THE LUCK OF THE IRISH
frantically. He yelled for little Tony. The three of them executed a tarantella about the embarrassed William. Ruth saw that there was something more than simple cordiality in this effusive welcome.
"Ah, mees, you don' know thees Irisher. But for heem I have no leetle Tony. Si."
"Aw, forget it, Tommy," said William, blushing to his ears. There had been no ulterior purpose in his bringing Ruth to this little farm-house surrounded by fields of artichokes.
"Si, si! I know you, Irisher. See, mees. He beat the Black Han' an' take thees Tony boy away from them an' save me all the money I have in dees worl'. An' now he say, 'Forget eet!' But I don't forget. Oh, the poleece could do nothing. But thees big red-head he go right into them Black Han's an' beat them up weeth hees fists. Soch a fight! Three to one. Bam, bam, bam! Good-night, good-by; an' eet is done! Like that! An' he say, 'Forget eet!' Va via! You mek me laugh. … Maria!" he shrieked! "the chairs, the wine, the cheese, the ripe olives, an' the pickled artichokes! Presto!"
"And so I find you a hero," said Ruth, on the way back through the pale sapphire twilight.
"Why, I didn't do anything but punch a couple of frightened wops."
"But Tommaso's wife said that they were armed and you were not."
"And if I'd 've known that I wouldn't have butted in, believe me! But, say, that Tony boy
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