Grey Town Part 9

"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 antic.i.p.ate 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? Yes, I think so."

"Approachable?" asked Quirk.

"Sometimes," replied Desmond.

"What sort of forecast to-day--stormy?"

"Knock at his door, and let him answer for himself."

"Right. I will see you as I go out."

He went to the editor's door, and knocked violently. There was no response, and he knocked again--more violently. Then the door opened suddenly, and Cairns confronted him in a white fury.

"Now, what the d.i.c.kens, sir," cried the editor, "brings your big battering ram of a fist in contact with my door? Nature provides earthquakes in these parts without your a.s.sistance, you noisy devil!"

"Who are you shouting at?" answered Quirk, in an equal fury. "Can't a man tap gently----."

"Tap gently! What sort of a disturbance happens when you knock loudly?

What do you want with me?"

"Nothing now. I came to speak to a man, and I find a grizzly bear. Can't a man who has come from the other side of creation call on a local celebrity but he must have his nose snapped off? Good-day to you, sir!"

Cairns' sense of the humorous saved the situation. Recovering quickly from his irritation, he burst into a roar of laughter. This, for the moment, only added to the other man's indignation.

"Are you laughing at me, sir?" he asked.

"No, I was laughing at myself. I apologise to you; but you came at a moment when I was hopelessly busy," replied Cairns.

Quirk's face relaxed into a grim smile. He regarded the thin, humorous face of the editor attentively. Satisfied with his survey, he said:

"Well, I won't bother you just now. I know what it is to be in a tearing hurry. I ran a newspaper myself in the States; you have to be here, there, and everywhere to do that. Can't trust to anyone but yourself, can you?"

"Not a living soul. But I will give you five minutes if you slip inside."

Quirk entered the editor's office, and the door closed. In half an hour's time it opened again, and the two men came out together.

"Five minutes!" laughed Quirk as he shook Cairns' hand at the door.

"You are such a fascinating man that the minutes have slipped away unnoticed. You will be at my room to-night?"

"Of course I will. Hard at it, young man?" he asked, with a friendly nod to Desmond.

"A twopenny-ha'penny report of a twopenny-ha'penny meeting," replied Desmond, contemptuously.

"Make it spicy; touch it up with a little humour. That's the way to make journalism attractive. Cover a commonplace incident with the mantle of merriment, and make the world laugh. Lord, how we love a good honest laugh!"

With this he went briskly out of the office, and Desmond turned to his task with a renewed interest. There was a point here and a sentence there that might be made humorous. When the speakers read his report of what they had spoken, they discovered that there was, after all, a latent wit in them hitherto quite unsuspected. Those who had been privileged to hear them discovered that remarks had been made at which they had laughed, and that the speakers were not such prosy old fossils as they had suspected.

"That man Quirk knows the secret of the new journalism," said Cairns to Desmond. "It is not truth, or even a make-believe truth; it is to arouse your readers' interest. Tickle them with humour; stuff them with the sensational; let everything be brand-new. We will make the old 'Observer' gallop to beat us."

Desmond raised his eyebrows and waited to hear more, but Cairns turned on his heel, saying:

"In a short time I may satisfy your curiosity, O'Connor; but there's a lot to be done first."

CHAPTER VI.

READJUSTMENT.

For weeks after Denis Quirk's homecoming Kathleen O'Connor was uncertain as to her feeling towards him.

He was ugly and abrupt, somewhat inquisitive, with none of those gentler qualities that we term polish. He spoke his mind, and spoke it bluntly, regardless of the feelings of others. Self-reliant and perfectly satisfied with himself, he sometimes irritated the girl to the verge of anger. But he was rarely angry, or, if he blazed out into sudden pa.s.sion, returned speedily to his customary imperturbability, and he was always humorous. His mother he worshipped, and with her he was gentle as a woman; his father he jested with in an affectionate manner. Kathleen realised that he was a good son, while she resented his att.i.tude to herself. His abrupt questions, his curious searching looks led her to believe that he was for ever testing her to discover the strength and weakness of her character. This caused the girl to adopt an att.i.tude of defence, and to meet his inquisitive questions with replies that almost bordered on discourtesy.

Just a fortnight after his arrival, as she sat writing in the breakfast-room at Layton, pausing now and again to watch the gambols of Mrs. Quirk's Persian kitten, Denis Quirk marched into the room. He picked up the kitten, and seated himself with it near the door.

"Writing?" he asked, abruptly.

His manner of questioning her, indicating to her mind a desire to know as to whom and of what she was writing, aroused an immediate resentment in the girl.

"Yes, I am," she answered, shortly.

He smiled at her manifest annoyance, and continued to play with the kitten.

"Fire away then and get it all off your chest," he said.

Kathleen felt that writing was an impossibility under the circ.u.mstances, but she was determined that he should not recognise her embarra.s.sment.

Her nib flew relentlessly over the sheets, but the letter was disconnected and dry. At last she gathered her writing materials together, and rose to leave the room.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Never mind that," she replied. "I have never been asked to give an account of my actions, and I do not intend to."

Denis Quirk smiled yet more broadly. It was evident that her irritation amused him. This did not make her the better pleased.