Chapter 35
I was soon near out of money and at my wit's end, but my will was unconquered. In this plight I ran upon Fogarty, the policeman who had been the good angel of my one hopeful day in journalism. His manner invited my confidence.
'What luck?' said he.
'Bad luck' I answered. 'Only ten dollars in my pocket and nothing to do.'
He swung his stick thoughtfully.
'If I was you,' said he, 'I'd take anything honest. Upon me wurred, I'd ruther pound rocks than lay idle.'
'So would I.'
'Wud ye?' said he with animation, as he took my measure from head to foot.
'I'll do anything that's honest.'