“What’s the matter, Judge?” he asked.
“Mickey,” the Judge said, “I’m in trouble, and you’ve got to help me. I helped you. I went down and I made a fight for you fellows. Didn’t I?”
“That’s what you did,” said Mickey. “Betcher life you did.”
“Well, now you’ve got to stay with me.” And he told Mickey what he wanted — all the kids he could find that had been in jail. “The offi- cer can’t get them; says there isn’t time enough. Can you ?”
Can I? Well, you watch me! Don’t you worry about the kids, Judge! Gimme a wheel, and I’ll get kids, kids to burn!”
The Judge went out, and he and Mickey borrowed a wheel. It didn’t fit, but Mickey hopped on and went spinning down the street.
It was a relief to me to see him go,” the Judge says, “but my worry wasn’t over. The invited officials began to arrive before Mickey returned. At ten minutes before two, when the Governor appeared, there was not a kid in sight. The entire company had assembled in my chambers before I saw sign of any witnesses, and I was troubled. It was painful. I knew I could count on Mickey, and the kids generally, but suppose he couldn’t find them!”
