THE LUCK OF THE IRISH
William's hat and placed it upon the dazed young man's knees. He was thoroughly enjoying this scene; he wasn't a bad man at heart; he was only a lawyer. When he put the magical slip of paper into William's trembling hand his joy was complete. He had imagination; he knew what was going on in William's head.
"Don't pinch me, I might wake up. … And thirty-one cents!"
"What are you going to do with it?" asked Mr. Bell, curiously.
William suddenly recalled Mr. Burns's warning relative to lawyers.
"Well, I don't know," he said, doubtfully. "I suppose I'm liable to raise hell with this thirty-one cents. The Great White Way, huh? Why, I can make the Subway blasts sound like bursting paper bags. Nix on the glow-worm, Lena! This dough is going to be old-age stuff, believe me. No over-the-hills for William Grogan. Every dollar is worth exactly one hundred and four cents. I've got eight hundred in the bank, and I know."
"That's the proper spirit. If you want any help regarding investments, come to me," said Mr. Bell. He was having a fine time; he felt that glowing satisfaction which is always warming up the hearts of good fairies.
"What's this cost me?"
"Nothing. All the fees have been paid."
"From the dollar-sign, then, to and including the thirty-one cents is mine?"
"Absolutely. And I wish you good luck with
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