THE LUCK OF THE IRISH
The three of them trooped out of the doctor's cabin and headed for the smoke-room. As William drank his ginger-ale a brilliant idea popped into his head. He excused himself and sought an interview with the purser.
"Say, any Japs on board?"
"Oh yes; two second-class passengers."
"How old are they?" asked William, carelessly.
"Old! Well, I should say, sir, that the Jap was about seventy-odd and his wife somewhere around that figure."
"Oh." William's face clearly expressed his disappointment.
"He was the consul at New Orleans, retiring."
"Uh-huh! Thanks. Now, say, this is on the level; have you seen a goat with a bunch of burdocks in its chin-whiskers ambling about?"
"A goat, sir? But we don't permit passengers to bring pets aboard, sir. It's against the company's rules," said the purser, with lively distress.
"I didn't know that, or I'd left this goat of mine behind."
"I say," demanded the purser, brightly, "is this a bit of your Yankee spoofing?"
"Spoofing?"
"Yes. Are you trying to jolly me up—what?"
"Nope. Some one got my goat last night, and as this is the lost-and-found shop, I thought maybe you'd wise me up a bit."
The purser boomed a "Haw-haw!" But William shook his head sadly and turned away. Still, he had found out what he wanted to know.
85
