gravely regarded their maudlin sentimentalities. Mrs.
Yer no jest humans like the rist av us; ye must av dhropped doon frum the skoy." And from that it had gone forth that Mikky was the child of the sky, and that was why no one knew who were his parents. The bit of a fancy had guarded the boy's weird babyhood, and influenced more than he knew his own thought of existence, until life grew too full to think much on it.
"How would it be for you to pay Buck something so that he could take your place? I will give you some money that you may do as you like with, and you can pay Buck as much as you think he needs every week. You can send it to him in a letter." "Would it be as much as a quarter?" Mikky held his breath in wonder and suspense. "Two quarters if you like." "Oh! could I do that?"
If Sam did not come in answer to his letter he must wait until he found him. He would not give up. So he fell asleep with the burden on his heart. The letter was as follows: "Dear Sam: "You can't have forgotten Mikky who slept with you in the boiler room, and with whom you shared your crusts.
He wanted to see that face light up once more. Also, he had a curious desire to see these youngsters from the street who could provoke such loving anxiety from the hero upstairs. Mikky was right, Buck would not go far away until he knew how it was with his comrade.
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