THE LUCK OF THE IRISH
several strings of coral beads (made of some kind of gum) and a spangled shawl he intended to take back to the Widow Hanlon, his landlady. He was soon to learn that he was entering a world of shopkeepers whose knowledge of truth was based upon hearsay only.
When they returned to the ship she was tired and happy and he was only happy. He grumbled a little because he could not wander through the town at night.
Camden, whom they had both forgotten, was leaning over the rail as the tender drew alongside. He soon picked out William, quite as easily as he would have picked out a poppy in a wheat-field. He watched the two thoughtfully. He saw William catch her by the arm and swing her to the platform of the ladder. It was one of those feats of strength that are not impressive because accomplished without apparent effort.
"Gad! the man is a Hercules! I'd like to see him in a real fight, a rough-and-tumble where his life depended upon it. I'd give a year of my life to witness something like that."
When William dressed for dinner that night he had the cabin to himself. He studied his face in the little mirror. To him that face appeared utterly hopeless. Red hair which wouldn't stay put unless he plastered it down, ears like pie-plant leaves, skin like a German trout's, neck like a stevedore's. … What was the use? He would always be a plumber. What woman would think of marrying a yap with a phiz like his? Even the
99
