THE LUCK OF THE IRISH
it had not been constructed for the solving of problems. It readily absorbed pictures and construed their import relative to life, but in the realm of pure thinking it was the old story of the round peg in the square hole.
The problem which confronted him was too big for his resources, too deep for his deductions to reach bottom, and too close for a clear perspective. When a man's in love he is not much good for anything else. William tried in vain to crush down this love, to divorce it from the sexual, to play the brother in spirit as well as in fact. But he never came close to Ruth now that he did not long fiercely to snatch her up in his arms and never let her go. How long could he hold out? He lacked the diversions of a well-educated man; the obsession was always with him. Why hadn't he some fad like these two archeologists, something that would for the time being make him forget everything else in the world? Once upon a time he had poked fun at them; now he envied them from the bottom of his heart. They never knew any heartaches. Naturally he forgot that these two old bachelors had once been young like himself. And who was he to say that they carried no tombs in their hearts?
In no mood for his bunk, William loitered by the gang-plank and smoked. There came an interval when both dock and ship seemed deserted except for himself. Presently he saw a man emerge from the gloom, stagger to the gang-plank, and climb up. His efforts were spasmodic. He would
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