O'Flaherty to intoxication, but the Monday brought him back once more to soda water and literature.
It was seldom, indeed, that the Advertiser aroused interest enough to cause any one to assemble round the Office. Ezra's heart gave a quick flutter at the sight, and he gathered himself together like a runner who sees his goal in view. Throwing away his cigar, he hurried on and joined the little crowd.
"What's the row?" he asked.
"There's news come by the mail," said one or two bystanders. "Big news."
"What sort of news?"
"Don't know yet."
"Who said there was news?"
"Driver."
"Where is he?"
"Don't know."
"Who will know about it?"
"O'Flaherty."
Here there was a general shout from the crowd for O'Flaherty, and an irascible-looking man, with a red bloated face and bristling hair came to the office door.
"Now, what the divil d'ye want?" he roared, shaking a quill pen at the crowd. "What are ye after at all? Have ye nothing betther to do than to block up the door of a decent office?"
"What's the news?" cried a dozen voices.
"The news, is it?" roared O'Flaherty, more angrily than ever; "and can't ye foind out that by paying your sixpences like men, and taking the Advertoiser? It's a paper, though Oi says it as shouldn't, that would cut out some o' these Telegraphs and Chronicles if it was only in London. Begad, instead of encouraging local talent ye spind your toime standing around in the strate, and trying to suck a man's news out of him for nothing."
"Look here, boss," said a rough-looking fellow in the front of the crowd, "you keep your hair on, and don't get
