THE LUCK OF THE IRISH
"Can I do anything for you?"
"I don't know. My wife is in the hotel, down with brain fever. I have about twelve dollars. My letter of credit is in Hong-Kong, and I can't get it until the consul-general backs up my identity."
"Give me all the details and I'll see what can be done. It will be impossible to reach the chief by telegraph. They go miles up north into the jungles."
William gave the clerk the essential details, and to verify these the clerk inspected the chief's desk calendar: "Memo. Write Cook Hong-Kong relative W. Grogan's letter of credit." The clerk was glad to run across this memorandum; it gave some color to the story.
"I'm afraid he went away without sending that letter. A cable would do no earthly good in a case like this. By this time Cook's people must be up in the air, and the consulate seal would be necessary before they would surrender the letter. I'm sorry, but I have no authority to act."
"I don't care about myself. If I was sure everything would be all right with her, I could manage to shift somehow."
The clerk chewed the end of his lead-pencil. He did not know how to act. Not a day passed that some clever rogue did not try to put through a bit of fraud. He himself had been imposed upon several times, and the word "money" sent him back into his shell. Yet this chap had the identi-
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