of news?"

"Don't know yet."

"Who said there was news?"

"Driver."

"Where is he?"

"Don't know."

"Who will know about it?"

"O'Flaherty."

Here there was a general shout from the crowd for O'Flaherty, and an
irascible-looking man, with a red bloated face and bristling hair came
to the office door.

"Now, what the divil d'ye want?" he roared, shaking a quill pen at the
crowd. "What are ye after at all? Have ye nothing betther to do than to
block up the door of a decent office?"

"What's the news?" cried a dozen voices.

"The news, is it?" roared O'Flaherty, more angrily than ever; "and can't
ye foind out that by paying your sixpences like men, and taking the
_Advertoiser_? It's a paper, though Oi says it as shouldn't, that would
cut out some o' these _Telegraphs_ and _Chronicles_ if it was only in
London. Begad, instead of encouraging local talent ye spind your toime
standing around in the strate, and trying to suck a man's news out of
him for nothing."

"Look here, boss," said a rough-looking fellow in the front of the
crowd, "you keep your hair on, and don't get slinging words about too
freely, or it may be the worse for you and for your office too.
We heard as there was big news, an' we come down to hear it, but as to
gettin' it without paying, that ain't our sort. I suppose we can call
it square if we each hands in sixpence, which is the price o' your
paper, and then you can tell us what's on."

O'Flaherty considered for a moment. "It's worth a shillin' each," he
said, "for it plays the divil with the circulation of a paper whin its
news gits out too soon."

"Well, we won't stick at that," said the miner. "What say you, boys?"

There was a murmur of assent, and a broad-brimmed straw hat was passed
rapidly from hand to band. It was half full of silver when it reached
O'Flaherty. The _Advertiser_ had never before had such a circulation,
for the crowd had rapidly increased during the preceding dialogue, and
now numbered some hundreds.

"Thank ye, gintlemen," said the editor.

"Well, what's the news?" cried the impatient crowd.

"Sure I haven't opened the bag yet, but I soon will. Whativer it is
it's bound to be there. Hey there, Billy, ye divil's brat, where's the
mail bag?"

Thus apostrophized, a sharp little Kaffir came running out with the
brown bag, and Mr. O'Flaherty examined it in a leisurely manner, which
elicited many an oath from the eager crowd.

"Here's the _Standard_