THE LUCK OF THE IRISH
Great scientists are dreadful spendthrifts. They ask for nothing but the fact itself, and most of them die in poverty. My father did; and he never found his fact."
"I'm sorry. I suppose it's because I'm young, alive, and hungry three times a day. You never ran across a young archeologist, did you?"
"Not that I can recall," she answered, smiling suddenly. After all, she had no right to lecture him. She could have stated her facts without unnecessary heat.
"So you've had to fight for bread and butter, the same as I have?"
"Yes." And the little corner of the curtain fell, to be stirred no more that day.
William figuratively heard the tinkle of falling glass. His captivating romance lay shattered at his feet. She was not a rich man's daughter; she was the daughter of a man who had died in poverty. It took her down from the stars, but on the other hand it wrapped her in a fog. Perhaps the clerk in Cook's was wrong, after all; perhaps she wasn't running away from anything.
On Monday afternoon there were games; and with his usual enthusiasm William entered each contest, winning the pillow-fight astride a spar. He wasn't afraid to laugh, and his roars could be heard above the general laughter. He was like a boy of ten in enthusiasm, but behind this was the strength of a lion and the agility of a leopard. For the rest of the afternoon he was a hero to the children, who followed him about the deck; and
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