A voice hailed him, recalling him to pulsing actualities. It was that of Mead, his fellow-worker upon the staff of the Courier.
"Hello!" remarked Mead, shaking O'Byrn's hand. "Great story! You've won that bet, all right."
"What bet?" returned Micky, listlessly.
"Why, that Santa Claus bet about Shaughnessy," rejoined the other, producing a ten dollar bill. "You know, in the lunch room that time; that he'd get his. Well, you're a wizard and here you are. It's a little early, but Boynton's grave is waitin'. Don't be bashful. I've made twice the stuff already with outside specials on your story. Thought I'd pay you right up, maybe you could use it."
"Thanks, Mead," replied Micky, wearily. "Why, yes, I can use it."
"They're holdin' a pow-wow at the office," pursued Mead. "Harkins, he's walkin' on air. Everyone's speculatin' on how much they'll boost your pay. Wish I'd get half of it. But I'm a dub. Say, Glenwood's out of town. They sent him off on something growin' out of your yarn."
"Sorry he's gone," replied Micky, moving on. "Give him my regards. So long, Mead."
"Ain't he the foolish frost?" wondered Mead, staring curiously after the Irishman. "Doesn't seem to give a damn. Worryin' over his bat, likely. Why, bat or no bat, if I'd turned out that story, I'd—but I couldn't. Switch off!" He shook his head mournfully as he hurried up the street.
O'Byrn proceeded to the writing room of a hotel where he penned three notes, sealed and stamped the envelopes, and slipped them into his pocket. Returning to the street he walked to the corner, stared absently about for a moment and then boarded a street car, harbor bound.
A little later he sat upon the edge of the wharves, his feet dangling above the restless surface of the waters. The workaday bustle and confusion, the shrill cries of roustabouts mingling with the thumping din of manhandled freight, the clatter of trucks, the tramp of countless feet, the shrieks of whistles and hoarse growl of gongs; all these were as if they had not been to a mind capable of such absorption that it could, did occasion demand, work undisturbed in the thunderous roar of a rolling mill.