tanding?" said Denis.

"Agreed! Go your own way and leave me in peace," said Desmond.

Thus did it come about that these two men shared the same flat and lived
on a hearty brotherly footing, although their views were diametrically
opposed. Around them they gathered a Bohemian band of companions, of all
creeds and every condition of life. Lawyers, doctors, actors,
journalists, and politicians; if they were decent, straight-living men,
with something to give in thought for that which they received, the
Bachelors' flat in Collins Street, as it was termed, was open to them
all. Denis Quirk lived strenuously as was his way, making "The
Freelance" a power in the land. He set himself to found a school of
journalists who wrote for the love of truth and scorned the mean and
paltry things of life. As with "The Mercury," Denis Quirk made his new
organ a censor of all that is contemptible.

Desmond O'Connor, for his part, lived the parti-coloured life of other
men, business and pleasure in equal portions. Occasionally he assisted
Quirk with a black and white sketch for "The Freelance." He still
retained his old power as an artist, and Denis Quirk turned to him in
preference to the regular staff when he desired a particularly striking
sketch.

"Just sit down, Desmond, and illustrate this article. The initials, D.
O'C., are always appreciated," he would say.

"So I have every reason to believe. I am a genius and I know it. But
anything, even undesired artistic fame, to oblige you," Desmond would
answer.

He had a heartfelt admiration for Denis Quirk, whose fate it was to win
the love or hate of those who knew him. None who came in contact with
him failed to appreciate the strength of his personality, and he threw
himself resolutely on the side of truth. Those who lived on injustice
and untruth would willingly have destroyed him because he exposed them
relentlessly to public odium; the honest and straightforward placed him
on a pedestal as a just man. "Good old Quirk" was a synonym for strength
and uprightness of life in those days.

CHAPTER XX.

GREAT IS THE TRUTH.

"Bachelors' Flat," in Collins Street, was peculiarly silent. The
customary visitors paused in the hall downstairs and did not venture to
ascend to the third floor of the mansions. Merely a sympathetic message
to the caretaker, a few parting words of hope, or a shake of the head,
and they passed on into the busy world outside.

In the flat itself men a