THE LUCK OF THE IRISH
"Oh yes. A mighty readable fairy-story."
"Well, say! Next thing you'll be telling me you've read Old Sleuth."
Old stick-in-the-mud chuckled. "Well, maybe I have."
"Good Lord! Now I know you're human."
Laughter has dissolved more enmities, dissipated more gloom, welded more friendships than all your philosophies bunched together. And when this odd trio caught their breaths, they were friends.
Immediately one began to talk about Africa, about deserts and sand-buried cities, the wonders of K antiquity, adventure upon adventure, quite as remarkable as anything William had ever read.
The first bugle for luncheon took him to the port side again. He had forgotten all about Gibraltar!
"Amiable Irishman, Arthur."
"Yes, he is, Henrik. And I rather liked the way he brought about that bit relative to the water-pipes."
"Aren't they a wonderful people? Did we ever go anywhere without finding one of them building something—railroads, bridges, canals, harbors; working and fighting and letting the other man carry off the money and the glory? It's the game, Arthur; you and I know. It isn't Mr. Grogan's lack of education that irritates you; it's his youth and all the game that's before him."
"Perhaps that is it."
From the jetty tender to the old gun-galleries
97
