ient in the way of
greeting when he backs up to dump off the good luck."

"His name," says the palmist, thoughtful looking, "is not spelled out by
the lines, but they indicate 'tis a long one, and the letter 'o' should
be in it. There's no more to tell. Good-evening. Don't block up the
door."

"'Tis wonderful how she knows," says Tobin as we walk to the pier.

As we squeezed through the gates a nigger man sticks his lighted segar
against Tobin's ear, and there is trouble. Tobin hammers his neck, and
the women squeal, and by presence of mind I drag the little man out of
the way before the police comes. Tobin is always in an ugly mood when
enjoying himself.

On the boat going back, when the man calls "Who wants the good-looking
waiter?" Tobin tried to plead guilty, feeling the desire to blow the
foam off a crock of suds, but when he felt in his pocket he found
himself discharged for lack of evidence. Somebody had disturbed his
change during the commotion. So we sat, dry, upon the stools, listening
to the Dagoes fiddling on deck. If anything, Tobin was lower in spirits
and less congenial with his misfortunes than when we started.

On a seat against the railing was a young woman dressed suitable for red
automobiles, with hair the colour of an unsmoked meerschaum. In passing
by, Tobin kicks her foot without intentions, and, being polite to ladies
when in drink, he tries to give his hat a twist while apologising. But
he knocks it off, and the wind carries it overboard.

Tobin came back and sat down, and I began to look out for him, for the
man's adversities were becoming frequent. He was apt, when pushed so
close by hard luck, to kick the best dressed man he could see, and try
to take command of the boat.

Presently Tobin grabs my arm and says, excited: "Jawn," says he, "do ye
know what we're doing? We're taking a voyage upon the water."

"There now," says I; "subdue yeself. The boat'll land in ten minutes
more."

"Look," says he, "at the light lady upon the bench. And have ye
forgotten the nigger man that burned me ear? And isn't the money I had
gone--a dollar sixty-five it was?"

I thought he was no more than summing up his catastrophes so as to get
violent with good excuse, as men will do, and I tried to make him
understand such things was trifles.

"Listen," says Tobin. "Ye've no ear for the gift of prophecy or the
miracles of the inspired. What did the palmist lady tell ye out of me
hand? 'Tis coming true b