# The Luck of the Irish/Chapter 6
### CHAPTER VI

WILLIAM was strong, quick, and aggressive, but the sudden jab in the locality of his kidneys took all the fight out of him; the power, mind you, not the will to fight. The pain was excruciating; breathing was a torture. The kidney blow, as in boxing, was well known to him; but his unseen assailant had hit an unknown spot, causing a kind of paralysis. He felt his wrists seized in a grip which was like cold wire, drawn back, and clutched by one hand. It seemed incredible that any human being could render him so helpless. The free hand began to rifle the coat pockets. It was all very fast work. William subconsciously paid tribute to this. He had not boxed all these years without being able to recognize speed and skill. Even while this thought was passing through his head, the man behind gave him a kick back of the knee-joint; and the bewildered William went floundering among the stacked steamer chairs. When he crawled to his feet he was alone.
At once he took inventory. His wallet, with some thirty-odd dollars, was gone; but his watch was safe, as was his letter of credit, which he carried in the hip pocket of his trousers.
​He was thinking strongly. Held up and robbed as easily as though he had been a child! It was galling. What made him furious was not the loss of his wallet; it was the thought that he hadn't been able to strike a single blow. He rubbed his back tenderly and massaged the under side of his knee. Helpless as a babe in a cradle!—he, who had always taken pride in the agility of his legs and the ability of his fists! He was a bit vain of his strength, being Irish; and the blow to his vanity was a severe one. It was not a braggart's vanity, however; it was based upon a hundred and ninety pounds of splendid bone and muscle and the knowledge of how to manipulate these scientifically.
A jab in the kidneys, a kick back of the knee, and then, good night! He knew that it had not been accidental. The man had known just where to place those blows; and it was this fact that interested him. He had heard vaguely of the Japanese science called jiu-jitsu, but through ignorance had regarded its usefulness contemptuously. It did not occur to him at that moment that he had been treated to a very good example of its efficacy.
He sensibly did not waste any time prowling about. The play was over; the audience could go home. Whoever had robbed him was in safe quarters by now. So he limped to the companionway and went down to his cabin. He found his ancients asleep, so he moved about carefully. He wasn't up to any Shalmaneser to-night. He ​crawled into his berth and lay there, thinking. He finally came to the conclusion to say nothing. His wallet, thirty dollars, and a few useless odds and ends were gone. But the next time any one jumped on his back he was going to lie down swiftly; and then woe to the man he turned over on! Which was very good counter jiu-jitsu, had he but known it.
He was late the next morning, and when he arrived on deck he found his school-teacher playing shuffleboard with Camden. They were laughing and jesting, and the girl's cheeks were dyed with color. William's "good morning" lacked its accustomed grin. He was not without a commendable sense of justice. Why didn't he like this man Camden, against whom he could find nothing save that he wore his clothes to the manner born, that he was slender, elegant, good-looking, was as much at ease with women as with men, and that nothing ever seemed to disturb his equanimity? "He's the canary in the aviary, and I'm the bull in the china-shop," was William's commentary. Was it the disparity in grace and outward appearance that set in motion this subtle antagonism? William always denied vehemently that he was ever stirred by class prejudice; and I honestly believe he was free of this incurable canker. Doubtless the feeling was, as I have already remarked, a matter of plain male jealousy.
The two finished the game, and Camden extended the stick to William.
"Try a game?"
​"Not this morning. Got a game leg."
"Why, I noticed that you limped!" said the girl.
Immediately William's spirits went up ten points. "Stumbled down the companionway last night," he explained.
"Hunt up the ship's doctor," suggested Camden. "He'll give you a dash of liniment. Wrench?"
"Kind of. Where do you find this sawbones?"
"Next to the barber's shop. Any more?" asked Camden, turning.
"No, thanks," she said. "I'm snoozy, and I'll run around to my chair while you show Mr. Grogan where the doctor is."
"Come along, Grogan; we're dismissed."
They found the ship's doctor busily engaged. His patient was William Clark Russell, half-morocco.
"Game leg, doctor," announced Camden. "This young man wants your attention for a moment."
"What's the trouble?"
"Wrench, I guess," said William, diffidently. He was a poor liar.
"Let me have a look at it."
William rolled up his trousers leg protestingly.
"Why, man alive, that's no wrench! It's black and blue underneath. Something struck you there."
"Well, what do you know about that?" cried William. "All I know is I went down, and when I got up I limped. I was wandering around the deck late, and there was a fair wind."
​"Chair broke loose, maybe."
"Oh, it's nothing to fuss over. It 'll be all right by night."
"Well, we'll take the safe side. I'll put a little liniment on it and give it a turn with the bandage."
"Aw!"
"I'm running this," retorted the doctor, reaching into the medicine-rack.
William submitted, but with poor grace.
Camden, a mixture of admiration and puzzlement in his eyes, stared at the Irishman. By and by a little pucker formed above his nose. The Irishman was lying, and lying clumsily.
"I say, Grogan, what really happened to you last night?"
"Huh?"
"You didn't stumble over anything last night, not with that kind of a bruise as the result," declared Camden, with conviction. "You're hiding something. What's the object?"
As for that, William himself was not quite sure what his real object was. He possessed the innate Celtic reluctance to whine over something which could not be remedied. He might start an investigation and sing hullabaloo, but doing so would not restore his wallet nor take away the pain in his knee-joint. Had money changed his point of view? he wondered. Was he too proud to admit that thirty dollars was to him a large sum? He smiled inwardly. A few weeks since he never would have permitted an affair like this to sink into oblivion for lack of effort on his part. ​The ten thousand metropolitan police would have been notified, along with William Burns. Perhaps he misjudged himself. The loss of money alone would not have started him on the hunt; but it went conceivably against the grain of the Grogans to let a man hold him up and get away with it scatheless. Here on board it was different, to be sure. There were no police. If he notified the purser, the poor devils in the steerage would come in for some unpleasant interrogations.
He stood up and tried the joint. "That's better. The liniment is cool."
"You're a husky chap," said the doctor, admiringly, and he gave William a friendly tap in the small of the back.
"M'm!" William grunted.
"What's the matter?"
"Another sore spot, I guess."
Camden laughed. "Make him strip, doctor. Something fishy about this reluctance."
"Aw, I tell you nothing happened."
"Strip, young man," ordered the doctor.
"Come on, now; we've got to look into this. I want to locate that grunt."
Grumbling, William stripped to the waist. Camden whistled softly.
"Man," cried the doctor, "you've the torso of a Sharkey! H'm! Slight discoloration over the kidneys." The doctor fondled his chin thoughtfully. "I should say, Mr. Grogan, that you'd had a bit of jiu-jitsu. I was on the P. & O. line once. I used to run into a good deal of it among the ​sailors. They'd get into trouble on shore leave. You've heard of jiu-jitsu?"
"Sure."
Camden's admiration turned into keen interest.
"Well, Mr. Grogan, tell us what happened."
"I've told you," replied William, stubbornly.
"Jiu-jitsu all right. Toe and toe, there's not a man on board could beat you if you had any kind of a show."
"No credit to me," replied William, anxious to steer this keen-eyed sawbones off the track. So it had been jiu-jitsu? "I was born this way. My old man could carry a street-car rail with his bare hands. When I was younger I wasn't afraid of a rough-and-tumble."
"Had you been drinking?"
"Who, me? Nope."
Camden laughed.
"Oh, I've heard 'em laugh before, bo," said William. "But you can't lead me to it by laughing. Old John Barleycorn and me don't travel in the same 'bus. Hops on a Saturday night, once in a while, but I never wade in deep. No oath on mother's death-bed stuff. I don't like the smell of red-eye. Maybe I know the game too well. You see, I'm healthy; I'm full of life as a bull-pup! It's a fine thing to take a deep breath in the morning without feeling a kink in the small of your back. That's the reason I don't touch the stuff. I'll tell you," he went on as he dressed. "I'm Irish and red-headed, and fusel-oil's a bad thing under the vest of that breed. Take it from me. ​Haven't I seen 'em hunting for trouble and shedding the briny when they couldn't find it? Sure. And then going home and beating up the old lady? Sure again. An Irishman when he's drunk is generally fighting drunk. So we don't speak beyond a mug of hops once in a while."
"I wish I could say that," Camden confessed. "Many's the morning I've had that kink in the back. So you won't tell us what happened last night?"
"Nope."
"But some one else may get into the same fix," protested the doctor.
"Then let some one else do the hollering."
"You're Irish, all right. Do you box?"
"Couple of times the week. But, believe me, I've a lot to learn in the fight game. I thought I had all the frayed ends. Jiu-jitsu, huh? Well, when I get to Japan I'll have a look at that stuff. It's good." William laughed. "I ought to know. Do you know anything about that game, Camden?"
"I? Lord, no! Feel of this arm."
William felt of it. "Pretty soft. But that's nothing. I've known pugs who looked soft and could hit with the kick of a mule."
"Don't ever point that fist of yours my way."
"If I do," replied William, "you beat it. I'm Irish, red-headed, and none too particular when I'm mad."
"I'll beat it," said Camden, seriously. "Come and have a pop while the doctor and I have our pegs."
​The three of them trooped out of the doctor's cabin and headed for the smoke-room. As William drank his ginger-ale a brilliant idea popped into his head. He excused himself and sought an interview with the purser.
"Say, any Japs on board?"
"Oh yes; two second-class passengers."
"How old are they?" asked William, carelessly.
"Old! Well, I should say, sir, that the Jap was about seventy-odd and his wife somewhere around that figure."
"Oh." William's face clearly expressed his disappointment.
"He was the consul at New Orleans, retiring."
"Uh-huh! Thanks. Now, say, this is on the level; have you seen a goat with a bunch of burdocks in its chin-whiskers ambling about?"
"A goat, sir? But we don't permit passengers to bring pets aboard, sir. It's against the company's rules," said the purser, with lively distress.
"I didn't know that, or I'd left this goat of mine behind."
"I say," demanded the purser, brightly, "is this a bit of your Yankee spoofing?"
"Spoofing?"
"Yes. Are you trying to jolly me up—what?"
"Nope. Some one got my goat last night, and as this is the lost-and-found shop, I thought maybe you'd wise me up a bit."
The purser boomed a "Haw-haw!" But William shook his head sadly and turned away. Still, he had found out what he wanted to know. ​The Japanese consul, aged seventy, would be the last person to jump on his back. Doubtless he had been robbed by some deck-hand. Thirty dollars was a lot of money to lose, but whining wouldn't bring it back. So he came to the conclusion for the second time to let the matter drop.
I forgot to mention that every afternoon, from tea-time to bugle, William went to school, as it were. He learned quickly—the things that interested him; and his teacher thoroughly enjoyed the labor. It never occurred to him that he was having a lesson every day. But by and by it dawned upon her that she could hold him only when she described some great warrior or some tremendous battle. As for art, architecture, and general literature, William listened dutifully, but the information went into one ear and out the other. But battle—"the spot where So-and-so whaled the daylights out of Watchamacallem!" Cæsar, Hannibal, Alexander, Napoleon, Cellini, and John L. Sullivan—those were the boys!
She tried to get him interested in Morte Arthure, but failed signally.
"Aw, nobody ever talked like that. I'd be a fine false-alarm, wouldn't I, if I went up to a man, took off my lid, and bowed and gave him that kind of con. 'Noble sir, it pains my eyesight and my heart sorrily, but I am about to hand you one in the slats.' And what would he be doing while I pulled that line of talk? Good night!"
"I don't suppose Nick Carter ever talked like that," she said, ironically.
​"Not so you'd notice it. The noble Nick didn't waste any soft-soap. 'Hands up, Wall-eyed Mike; the jig is up.' That's Nick's way. This Cellini chap didn't waste any guff that I noticed. When he saw a head he hit it."
She laughed. So far she had not found this amazing Irishman backward in the matter of retorts. He usually gave as good as he got. She liked him. For all his bewildering lingo, he possessed that rare attribute called personality. He was so breezy, so strong and active, that those about seemed to imbue some of the animal spirits which radiated from him. When she was with him she experienced a tingle and a zest in life. His voice and eyes were filled with electric fluids. It was too bad that he hadn't had the right chance in life. When she compared him with Camden, it struck her forcibly that the comparison was in the Irishman's favor. Camden soothed her, but his very soothing qualities seemed to arouse a subconscious irritation in her.
By constant reprimand she had succeeded in drawing William partially out of the morass of slang into which habit and association had thrown him. At a word from her he would have stopped smoking, worn his dress-suit at breakfast, forsworn his meat. But invariably, once he became excited or deeply in earnest, the gates would burst open. Never by any hap were his transgressions vulgar. She was well enough informed to know that his phrases had been conned from the sporting pages of the newspapers—baseball, the prize-ring, and ​the race-tracks, all morally harmless, but intellectually corrupt.
The day before they reached Gibraltar, Italy as a lesson was about finished. Of all the splendid names he had heard, only three remained clearly defined: Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and Cellini. He felt genuinely depressed that all the others had been dropped by the wayside. And yet, if he had confided in her, doubtless she would have told him that to know a little of the lives of these three men was in itself a liberal education. The truth is, aside from being great artists, the three had also been great fighters, and that is why their names and deeds stuck in William Grogan's head.
"Italy! Say, that makes me think. I've got an old friend in Naples—Tommaso Malfi. He and his wife kept the fruit-store next to the shop. I used to play with his kiddies noontimes. And many's the dish of spaghetti I've eaten with the family. He made his pile, six or seven hundred, sold out to Cipriano, and hiked for the old country. He'll be glad to see little Willie Grogan. He used to call me Guglielmo Grogano, for sport. He tried to teach me some of his lingo, but I couldn't bat over .017."
"Beg pardon, Mr. Grogan," said a voice at his elbow. It belonged to the purser. "I found this wallet of yours."
William seized it eagerly.
"Everything there?" asked the purser.
"Ye-ah. Where'd you find it?"
​"Rather curious place. On the floor of my office. Some one had tossed it in through the port."
"Well, say, I never expected to see this again." William peered into the flaps. "Yes, sir, and there's Mr. Goat. Thanks."
"Why," began the school-teacher, when the purser had gone, "I didn't know that you had lost anything."
"I didn't lose it," replied William, balancing the wallet on his palm, a speculative light in his eyes.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Somebody took it from me by force. Pretty smooth Indian, if you want to know. The doctor says it's jiu-jitsu. Jumped on my back, and I didn't have a ghost of a show. That accounts for that game leg of mine."
"But why should the thief return the wallet?"
"That's exactly what William Grogan is wondering."