"I never knew I was an emotional man before, but it makes my eyes wet to see you," he explained, as he blew his nose violently, and gripped Denis Quirk's hand. "You swear not to leave us again?" he asked.
"Not until I am called for, Cairns. Upon my life, Cairns, I never knew how much I loved you until to-day," Denis answered. He wrung Cairns' hand until the editor winced. Then he went in haste to interview the staff.
"Tim O'Neill!" he cried, meeting that youth outside the editor's office, "how far up the ladder have you climbed?"
"Senior reporter, sir. Glad to see you back, Mr. Quirk."
"Thank you, Tim. I suppose you will be leaving us soon, now that you are famous?"
"Not unless you tell me to go, sir. I am quite happy here—plenty of work, and, now you are back," Tim asked wistfully, "there will be some fighting to do?"
"You are a worthy descendant of a fighting race, Imp. Is there anything perfect in Grey Town?"
"No, sir, nothing quite perfect—excepting Miss O'Connor," Tim answered with a blush.
"Nothing perfect! Then we must fight. Take down your blackthorn, Tim, and get your muscle up."
In this manner he passed from one to another, and the "Mercury" staff was one broad smile of joy and satisfaction, for they all loved the big, ugly man.