THE LUCK OF THE IRISH
Dumbly he went down to the outside café and sat in one of the wicker chairs. He fell asleep almost immediately. He was aroused at dawn by the Chinese scrubs.
Up-stairs there was no change. The nurse slept on a cot in the veranda, while William watched and changed the ice-packs until nine. The nurse then relieved him.
He began to conside his finances. He had thirty-six rupees—about twelve dollars. Ruth's checks would be so much waste paper until she could properly indorse them. If she died … No; God wouldn't do that! And he had believed that trip to Hong-Kong and return the worst hell that could be meted out to him. He had only stepped into the anteroom. Twelve dollars! His only hope lay in the promise of the consul-general.
He went back to the annex of the hotel, where the offices of the American consulate were located, and asked to see the consul-general.
"He is away," said the clerk.
"When will he be back?"
"I can't say. In a week, maybe; he may stay a fortnight. The Sultan of Johore is giving a hunting party. The consul-general left rather unexpectedly last night. But there is seldom anything of importance going on in Singapore at this time of the year."
"Seldom anything of importance!" repeated William, sitting down because a strange attack at his knees made it impossible for him to stand.
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