THE LUCK OF THE IRISH
fication-book representing the ownership of six hundred pounds, and the chief himself had made a memorandum on his calendar.
"I'll tell you what. Stick to the hotel. They won't bother you with any bill for a couple of weeks, and by that time the chief will be home. Frankly, in this half-way port you don't trust everybody. There's a lot of strange driftwood floating around, and we have our eyes open. I've been stung a dozen times. You stick to the hotel. If they come to you with any bill before the chief returns, hunt me up and I'll try to explain to the management."
"That's pretty white."
"You're welcome. Over here about all we do is to straighten out financial tangles for tourists—and they are always losing money and trunks; ship broken sailors back home; and play charity generally, and no thanks. Anyhow, I'll take a chance. Drop in once in a while and let me know how things work out."
"Sounds pretty good to hear some one talk United States. Thanks."
William returned to the office of the hotel and engaged the cheapest room he could find. On the morrow he would look around for a job—that is, if Ruth were no worse.
From eleven until three he stood his watch while the nurse slept. Man and wife, he mused; the yellow-bird wedded to the crow. What would she do, how would she act, when she came back from this no-land where fevered fancies go?
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