“Good evening, everybody,” said the newspaper man. “How’s chess?”
Cheerio had recovered himself sufficiently to return the grip of the other’s hand.
“Why, hello!”
Mallison chuckled.
“Didn’t expect to see me back, did you? I’ll tell you just what I’m up for. No—not after a chess story this time. Do you remember talking to me about a job on the Blizzard? Well, Munns—our city editor—thinks he can make a place for you.”
It was the snapping closed of the door that apprised them of the departure of Hilda. Cheerio looked at it thoughtfully, with an element of sadness, and perhaps of new resolve.
“Look here,” he said to his friend. “You’ve come in the n-nick of time, I might say. Fact is, old man, I—I’d like most awfully a chance to see to—to—demonstrate m-m-my ability—t-to do s-something worth while, you know. C-carn’t go on being a beggar, you understand. G-got to s-s-succeed, don’t you know.”
Mallison did know. He grinned appreciatively.
“Then you’ll go back with me to Calgary to-night?”
“Can’t do that very well, old man.”