THE LUCK OF THE IRISH
once I fancy you can cut down your profits a little to save us time."
The manager finally agreed to the terms, and William started back to town. The sweat he wiped from his forehead could not be charged to the heat. Two hundred dollars! There was something in this Irish luck, after all.
On the day William pocketed his precious forty pounds Ruth opened her eyes sanely. William came into the room just as he had left the ship. His finger-nails were broken and grimed, his face was streaked with sweat and dust, his clothes were covered with oil-stains and emanated the odor of gasolene, and his beard was three days old. When he saw sanity in her glance, he broke down; and the nurse, fearful that his emotion might upset the patient, ordered him from the room.
In a little while he begged the nurse to let him come back; he promised he'd make no noise, that he would not touch the patient; all he wanted was to see if he was really recognized. It was hard for the nurse to deny this man anything, now that she knew him.
"Just for a minute," she said. "She must have absolute quiet."
William tiptoed to the bed. "Do you know me, sister?"
Sister? He called her that? Had it been a dream, then? But Ruth was too weak and tired to think. She smiled a little and closed her eyes.
As troubles never come singly, neither do the good things. The consul-general returned from
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