THE LUCK OF THE IRISH
there was a strange beauty in his face. He loved children.
The only D. A. R. in northwest Kansas consulted him about taking up the collection for the seamen's fund; the only poet in southwest Pennsylvania complained to him of the inconsistencies of D'Annunzio's flights; the first mayor of Spottsville, Oklahoma, (Mr. Spotts) discoursed on our foreign policies; and the most important invalid on board drew diagrams of his various operations for William's edification. The two young Misses Doolittle (from up-State)—their father had served a term in the State Legislature—described William as "delicious"! The old men called him the human dynamo; the old ladies whose feet he sometimes tucked in declared that he was "a dear"; and the children called him "great." Such a man may be a "character," but he is never insignificant.
They dropped the Azores, and that night William ran afoul a most peculiar adventure. He had finished his second cigar after dinner it was about eleven and was taking a three-times-around before turning in. His thoughts centered upon his school-teacher, naturally.
This train of thought was abruptly and painfully derailed by human energy. Some one fell upon his back like the old man of the sea, out of nowhere.
