'Oh no,' said Kirker, 'we help each other. For instance, if Daddy Walsh, the Argus chief, is drunk, I help him; and if I'm drunk, he helps me. I'm going down to the Frying Pan to see him now.'
'The Frying Pan?' echoed Rob.
'It's a literary club,' Kirker explained, 'and very exclusive. If you come with me I'll introduce you.'
Rob was somewhat taken aback at what he had heard, but he wanted to be on good terms with his fellow-workers.
'Not to-night,' he said. 'I think I'd better be getting home now.'
Kirker lit another cigarette, and saying he would expect Rob at the office next morning, strolled off. The new reporter was undecided whether to follow him at once, or to wait for Mr. Licquorish's reappearance. He was looking round the office curiously, when the door opened and Kirker put his head in.
'By the bye, old chap,' he said, 'could you lend me five bob?'
'Yes, yes,' said the new reporter.
He had to undo the string of his money-bag, but the chief was too fine a gentleman to smile.
'Thanks, old man,' Kirker said carelessly, and again withdrew.