Grey Town Part 13

"Tim O'Neill, you deserve a sound thras.h.i.+ng," said Denis Quirk when he heard of the boy's escapade. "But your wages are raised, not as an incentive to further crimes, but because you have a future before you.

Do you ever study?"

"Just a little. Miss Molly is teaching me," said Tim.

"I must arrange with Burnside to give you a few hours every week. You will be an editor some day, Tim, if you avoid the rocks," said Denis Quirk.

That very day Tim came in to Desmond O'Connor, his face the picture of anxiety. Noting this, Desmond eyed the youth in surprise: then he burst out in a shout of laughter.

"What are you doing that for?" asked Tim, furiously.

"I never saw you so melancholy before, Tim. What particular sin have you committed? Or have you lost a far-distant cousin? Confess your guilt, Tim."

"I suppose you think you're funny?" cried Tim. "I've half a mind to go and give myself to 'The Observer,' and ruin this blessed old paper."

Desmond O'Connor's shout of laughter brought Cairns from his room, anxious to share the joke.

"Let us have it at once," he cried. "In this strenuous life a joke is too precious an event to be wasted. Who made it, you or Tim?"

"Tim is acquiring a high sense of humour," said Desmond. "Tell Mr.

Cairns your awful threat, Tim."

"Yah!" cried Tim, vindictively, "I'll tell Mr. Cairns what I came to tell you, and leave you to wish you knew it."

Therewith he drew the editor into his room, and closed the doors carefully.

"They're going to strike, sir, on both papers, for higher wages," he said in a low voice.

"Who do you mean, Imp?" asked Cairns, addressing the boy by the name he had especially devised for him.

"The compositors. To-night they're going out to stop both papers."

"Tim O'Neill, you are a perfect mine of information. Providence was determined to bless 'The Mercury' when it sent us Tim O'Neill. Just run away now and ask Mr. Quirk if I can see him."

Denis Quirk was at once a diplomatic and a determined man. On hearing the newest development, he hurried away to interview the prospective strikers.

"Lay your grievances before me," he said. "If I can put them right with justice to the proprietors of this paper, it shall be done."

It was the usual story--higher wages and shorter hours, a larger staff, better paid, with less work to do individually. Denis Quirk offered a compromise, but this was refused. After half an hour's discussion, he suddenly broke out into a white heat of anger.

"Do you fancy I can't do without you?" he cried.

The men replied with a burst of ironical laughter.

"I began life as a compositor, and I have not forgotten my trade," he said. "You can go, every one of you that wants more. But 'The Mercury'

will appear to-morrow, take my tip for that."

Sullenly the men withdrew, to hang about outside the office, watching to see who would take their places. But no one came from outside, while in the printing room all was bustle.

"Now, throw off your coats," cried Denis Quirk, "every one of you. You too, Cairns, and do what I tell you. You, Tim O'Neill, take this telegram to the post office. We will have a new staff to-morrow, and men I can rely upon."

In this way "The Mercury" was printed under the greatest difficulties, but the rival newspaper failed to appear. Ebenezer Brown was stubborn, and when his editor brought him the news of the threatened strike he refused to concede anything.

"Not one penny more, and not one second less, will they get from me. Let them strike," he growled.

"But you must come to terms," said the editor. "You can't afford to miss one issue of 'The Observer.'"

"I am paying fair wages, and they may fish for a rise," replied Ebenezer Brown.

The following day, like its rival, "The Observer" was manned again and working smoothly, but its prestige was hopelessly impaired.

Thenceforward "The Mercury" advanced daily at the expense of the older paper, until, six weeks after the beginning of the campaign, Ebenezer Brown went to Denis Quirk to effect a compromise.

Denis was sitting in his s.h.i.+rt-sleeves, his collar off and neckband loosened, when Ebenezer Brown entered.

"Sit down, Mr. Brown. I will attend to you in five minutes. We are so confoundedly busy that I must put this through at once."

Ebenezer Brown mumbled something inarticulate and sat down, watching the pile of papers on the desk in front of the man he hated. After a few minutes Denis Quirk swung round on the office stool to face him.

"Well, sir, what is it?" he asked. "An advertis.e.m.e.nt or an obituary notice of 'The Observer?'"

Ebenezer Brown was rendered speechless with indignation for the moment.

"I didn't come here to be insulted," he growled.

"Then why did you come? Haven't you been throwing insults at me from the columns of your rag these six weeks past? A man doesn't walk into the lion's den to have his hand licked by the lion."

"And how have you treated me?" cried Ebenezer Brown. "First you stole my reporter's copy, then you stole my reporter."

"Stole, sir!" Denis Quirk rang his bell, and Desmond O'Connor entered.

"Kindly take down this gentleman's words, Desmond. Now, Mr. Brown, please repeat your statement."

"You are an unscrupulous person!" growled the old man.

"You have that down, Desmond? Continue, Mr. Brown," said Denis Quirk.

"Robber! Forger!" cried the old man, roused to fury. "You have neither manners nor honesty."

Therewith he rose and rushed into the street, and the burst of laughter that he heard as he went did not tend to make him better pleased or satisfied.

"Do you intend to prosecute?" asked Desmond O'Connor.

"Prosecute! No, my lad, I only defend actions for libel. If he had used every term of reproach in every dictionary, I would not be tempted to a prosecution. I am highly flattered. It proves that I have succeeded in making the old man uncomfortable, and satisfies me. Just write a humorous sketch on the little skirmish, but don't give any names. The town will understand who is the princ.i.p.al character if you manage your article dexterously and with humour. Bring it to me to touch up when the sketch is completed."

For two weeks longer "The Observer" struggled on; then Ebenezer Brown sent an intermediary, in the person of a lawyer, to make terms.

"There is only one possible arrangement--"The Observer" goes out," said Quirk. "How much does Ebenezer Brown ask?"

"His proposal is to buy 'The Mercury,'" replied the messenger.