Go at once!"

"One minute, Mr. Brown. I warned you that no one should dismiss my
subordinates but I. If O'Connor goes, I follow him."

"As you please," gasped the old man. "There are others as clever as you,
and infinitely less expensive. You ungrateful young scapegrace!" he
added, turning on Desmond, "I have been a friend to you and to your
family. But for me you would have starved."

With this he stalked out of the office, leaving the other men smiling
broadly in each other's faces at this outburst of impotent rage.

"I am a stubborn sort of person," said Cairns, "and I rather like this
locality. Shall we stay in Grey Town and fight him?"

Desmond eyed his superior with an unaffected surprise.

"Fight him? But how?" he asked.

"Come round to me to-night--no, to-morrow night, young man. I must see
one or two men of business in the town. After my interviews we will
discuss the best means of fighting Ebenezer."

"Shall we take the old man at his word, and leave him in the lurch? Do
you think he could run 'The Observer' for himself?" asked Desmond.

"No, Desmond; here I stay until he finds a successor. I love the old
'Observer,' and I am responsible for it while I remain on the staff.
After I go, I may take my revenge out of the ancient sinner."

That day the work proceeded as usual. During the course of it a man came
into the office and asked for Desmond O'Connor. He was a big man, with a
good-humoured, ugly face, surmounted by curly black hair. He was tanned
by the sun, and his blue-grey Irish eyes peeped out from the
reddish-brown surroundings of his face. He had a determined mouth and
chin, a jaw that spoke of a struggle with the world, and of success in
that battle.

"You are O'Connor?" he asked Desmond when he appeared. "I am Quirk, the
long lost and recently returned. Did Miss O'Connor speak of me?"

"She did," replied Desmond, "and of your adventures. Could you favour me
with a brief recital of your career?"

"For copy? No, my lad; I am reserving that for my own paper. Any chance
for another paper here?" he asked, casually.

"You had better not ask me. I am still an employe of The Observer.'"

"Still? Do you anticipate a move?" asked Quirk, leaning half over the
counter.

"I do. I have my marching orders."

"Been playing up, eh? Well, I was a holy terror at your age. I made the
old dad's life a torment to him, and sowed a bushel of grey hairs in the
mother's head. Is the boss in?"

"Cairns?