You have scored a bullseye," cried Cairns, when he had read Desmond's
report, and had glanced at the sketches. "You are promoted to the
reporting staff. Keep your observant faculties keen and your pencil
sharp, my boy, and we will make the old "Observer" boom."

Samuel Quirk smiled when he saw himself in the morning's paper.

"See here, old woman, what they have been doing to me!" he cried, as he
banged "The Observer" down in front of his wife at breakfast.

With trembling hands, she adjusted her glasses, fully anticipating that
her husband had been sentenced to some heavy penalty for his political
creed. But when she saw him on the front sheet of the paper, with the
bellicose features of his face exaggerated, Mrs. Quirk was moved to
anger.

"And who has been doing this?" she asked. "It is time something should
be done to put an end to this. It is an outrage----. Does he call
himself an artist?" she questioned, after studying the picture.

"I think it's a very fine picture; perhaps the nose is a little large,
and the mouth, too. But it's quite a pleasant picture," said Samuel
Quirk complacently.

"If I knew the man that had done it, sure I would make it quite
unpleasant for him," said Mrs. Quirk.

"'Tis a sign of fame to be made a sketch of," said Samuel Quirk. "They
know that I have organised the boys, and this is the way they try to
have revenge."

Therewith he went out to talk politics to his employes while he watched
them at work.

"'Tis but eight hours you will do, lads, but it will be an honest eight
hours' work you will give me for the decent wages I pay you," he was
accustomed to say.

Kathleen O'Connor recognised Desmond's hand in the sketch when Mrs.
Quirk showed it to her. She, however, considered it prudent not to
mention the artist's name, for she could see that Mrs. Quirk was deeply
hurt at what she regarded as an insult to the old man. Fortunately,
however, an event occurred during the day that entirely diverted Mrs.
Quirk's attention from the picture of her husband.

It was one of Kathleen's duties to read to Mrs. Quirk the few letters
that came for her.

"My sight is leaving me," the old lady remarked in excuse for her lack
of education, "and these spectacles don't appear to improve it."

Therefore, Kathleen opened a letter, addressed in a man's bold
handwriting to "Mrs. Quirk, 26 Rainey-street, Collingwood," and
forwarded from that address. It had come from the United States, and had
e