The Bossier banner., 1918-01-31
CHAPTER u.
The Girl From Drogheda.


Gordon Elliot was too much Of q
night owl to be an early riser, but next
morning he was awakened by the
tramp of hurried feet along the deck
to the accompaniment of brusque or
ders, together with frequent angry
putting and snorting of the boat.
From the quiver Of the walls he
guessed that the Hannah was stuck on
sandbar. The mates language gave
| backing to his surmise.
Elliot tried to settle back to sleep,
| but after two or three Intellectual eff
forts gave it up. He rose and did one
or two setting-up exercises to timber
his joints. The first of these flashed
the signal to his brain that he was stiff
and sore. This brought to mind the
fight on the hurricane deck, and he
smiled. 1t hurt every time he twiched
q muscle.
The young man stepped to the look
1 ing glass. Both eyes were BACKED, his
lip had been cut, and there was a
purple veal well up on his left cheek.
He stopped himself from grinning only
just in time to save another twinge of
pain.
s'Some party while it lasted. never
saw more willing mixers. Everybody
seemed anxious to sit in except Mr..
Wally Selfridge," he explained to his
reflection. But Macdonald is the
class. He's there with both right and
left. That uppercut of his is vicious.
Don't ever get in the way of it, Cor
don Elliot"
He bathed, dressed and went on
deck.
Early though he was, one paSsen.
ger at least was up before him. The
young woman he had noticed last eve
ming with the magazine was doing Q
constitutional.
Irish he guessed her when the deep
blue eyes rested on his for an instant
as she passed, and fortified his conjec
ture by the coloring of the clear.
skinned face and the marks Of the Gel
tic race delicately stamped upon it.
The purser came out of his room and
joined Elliot. He smiled at sight Of
the young mans face. "Your maps
a little out of plumb this morning, sir
he ventured.
"But you ought to see the other fel
low" came back Gordon boyishly.
"Ive seen him-several of him. Nv,
got to give it to you and Mr.. Macdon
aid. YOu know how to hit"
"Oh, I'm not in his class"
Gordon Elliot meant what he said
! He was himself an athlete, had playet
, for three years left tackle on his col
: lege eleven. More than one critic hat
picked him for the All-America team
But after all he was product Of train
ing and Of the gymnasiums. Macdon
: aid was what nature and long lin
of fighting Highland ancestors hat
made him.
The purser chuckled. "He's goo
! un, Mac is. They say he liked to hav
drowned Northrup after he had save
y him."
Elliot was again following with hi
: eyes the Tilt of the girls movements
! Apparently he had not heard what tn
! officer said.
With grin the purser opened ar
). other attack "Don't blame you bi
Mr.. Elliot. She's the prettiest collee
. that ever sailed from Dublin bay"
, who is she?"
! 'The name on the books is Sheh
O'Neill."
"From Dublin, you say?
"Oh, If you want to be literal, h
"a baggage says Drogheda. Ireland
Il Ireland to me-"
). "Where is she bound fOr2"
"Kusiak."
The young woman passed them. vii
j. little nod Of morning greeting to Il
: purser. Fine and dainty though 81
J, was, Miss O'Neill gave an impressls
= Of radiant strength.