!" she cried. "My
heart is breaking for him!"

Therewith she rose and left the room. Denis took out his pipe and filled
it. Then he went to "The Mercury" office, smoking thoughtfully. The
first person to meet him on his arrival was John Gerard.

"What do you want with me?" asked Denis Quirk, abruptly.

"Just to hand in my resignation. I have other schemes on hand, and
cannot find the necessary time to your work," replied Gerard.

Denis Quirk noted the absence of the customary suavity and deference in
the way in which Gerard addressed him.

"Right you are! Come to me in five minutes for your cheque. You have
saved yourself dismissal," he said.

"Are you dismissing the whole staff?" asked Gerard.

"Only the useless ones," replied Denis quietly, as he entered the room.

"Your cheque--and the door, you durned skunk!" he said, five minutes
later. Gerard was on the point of retorting furiously, but one look at
the strong, ugly face and sturdy figure convinced him of the wisdom of
silence until he was actually on the doorstep of the office. Then he
said:

"You will have to deal with me yet, Mr. Denis Quirk."

"I am quite capable of doing that," replied Denis, smilingly.

Thus did "The Mercury" lose its first sporting editor.

In the quiet of his office Denis Quirk sat for fully five minutes
thinking, a most unusual thing for him to do, and, more unusual still,
thinking of a woman. He checked himself abruptly with the half-muttered
words:

"Well, she must battle through alone: I can't help her."

Then he began to write a letter to a friend in Melbourne:

"'The Mercury,' Grey Town.

"January 17, 19--.

"Dear Jackson,--There is a young fellow now in Melbourne, one
Desmond O'Connor, a wild, harum-scarum, but of good stuff. You will
find him at Mrs. Tippett's, 102 The Grove, Upper Hawthorn. Look him
up, if you still love me, and take him under your care. Find him a
place in your office; he has the necessary qualifications. He is a
journalist, but I foresee ruin in that line for Desmond. Supply his
immediate needs, and draw upon me, but invent some pious fiction to
account for the capital--a dead maiden aunt or any other apocryphal
person you like. If he thinks that the money comes from me, ten to
one he will have none of it. Make him keep himself as far as
possible by hi