been paid for, with the nickels and the sewing machine, with enough left
for the first month's rent, Mickey faced life alone. But he knew exactly
what to do, because she had told him. She had even written it down lest he
forget. It was so simple that only a boy who did not mind his mother could
have failed. The formula worked perfectly.

_Morning: Get up early. Wash your face, brush your clothes. Eat what was
left from supper for breakfast. Put your bed to air, then go out with your
papers. Don't be afraid to offer them, or to do work of any sort you have
strength for; but be deathly afraid to beg, to lie, or to steal, while if
you starve, freeze, or die, never, never touch any kind of drink_.

Any fellow could do that; Mickey told dozens of them so.

He got along so well he could pay the rent each month, dress in whole
clothing, have enough to eat, often cooked food on the little gasoline
stove, if he were not too tired to cook it, and hide nickels in the old
place daily. He had a bed and enough cover; he could get water in the hall
at the foot of the flight of stairs leading to his room for his bath, to
scrub the floor, and wash the dishes. From two years on, he had helped his
mother with every detail of her housekeeping; he knew exactly what must be
done.

It was much more dreadful than he thought it would be to come home alone,
and eat supper by himself, but if he sold papers until he was almost
asleep where he stood, he found he went to sleep as soon as he reached
home and had supper. He did not awaken until morning; then he could hurry
his work and get ahead of the other boys, and maybe sell to their
customers. It might be bad to be alone, but always he could remember her,
and make her seem present by doing every day exactly what she told him.