THE LUCK OF THE IRISH
tubs, lay water-mains, sewers, and do the job well. Did you ever stop to think, when you turned a tap on at the top of the forty-story building, that it was a nifty bit of work to get it up there? What's the Himalayas to that?" Inwardly William added. "Now, back away from that, old stick-in-the-mud!"
Old stick-in-the-mud said never a word, but his companion spoke up.
"Young man, thanks for the rebuke. Each man has his niche, his work. And what matters so long as he does it well? Don't you say so, Arthur?"
"Well, yes, Henrik. Perhaps I'm a bit impatient at times. And maybe I judged Mr. Grogan as an idle young man. Suppose we call a truce and try to understand each other better?"
"Sure," agreed William, rather proud of having tamed the old fire-eater.
After a little silence, Clausen spoke up, a thrill in his voice.
"There's Africa, Arthur!"
"Where?" cried William. Africa, King Solomon's Mines, She, and Allan Quartermain! What was more natural than that he should conjure up these mythical tales, which was all the history of Africa he knew anything about? "Where is it?"
"See that dun-colored cloud? Well, that's the foreland."
"Say, I'd like to see Africa the way you two have. Ever read King Solomon's Mines?" William asked, shyly.
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