THE LUCK OF THE IRISH
Well, they were young; they could wait. She wanted it so, and she was captain. When a woman got such an idea in her head, arguments were useless. He could get her point of view readily enough, but she could not get his. She paid for those pearls a thousand times over, but he couldn't convince her of that. One thing, he would never look upon a pearl again without a glow of anger. Sixteen little round white pebbles worth four thousand dollars!
He heard a footfall. He turned and saw Ruth coming toward him. There was a look on her face that quickened his pulse. She forced him back into the chair and perched herself upon the arm, curling her fingers in his hair.
"William Grogan," she said.
"Well, friend wife, what's happened?"
She told him.
Ruth laid the little box on the jeweler's counter. "I should like to price sixteen pearls to match these and fill out the string."
The jeweler emptied the box on a bit of velours. He rolled the pearls about with the tip of his finger, picked one up and scrutinized it carefully. Then he walked over to the window, where he adjusted his glass. More scrutiny. He returned.
"Are you under the impression, madam, that these are real pearls?" he asked, staring curiously at Ruth's pale but interesting face.
"Impression?" she echoed.
"Yes. I can give you sixteen that will match up
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