Micky

“ I should like you to have the pleasure, but I don’t yet know whether it will be possible.’
‘Oh, Aunt Grace!’ cried Kitty, pouting a little, ‘you can’t not let us go to the Fair. There are such darling baby elephants!’
‘Yes,’ added Micky, ‘and there are boats which go up and down, and up and down, and round and round, till you get as lovely and seasick as if you were on the real sea!’ Micky spoke without any thought of sarcasm. ”

“ Over her desk, waiting for developments, leaned Mistress Dyke. A moment passed, then the tousled head of the tardy Micky appeared above the level of the bench behind which he had secured shelter after carefully crawling on hands and knees from the door, having by extreme good fortune, made the hazardous journey undetected. Only the fatally unwelcome interest displayed in this performance by the red-headed boy on the front row prevented the success of Micky's strategy. As it was, the blue eyes of Bessie met his with a glance of reproof as he slid noiselessly into his place. ”

“ So, with this greatest gift the Creator can give one of his children, the humorous sense of proportion that can make if need be a joke of futility, Micky would go on to the end, to success or failure; alike with heart uncankered and a laugh on his lips. There would never transpire a misanthropic Micky.
For a long time after O'Byrn's departure, Maisie sat still in the Morris chair, a pensive look on her pretty face, with vague eyes bent dreamily on the flaming wood in the tiny fireplace ”

“ Micky did not know what to say.
“Anyway, it’s all right now, eh?” he asked presently, with awkward cheerfulness. “I thought it would be; when things look so black that they can’t possibly look any blacker, they always begin to mend. I’ve found that out before; I don’t know if you have.”
“I found it out this morning.”
Micky looked down at her. She was sitting with her hands clasped together in her lap; there was a little flush in her cheeks, and her lips were curved into a faint smile. ”

“ One morning, accordingly, having levied an unwilling contribution from a weaker but more industrious boot-black, Micky went to Baxter Street, and invested it in a blue coat with brass buttons, which, by some strange chain of circumstances, had found its way thither from some country town, where it may at one time have figured at trainings and on town-meeting days. A pair of overalls completed Micky's costume. He dispensed with a vest, his money not having been sufficient to buy that also. ”

“ He isn’t a saint––but what man is, I should like to know? But Micky’s the sort who would give his life for a friend or any one little and weak. Do you know”––she flung away the half-smoked cigarette and leaned forward with her elbows on her knees––“last winter, down in the country, I saw Micky go into a dirty pond in evening dress to rescue a drowning cat. What do you think of that?”
“A––a––cat!” said Esther faintly. She looked at Charlie, and remembered how Micky had paid for milk for him the night of their strange meeting. ”

“ As they neared mid-channel the boat went more slowly, for the tide was ebbing, and Micky knew that once carried out he would be lost eternally; there was no second hope of salvation. He could not speak, but his heart beat time to the oars—one, two. Hell made her last effort, and all that is evil in creation, all the distortions of love and truth by which we are vexed, came surging down the estuary, and the boat hung motionless. Micky heard the pant of breath through the roaring, the crack of angelic muscles ”

“ I began to wonder whether Micky would hold out. It had been difficult to find Ivanoff. A long time elapsed before the divorce papers could be served on him.
Micky still stuck to Fan, but he began talking about compromising her and, after a time, I had an impression that he stuck to her grimly, without enthusiasm. I imagined him to be cursing his own weak character. He was weak and he knew it, and so did we. He clung to Fan as a woman should cling to a man. ”

“ So it came about that Micky presently found himself once more in the midst of all that delightful noise and bustle which made up Eastwich Fair. He would turn his very best coach-wheels, he decided, and earn quantities of pennies for motor-rides and ice-cream (last time Emmeline wouldn’t let them have any because people had to lick it out of glasses, as there were no spoons) and cocoanut-shies, and visits to the elephants. He wasn’t going to give all his money to that old Mother Grimes, whatever Diamond Jubilee might do. ”

“ To the veteran it meant only the inevitable environment of effort. Many such find it difficult to write in the midst of quietude. Of such was Micky, and so it was that, with no scribbling to do, he could lose himself in vague, sad contemplation of moon and stars and black night sky, with the roar of the flood no louder in his unheeding ears than the ripple of a little river through June meadows. It was with a start that he was recalled to earth with a violent slap upon his thin shoulder. He turned, eyes still wool-gathering, to confront Dick. ”

“ Esther asked deliberately.
Micky did not answer.
“Do you like him?” she persisted.
Micky’s restraint broke its bonds; if he had died for it he could not have checked the words that rushed to his lips.
“I detest the fellow!” he said. “He’s a beastly outsider!”
He dared not look at her. He held his breath, waiting for the storm to break, but if he had lost his self-control she kept hers admirably.
“Really,” she said. Her voice was a little breathless, but quite calm. “What does a man mean when he calls another man––such a name?” ”

“ MICKY MICHAEL O'BYRN, picturesquely Irish, so his name appeared on the payroll, but from the cases to the press room they called him Micky. Mike would have been a misfit, for its tang suggests a burly, bull-necked son of Erin with fists like hams and a brogue of gravy-like thickness, a boisterous, beefy, big-hearted broth of a boy of blows and budge. Micky had the Irish heart, but he was short on fists and beef and possessed the mere ghost of a brogue. ”

“ With Micky it was different. To resist a craving which never really slumbered meant real effort and unceasing vigilance. To succumb meant usually an unrecking debauch of days, while the little red devil worked its sweet will with him, to finally leave him spent and shaken, a temporary sodden wreck. This was the grim enemy, coupled with an unreasoning love of roving, that had made him, rarely talented as he was, a shifting vagrant of the news. It had landed him, ragged and unkempt, at the door of the Courier office. ”

“ He looked at Micky with triumphant eyes. “To Mrs. Clare,” he added.
When Micky got back to his rooms, Driver met him; Driver with a spark of unwonted animation in his dull eyes, and who closed the sitting-room door mysteriously behind him as he came forward.
“If you please, sir––there is a lady to see you.”
“A lady!” said Micky blankly; then he laughed. “Rubbish! You’re dreaming, man.”
“No sir,” said Driver stolidly.
Micky stared at him for a moment, then he passed him, and threw open the door of the sitting-room.
It was Esther who rose from a chair by the fire as he entered. ”

“ Disquieting recollections gnawed at Micky's mind. A girl's face, eloquent with horror and disgust, seen as through a mist in the lighted street, confronted his shamed, wakened consciousness, while he writhed inwardly. And, too, his post with the Courier? Had he lost it? How much latitude would they extend to drunkards?
A drunkard! He shuddered at the repellent thought, yet what else was he? What else any man who allowed the infernal appetite to lure him from duty to be performed? Not once but many times had he, O'Byrn, fallen by this standard. ”

“ She looked at him with a sort of fear.
“You don’t mean that,” she said, with a catch in her voice. “You don’t really mean that ... you’re just one of those men who say things like that to every woman you–––” She broke off, struck by the chagrin in Micky’s face. “No––I oughtn’t to have said that,” she went on hurriedly. “I beg your pardon ... I ought not to have said it, and I will tell you my name if you really want to know. My name is Esther––Esther Shepstone.”
“Thank you!” said Micky. “And now we’re going to drink to good resolutions for the New Year ... have you made one yet?” ”

“ To stop him––to stop his lying tongue was the one thought in Micky’s mind; he saw the whole world red as he tore open the door of the silent room and strode out into the corridor.
283
The noisy ragtime had ceased, but a storm of deafening applause and cries of “Encore!” filled the ballroom.
An elderly man cannoned into Micky, and stopped short with a laughing apology.
“Hullo, Mellowes––not dancing––what the deuce is the matter?” he asked with sudden change of voice.
Micky passed a shaking hand across his mouth––
“Nothing ... where’s Ashton––have you seen Ashton?” ”

“ Micky took off his hat and coat and obeyed.
He looked several sizes too large for the little dining-room as he walked over to the fire and stood with his back to it; he looked round the room appreciatively.
This was a real home, he thought with sudden wistfulness in spite of its small rooms and general atmosphere of a bygone decade; a man could be very happy here with a woman he cared for.
“Micky––Micky–––” called June urgently. She came clattering down the stairs anyhow––she burst into the room, she thrust a scrap of paper into his hand. ”

“ He can’t be anybody if he’s ashamed of you. You don’t like Micky, I know, but, with all his money and position, if he loved you he’d be only too proud to shout it from the housetops, and not care a hang what the world thought. There’s no rotten pride about Micky––if he loved a beggar girl he’d be proud of it.... No, don’t say any more, it makes me boil!”
She lit another cigarette and puffed at it furiously.
“Do you––do you think I should go with Mr. Harley, then?” Esther asked presently. Her pretty face was flushed and troubled.
“No, I don’t,” said June emphatically. ”

“ Oh dear, there was Micky asking for another piece of bread and jam! However many more was he going to have before she would be free to get up and slip away to warn Diamond Jubilee?
‘Really, Micky, I think as this is your second tea, and you’ll have supper before so very long, [85] you’ve had quite enough already,’ said Aunt Grace to Emmeline’s great relief; ‘be quick and finish what’s on your plate, Kitty, and then we’ll say grace.’
As soon as they had risen from table Emmeline hurried from the room, and rushed out into the garden. ”

“ Ingraham had never for a moment considered a betrayal of Micky’s confession. For one reason, he was keen enough to know it would be useless. Micky’s sense of guilt might recognize the confessional, but it did not, and would not, recognize the witness stand. He had no intention of giving his friend the slightest help in unearthing the scandal. He was convinced, as he told him, that a new form of attack must be found.
“You’re a queer one, Dick,” fretted Ralph. “You don’t believe for a moment that Jake and Reub are anything but a pair of pirates. You aren’t afraid. What is it?” ”

“ Micky laid down his box, and commenced operations.
"How long have you been a boot-black?" asked Gilbert.
"Five years—goin' on six," said Micky.
"Can you earn much?"
"No," said Micky. "Business aint very good now."
"You manage to dress well," said Gilbert, with an amused look at Micky's habiliments.
"Yes," said Micky, with a glance at the brass buttons; "but I had to borrer the money to buy my clo'es."
"There used to be a boy around here that was called Dick. Did you know him?"
"There be a good many Dicks. ”

“ Micky had jumped in his chair at the onslaught, spilling cigar ashes over his noisy shirt bosom. "Short of what?" he demanded with sarcasm, blowing the ashes into Stearns' rubicund face. "Fatty, have you got 'em again?"
"Got nothin'," retorted Fatty, rubbing an ashy eye. "They'll never beat it, never," he murmured, more to himself than to Micky, with a slow shake of his fat head. "Not on your pajamas! They can't touch him."
"Cut it out, Fatty," exhorted Micky with concern. "Quit the pill cookin' stunt or it'll land you in the dip-house for sure. Why, you spit when you talk now! ”

“ Micky stood and watched till they could no longer be seen. He was chilled to the bone in spite of his warm coat; he turned the collar 229 up round his throat and thrust his hands deeply into his pockets.
His fingers came in contact with the telegrams he had written in the train and forgotten to send. He swore under his breath.
He kept out of the Delands’ way when they reached Calais; he was first off the boat; he stood in the darkness trembling with excitement.
There were all sorts of people pouring past him––men, women, and children. ”

“ Micky, when you saw him in Paris, didn’t he say anything, ask you anything? Oh, it all seems so extraordinary!”
“My dear girl, what could he ask me?” Micky objected gently. “I never discuss––Miss Shepstone with him, and he is not in the least likely to tell me his private affairs, and I’m sure I don’t want to know them.”
June was silent for a moment.
“Esther is laying up trouble for herself,” she said then. “Don’t you think she is?”
“I haven’t thought about it,” Micky maintained stolidly. “And if you take my advice, you won’t either. It never does to meddle with other people’s affairs.” ”

“ Micky noticed that blush, too, as he turned the car with a fine sweep and came to a standstill.
Esther greeted him with a torrent of explanation.
“June couldn’t come, so she made me––she had to go out on business. She would make me come!”
“It’s very kind,” Micky said. “I’m later than I expected––the roads are bad down in this part of the world. Well, and how do you like Enmore?”
“It’s very quiet, but I like it for a change, and June’s aunt is ever so kind.”
“Yes, a dear old lady; I know her well. Did you tell her I was coming?” ”