“‘Come to my hotel for the night,’ I said to Kearny. ‘We sail to-morrow at noon.’
“He agreed; but on the sidewalk he fell to cursing again in the dull, monotonous, glib way that he had done when I pulled him out of the coal cellar.
“‘Captain,’ said he, ‘before we go any further, it’s no more than fair to tell you that I’m known from Baffin’s Bay to Terra del Fuego as “Bad-Luck” Kearny. And I’m It. Everything I get into goes up in the air except a balloon. Every bet I ever made I lost except when I coppered it. Every boat I ever sailed on sank except the submarines. Everything I was ever interested in went to pieces except a patent bombshell that I invented. Everything I ever took hold of and tried to run I ran into the ground except when I tried to plough. And that’s why they call me Bad-Luck Kearny. I thought I’d tell you.’
“‘Bad luck,’ said I, ‘or what goes by the name, may now and then tangle the affairs of any man. But if it persist beyond the estimate of what we may call the “averages” there must be a cause for it.’
“‘There is,’ said Kearny emphatically, ‘and when we walk another square I will show it to you.’
“Surprised, I kept by his side until we came to Canal Street and out into the middle of its great width.
“Kearny seized me by an arm and pointed a tragic forefinger at a rather brilliant star that shone steadily about thirty degrees above the horizon.
“‘That’s Saturn,’ said he, ‘the star that presides over bad luck and evil and disappointment and nothing
