THE LUCK OF THE IRISH
Four deck-hands appeared at a run. They began working at the canvas canopy.
"What's the trouble?" demanded William, getting up.
"Orders to lash everything, sir. Blow coming up fast out of the sou'east, sir."
William and Ruth ran to the starboard rail and stared at the great evil pall of blue-black clouds pouring up over the eastern horizon. The face of the waters changed even as they gazed.
"A storm!" she cried.
"Well, Cook can't soak us extra for that," said William.
Ruth ran back to the chairs and gathered up the rugs, pillows, and books, piling them into William's outstretched arms. "Hurry!"
The companionway was jammed with excited tourists. William heard "typhoon" and "tornado" and "hurricane"; and one of the missioners began to recount a previous adventure of his in which the ship went down, and was only too happy to go into details. William surged toward him, hoping to get within range of the fool's shins. But the second officer spoke up loudly. Typhoon was all nonsense; only a stiffish blow was coming and would probably be over in an hour or two.
William was not satisfied, however. He knew where he could get the truth; and so he started for the chief engineer's cabin. But as he encountered that officer in the act of descending to the engine-room, his official drill exchanged for greasy dunga-
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