THE LUCK OF THE IRISH
"Elsa, out of New York."
"Where's she bound?"
"Perak," said the boatswain, not very civilly.
This was welcome news to William. The Elsa would be out of the way for at least eight weeks. He could now go through India and Burma without looking over his shoulder every time he passed an alley after dark. What if the man had given up the chase? What if he had suddenly tired of the game? No; a man did not travel ten or twelve thousand miles without having made up his mind rather definitely. It was a temporary truce; William refused to deceive himself. He determined to lessen his vigilance in no respect.
He spoke to the boatswain again, prompted by the desire to throw a mild bomb into the enemy's camp. For the moment the gamin was in the ascendant.
"Say, you tell Mr. Colburton that Mr. Grogan says he hopes the worst will happen. Ye-ah." The boatswain stared at him in open-mouth amazement. "And you might add that if either he or Mr. Camden speaks to Miss Jones again, it 'll be a cot on the sunny side of the hospital—that is, if it turns out to be a doctor's job instead of an undertaker's. So long, Mary!"
A gamin, when he shoots his verbal bolt, tarries not for reply. His victory depends upon the last word. William turned and marched away, whistling cheerfully. Anyhow, the jackal and his master would understand that the brindle watch-dog was loose in the front yard o' nights.
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