THE LUCK OF THE IRISH
this time. She struck a roller a thousand years old, and tons and tons of green water rushed over the deck. A forgotten magazine swam about frantically but hopelessly. It fluttered like a wounded gull against a boat-block, then slumped overboard. William chuckled. Inanimate things did not have much show. But a man, now! He was letting himself be carried along by the elemental and irresistible desire to escape this stuffy cabin and to see if he could stand up under that smashing wind and wave. To get out there and fight, to yell back at that infernal bell-like humming! Chinese, was it? Well, he'd like to show the old pigtail that William Grogan was no milksop.
The Ajax began to plunge heavily. William's fancy had made the ship a living thing, and she was fighting. Each time a great monster threatened to engulf her she slammed down her steel forefoot and split it, broke it, shattered it.
"Go it, old girl! Beat 'em down, smash 'em! Don't let 'em bluff you; soak it to 'em! Tha's a girl! Show 'em up! Tell 'em you're from little ol' New York, where they have to show you. Tha's a girl! Wow!"
He had forgotten Camden, he had forgotten Ruth; there was nothing left in the world at all but himself and the storm. He slipped off the lounge and flung his hat to the floor; the ancient Celt was sticking out all over him. He staggered to the port door. This was in the lee, but as he opened it the blast took away his breath. He did
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