THE LUCK OF THE IRISH
"You'll enjoy it. I took the grand tour seven years ago. My name is Richard Camden. I believe we sit at the same table."
"Mine is William Grogan, and this is my first trip anywhere that amounts to anything."
"I envy you. Everything will be new and strange. I'm not going around myself. Called to Europe suddenly; and this was the only boat leaving at the time. I had to hustle."
"Ye-ah. I noticed that when you came on board."
Camden laughed. "I recollect bumping into you. I apologize again."
"Passed by the censor," said William, with a wave of his hand. "I wonder these gulls never get tired."
"Gulls never tire."
"Same class as suckers; I see. They keep coming back."
Camden laughed again. This red-headed young man was keen. Trust a New-Yorker to get the undertow. Merely the inflection of tone, and yet he had caught the ironic spirit back of the words.
"The young lady who sat between us last night at dinner is charming."
An indefinable something warned William to be wary. He had a natural distrust for well-dressed idlers, especially when they spoke of women. Was the man trying to pump him?
"You're right; she is. I've known her for three years."
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