Sandy | Page 6

mystical romance that flows through the veins of every true Irishman was never lacking in Sandy. His heart responded to the beautiful as surely as the echo answers the call.
He seized the guitar, and picking out the notes with clumsy, faltering fingers, sang:
"Ah! The moment was sad when my love and I parted, Savourneen deelish, signan O!"
His boyish voice rang out clear and true, softening on the refrain to an indescribable tenderness that steeped the old song in the very essence of mystery and love.
"As I kiss'd off her tears, I was nigh broken-hearted!-- Savourneen deelish, signan O!"
He could remember his mother singing him to sleep by it, and the bright red of her lips as they framed the words:
"Wan was her cheek which hung on my shoulder; Chill was her hand, no marble was colder; I felt that again I should never behold her; Savourneen deelish, signan O!"
As the song trembled to a close, a slight burst of applause came from the cabin deck. Sandy looked up, frowned, and bit his lip. He did not know why, but he was sorry he had sung.
The next morning the America sailed into New York harbor, band playing and flags flying. She was bringing home a record and a jubilant crew. On the upper decks passengers were making merry over what is probably the most joyful parting in the world. In the steerage all was bustle and confusion and anticipation of the disembarking.
Eagerly, wistfully watching it all, stood Sandy, as alert and distressed as a young hound restrained from the hunt. It is something to accept punishment gracefully, but to accept punishment when it can be avoided is nothing short of heroism. Sandy had to shut his eyes and grip the railing to keep from planning an escape. Spread before him in brave array across the water lay the promised land--and, like Moses, he was not to reach it.
"That's the greatest city in America," said the ship's surgeon as he came up to where he was standing. "What do you think of it?"
"I never seen one stand on end afore!" exclaimed Sandy, amazed.
"Would you like to go ashore long enough to look about?" asked the doctor, with a smile running around the fat folds of his cheeks.
"And would I?" asked Sandy, his eyes flying open. "It's me word of honor I'd give you that I'd come back."
"The word of a stowaway, eh?" asked the doctor, still smiling.
In a moment Sandy's face was crimson. "Whatever I be, sir, I ain't a liar!"
The doctor pursed up his lips in comical dismay: "Not so hot, my man; not so hot! So you still want to be a doctor?"
Sandy cooled down sufficiently to say that it was the one ambition of his life.
"I know the physician in charge of the City Hospital here in New York. He's a good fellow. He'd put you through--give you work and put you in the way of going to the Medical School. You'd like that?"
"But," cried Sandy, bewildered but hopeful, "I have to go back!"
The doctor shook his head. "No, you don't. I've paid your passage."
Sandy waited a moment until the full import of the words was taken in, then he grabbed the stout little doctor and almost lifted him off his feet.
"Oh! But ain't you a brick!" he cried fervently, adding earnestly: "It ain't a present you're makin' me, though! I'll pay it back, so help me bob!"
At the pier the crowd of immigrants pushed and crowded impatiently as they waited for the cabin passengers to go ashore. Among them was Sandy, bareheaded and in motley garb, laughing and shoving with the best of them, hanging over the railing, and keeping up a fire of merriment at the expense of the crowd below. In his hand was a letter of recommendation to the physician in charge at the City Hospital, and in his inside pocket a ten-dollar bill was buttoned over a heart that had not a care in the world. In the great stream of life Sandy was one of the bubbles that are apt to come to the top.
"You better come down to Kentucky with me," urged Ricks Wilson, resuming an old argument. "I'm goin' to peddle my way back home, then git a payin' job at the racetrack."
"Wasn't I tellin' ye that it was a doctor I'm goin' to be?" asked Sandy, impatiently. Already Ricks's friendship was proving irksome.
On the gang-plank above him the passengers were leaving the ship. Some delay had arisen, and for a moment the procession halted. Suddenly Sandy caught his breath. There, just above him, stood "the damsel passing fair." Instead of the tam-o'-shanter she wore a big drooping hat of brown, which just matched the curls that were loosely tied at the back of her neck.
Sandy stood motionless and humbly adored