DAYS OF STORM AND STRESS.
It was during breakfast at "Layton" that Kathleen O'Connor attacked
Denis Quirk on the subject of his treatment of Desmond. Mrs. Quirk was
breakfasting in bed; her husband had scrambled through his meal, and
rushed out to superintend the making of a drain, leaving Denis alone
with the girl. He had noticed her silence and aloofness, sure signs of
displeasure, and, as was his way, he calmly faced her in the moment of
bitter resentment.
"You are angry with me?" he asked abruptly.
"Why should I be? I have no claims upon your kindness," she answered.
"He had to go, for his own sake," he said, going straight to the point
without explanation. "It was the only hope of saving him."
She did not answer, but her eyes filled with tears, vainly though she
tried to repress them. Denis Quirk feigned not to see them.
"In Grey Town he must be ruined," he said, not unkindly.
"And what will he do alone in a great city, with no one to advise him?"
she cried.
"Fight it out and win, if he is made of the stuff I believe to be in
him. He had enemies here who were ruining him, body and soul."
"He had one friend at least in Mr. Gerard," she said.
"We had better not discuss Gerard," he replied, rising quietly.
"Mr. Gerard has told me----," she began.
"Never believe a hostile witness until he has safely stood the fire of
cross-examination," he remarked, oracularly.
"Oh, it was cruel not to give the boy just one chance!" she cried. "My
heart is breaking for him!"
Therewith she rose and left the room. Denis took out his pipe and filled
it. Then he went to "The Mercury" office, smoking thoughtfully. The
first person to meet him on his arrival was John Gerard.
"What do you want with me?" asked Denis Quirk, abruptly.
"Just to hand in my resignation. I have other schemes on hand, and
cannot find the necessary time to your work," replied Gerard.
Denis Quirk noted the absence of the customary suavity and deference in
the way in which Gerard addressed him.
"Right you are! Come to me in five minutes for your cheque. You have
saved yourself dismissal," he said.
"Are you dismissing the whole staff?" asked Gerard.
"Only the useless ones," replied Denis quietly, as he entered the room.
"Your cheque--and the door, you durned skunk!" he said, five minutes
later. Gerard was on the point of retorting furiously, but one look at
the strong, ugly face and sturdy figure convinced him of the wisdom of
silence until he was actually on the doorstep of the office. Then he
said:
"You will have to deal with me yet, Mr. Denis Quirk."
"I am quite capable of doing that," replied Denis, smilingly.
Thus did "The Mercury" lose its first sporting editor.
In the quiet of his office Denis Quirk sat for fully five minutes
thinking, a most unusual thing for him to do, and, more unusual still,
thinking of a woman. He checked himself abruptly with the half-muttered
words:
"Well, she must battle through alone: I can't help her."
Then he began to write a letter to a friend in Melbourne:
"'The Mercury,' Grey Town.
"January 17, 19--.
"Dear Jackson,--There is a young fellow now in Melbourne, one
Desmond O'Connor, a wild, harum-scarum, but of good stuff. You will
find him at Mrs. Tippett's, 102 The Grove, Upper Hawthorn. Look him
up, if you still love me, and take him under your care. Find him a
place in your office; he has the necessary qualifications. He is a
journalist, but I foresee ruin in that line for Desmond. Supply his
immediate needs, and draw upon me, but invent some pious fiction to
account for the capital--a dead maiden aunt or any other apocryphal
person you like. If he thinks that the money comes from me, ten to
one he will have none of it. Make him keep himself as far as
possible by his own brains, and never offer the boy whisky. If you
do this for me, I shall recognise that you are the same good old
Jackson, whom I am proud to call a friend.--Yours sincerely,
"DENIS QUIRK."
As he closed the note and handed it to Tim O'Neill, Molly Healy entered
the office. Like Kathleen O'Connor, she resented Denis Quirk's treatment
of Desmond, and she had come to express her sentiments openly.
"Are you busy?" she asked.
"Not more so than usual; a pile of advertisements and correspondence, a
few proofs to glance at, and a council committee at ten. I can spare you
five minutes," he answered.
"I have not come to talk gently to you," said Molly. "I think you should
be ashamed of yourself for your treatment of Desmond O'Connor."
"Now, Miss Molly, have you considered this question carefully? Just sit
down for five minutes, and hear me explain it to you."
Molly Healy took a chair reluctantly, her face expressing a
determination not to be convinced.
"Desmond O'Connor," he said, and all the while he was stamping and
closing envelopes, "came under the influence of a man----."
"Gerard!" she cried, interrupting him.
"John Gerard. If he had remained here that influence must have ruined
him."
"And could you not separate the two?" she asked.
"Not I, nor you; not even Father Healy. Desmond was gambling, he was
beginning to drink; he would have degenerated into an habitual
drunkard----."
"I as much as told him that myself," said Molly Healy.
"Outside there," he pointed to the window towards the east, "in
Melbourne, lies the boy's chance. It was not for my sake I sent him
packing. That boy was useful to me, and I can never replace him; but
better 'The Mercury' should suffer than he and Kathleen O'Connor."
"Well, you're not a bad sort of man," she remarked. "Your heart's better
than your face."
Denis Quirk laughed heartily at her remark.
"You don't like my face?" he remarked. "Haven't I been called the
ugliest man in Grey Town? And proud I am of it."
"Good-day!" cried Molly Healy. "I will not ruin your paper, after all,
as I had intended doing. But my heart is sore for poor Desmond--out
there."
She, in turn, pointed towards the east before she left the office.
This day was spent by Denis Quirk in fighting. In the council committee
he came into conflict with the man whom he regarded as the greatest
opponent to the progress of Grey Town. This was Councillor Garnett, and
he was not above the suspicion that he made use of his privileges to
further his own ends. Apart from this, he was at once narrow-minded and
obstinate. For such men as he Denis Quirk had no mercy.
The council of Grey Town was not unlike other municipal councils--its
members honest for the greater part, but many of them men who followed
old traditions, and believed that quiet things should not be moved. For
many years they had lived under a system of accepting the imperfect, and
never attempting to make it more perfect. Of these easy-going,
self-satisfied gentlemen Councillor Garnett was the chief.
This special meeting of the council had been summoned to consider the
condition of the roads in the town. Year after year the council had
spent less money on the roads than they deserved, and year after year
the roads had degenerated. At this time they were deplorable, and Denis
Quirk had compelled his fellow-councillors to take action. After a drive
around the town, they met to discuss ways and means, and then occurred a
scene that was the first skirmish in a fierce campaign.
At this time Denis Quirk stood practically alone. Opposed to him was a
body of resolute Conservatives; between the two factions, a few who
hesitated, favouring Denis Quirk rather than Councillor Garnett. The
debate began gently, but it ended in such a storm as the municipal
council chamber had never witnessed before.
The mayor, a kindly man, was at his wits' end to keep the peace. Again
and again he called the two parties to order, until finally the meeting
broke up, Denis Quirk having been defeated.
But he was the last man to accept defeat. From the municipal chambers he
hurried round the town to convene an indignation meeting for the
following week. Meanwhile he laid his case before the public in the
columns of "The Mercury." This accomplished, he turned home to "Layton."
Councillor Garnett was hand in glove with Ebenezer Brown, and the latter
was, above all things, a good hater. He had little cause to love Denis
Quirk, and he possessed not a little power in the town, gained by
illicit means. In those days there were factions in Grey Town, as there
always will be where progress confronts stagnation. The skirmishes and
battles were fought over mere trifles, but they were fought none the
less bitterly for that reason. Day after day Denis Quirk found himself
defeated; yet day after day he gained strength, a member here and there
from the doubtful councillors, and public approbation abroad.
But at home in "Layton" he was not happy, for he recognised relentless
hostility on the part of Kathleen O'Connor, and he realised that John
Gerard was too intimate with the girl. It was not for him to remonstrate
with her. He had no right to speak, no reasons to advance against
Gerard, beyond an unreasoning antipathy. In his heart of hearts he
believed that Gerard, now an agent in the town, was a worthless fellow,
but such unproven beliefs are useless. He could only look on hopelessly,
and trust that time would put things straight.
Desmond O'Connor paid a flying visit to "Layton" in the summer. He came
quite unexpectedly, and surprised Kathleen one afternoon when she was
reading to Mrs. Quirk out in the garden. Molly Healy was there, too,
cutting flowers for the church, returning every now and again to
interrupt the reading.
Desmond O'Connor came walking up the avenue, lined by trees and shrubs,
and paused to look at the group on the green lawn under the shade of a
large elm tree. He looked fresh and bright in his face, although it had
lost some of the tan associated with country life. His eye was clear,
and his step free; there was the dignity of self-respect in the way in
which he carried himself.
Molly Healy was the first to see him. Shading her eyes with her hand to
avoid the glare of the sun, she took one look at him. Then she dropped
her basket of flowers, and hurried towards him, crying:
"It is Desmond himself!"
Kathleen sprang up and dropped her book. The two girls hastened to meet
him.
"Take him away to your room, Kathleen," said Mrs. Quirk, when she had
welcomed Desmond. "I can look after myself, and you have much to talk
about."
"Let me look after you, Granny," cried Molly Healy; but she cast a
regretful eye at Kathleen and Desmond.
"No, Molly; you can come with us and hear what he has to say for
himself," said Kathleen.
"May I, then? But I would only be in the way," suggested Molly.
"Not one bit, Molly. Come and listen to my wonderful tale of
adventure--a story of robbers slain, wild animals subdued, good fairies
and witches," said Desmond.
"I hope you are minding your soul. It is a dangerous place for young
men, is Melbourne," said Mrs. Quirk.
"Oh, that's all right," replied Desmond, airily. "I am not on the side
of the saints or the sinners."
Molly Healy noted this reply, but she abstained from commenting on it.
She was shrewd enough to recognise that the man who boasts of
lukewarmness is generally something less than tepid.
"You will be coming to see the Father?" she suggested.
"You must make my excuses, Molly. I am here to-day and back in Melbourne
to-morrow. I have fallen on my feet. Where do you think I am working?"
he asked Kathleen as they walked towards the house.
"On a paper," she suggested.
"No; in an advertising agency, the biggest in Melbourne, drawing posters
for them, and helping in the business. I shall be a partner before long.
Jackson, the boss, has been a good friend to me, and Mrs. Jackson might
be a mother, and Sylvia--a sister."
The hesitation that preceded the latter part of this speech was not
lost upon Molly Healy. It caused her a spasm of pain that was sharp, if
it was only short-lived, for she was a girl, if a sensible and healthy
one, and she always had greatly admired Desmond O'Connor.
In the dining-room they sat down close together.
"I am glad you have such good friends? How did you find them?" asked
Kathleen.
"I can't for the life of me discover that. Jackson came to see me and
offered to help me. I rather fancy Gerard must have sent him."
"Gerard!" cried Molly Healy, scornfully. "Do you fancy he would take so
much trouble? It is 'out of sight as good as buried' with Gerard."
Kathleen O'Connor flushed up at these words, but refrained from reply.
Desmond answered banteringly:
"You will hate to the end, Molly?"
"Sure, my hates are as enduring as my loves," said Molly. "You can
always know how you will find Molly Healy."
"I don't think you are quite fair to Gerard," said Desmond.
"Now, tell us about--Sylvia Jackson, Desmond," said Kathleen, anxious to
terminate the discussion.
"Sylvia Jackson," he answered, with an assumed carelessness, that was in
itself suspicious to the critical ears of Molly Healy. "Why are you so
anxious to hear about her?"
"Is she pretty?" asked Kathleen.
Molly Healy watched him curiously, and noted a certain embarrassment in
his face.
"That is a question of taste. Some people consider her pretty," he
answered.
"And why not say that Desmond O'Connor is one of those people? Of course
she is pretty, Kathleen, and charming and kind to Desmond. Didn't he say
so? Are you kind to her, Desmond?" cried Molly.
"Kind to her?" he replied, with a species of horror in his voice, as if
one of his most sacred convictions had been criticised. "One cannot be
kind to a girl like Sylvia Jackson."
"And why not kind?" asked Molly.
"I admire and respect--in fact, I almost reverence--her. She is so"--he
paused for a suitable word--"so ethereal. She is more like a spirit than
a piece of common human nature."
Molly Healy was with great difficulty attempting to restrain a giggle.
She recognised that to give her amusement full play would be to
grievously annoy him. For this reason she turned to look out of the
window, thrusting her handkerchief into her mouth the while.
"Does she play?" asked Kathleen.
"She plays and sings divinely. She does everything well. To dance with
her--is----."
He ended abruptly, not being capable of giving full expression to his
sensations when dancing with Sylvia Jackson.
"Denis Quirk!" cried Molly Healy, and climbed through the window. It
was a relief to her to give her mirth full vent.
"Ethereal! Poor Desmond! I wonder will he recover?" she laughed.
"You will not be rude to him?" Kathleen asked her brother anxiously.
He laughed unrestrainedly. All resentment against Denis Quirk was long
forgotten, for his anger was short-lived.
"I regard him as a benefactor. He has released me from the thraldom of
Grey Town and introduced me to the larger life," he answered.
"Whatever you do, don't speak to him of Sylvia, or I shall laugh," cried
Molly on meeting Denis Quirk.
"You are speaking Dutch puzzles, Miss Molly. Who and what are he and
Sylvia?" he answered.
"Desmond O'Connor is him, and Sylvia a spirit, just a woman that's
ethereal and a spirit. I am thinking poor Desmond is love sick."
Desmond followed Molly through the window, and came with outstretched
hand to meet his former chief. Kathleen O'Connor, watching from the
window, admired her brother's magnanimity. She would herself have unbent
to Denis long ago had it not been for Gerard's influence, and for the
dread lest her brother should be lost in the darkness of the great city
life.
Denis took the proffered hand and wrung it cordially. One glance at the
open face convinced him that his plan had proved successful; the drink
fiend had been exorcised.
"And how is Melbourne treating you?" he asked.
"Better than I deserve. I have found good work and good friends,"
replied Desmond.
"I knew you would come out all right, lad," said Denis, kindly. "What is
your work--papers or politics?"
"Nothing so grand; just advertising."
"Then you are at the very top, for advertising is the great power these
times. You will make and unmake kings and emperors of commerce."
Kathleen O'Connor was that evening kinder and more gracious to Denis
Quirk than she had been since Desmond had gone away. Mrs. Quirk, who had
noted their estrangement with wondering sorrow, smiled placidly as she
heard them laughing, while Molly Healy and Desmond exchanged jests
together.
"You are not cross with Denis now, Honey?" she asked the girl after the
two men had left the house--Denis for his office, and Desmond for the
hotel. "He is good at heart, if sometimes quick in his temper."
Molly Healy, who was preparing to drive home in Father Healy's jinker,
cried out:
"Denis is a great man! His heart is as big as your own, Granny!"
Kathleen kissed the old lady as she answered:
"I could not long be cross with anyone whom you loved."
"God reward you, Honey, for your kindness to an old woman," said Mrs.
Quirk, lovingly.