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PAD DC L HAROLD MAO Author </ The Carpet! Tire Place lloneymc COPYRIGHT DY Tft? DOB3J-T/ERRILL (X CHAPTER I. East Is East. It began somewhere In the middle of the world, at a forlorn landing on the west bank of the muddy, turbulent Irrawaddy, remembered by man oily so often as it was necessary for the flotilla boat to call for paddy, a visiting commissioner anxious to get away, or a family homeward bound. ^ On the east side of the river, over there, was a semblance of civilization. That is to say, men wore white linen, avoided murder, and frequently paid their gambling debts. But on this west sidb stood wilderness, not the kind one reads about as being eventu, ally conquered by white men; no, the , I real, grim desolation, where the ax I cuts bat leaves no blaze, where the pioneer disappears and few or none follow. It was not the wilderness of the desert; of the jungle; rather the tragic, hopeless state of a settlement that neither progressed, retarded nor | Btood still. ^ Between the landing and the settlew tnent itself there stretched a winding j road, arid and treeless, perhaps two miles In length. It announced definitely that its end was futility. The Iflust hung like a fog above it, not only for this day, but for all days between the big rains. When the gods, or the ! elements, or Providence, arranged the ^ world as a fit habitation for man, Info dia and Burma were made the dustbins. And as water finds its levels, so will dust, earthly and human, the j quick and the dead. Along the road walked two men, phantomlike. One saw their heads dimly and still more dimly their bodies , w to the knees; of legs there was nothIng visibie. Occasionally they stepped j aside to permit some bullock cart to ' pass. One of them swore, not with any evidence of temper, not viciously, h but in a kind of mechanical protest, which, from long usage, had become a babit. He directed these epithets never at anything he could by mental t or physical contest overcome. He > swore at the dust, at the heat, at the f wind, at the sun. } The other wayfarer, with the lnher| ent patience of his blood, said nothing ) and waited, setting down the heavy ^ kit bag and the canvas valise (his I owxl). When the way was free again I y be would sling the kit bag and the Jf valise over his shoulder and step back R| ' into the road. His turban, once white, r was brown with dust and sweat. His L khaki uniform'was rent and the ragi ged canvas shoes spurted little spirals I of dust as he walked. James Hooghly l; was Eurasian; half European, half InL dian, having his place twixt heaven wb and hell* which is to say, nowhere. He was faithful, willing and strong; and I as a carrier of burdens took unmurI muriugly his place besitle the tireless V bullock and the elephant. He was a N Methodist; why, no one could find luw, cid answer. By dint of inquiry his master had learned that James looked I* upon his baptism and conversion in I oVlethodiflm as a corporal would have looked upon the acquisition of a V. C. j Twice> during fever and plague, he had saved hie master's life. With the guilelessness of the Oriental he conj sidered himself responsible for his master In all future times. Instead of paying off a debt he had acquired one. t Treated as he was, kindly but always firmly, he would have surrendered his life cheerfully at the beck of the white 'man. Warrington was an American. He was also one of those men who never t beld misfortune in contempt, whose outlook wherever it roamed was tolerant. He had patience for the weak, resolution for the strong and a fear[. less amiability toward ail. He was / like the St. Bernard dog, very difficult to arouse. It is rather the way ( with all men who are strong mentally end physically. He was- tall and broad %nd deep. Under the battered pith . helmet his face was as dark as the . \ Eurasian's; but the eyes were blue, bright and small pupiled, as they are with men who live out of doors, who 1 a rn nn^nrvalloH r\t lAOoailfv /? nnta 1 %J wuiyviavvi Mvwwwa?/ ?\# AJWV things moving at distances. The hose was large and well defined. All framed In a tangle of blond beard and mustache which, if anything, added the general manliness of his appearance. He, too, wore khaki, but with the addition of tan riding leg' sings, which had seen anything but rockinghorse service. The man was yellow from the top of his helmet to the soles of his shoes?oatside. For I the rest, he was a mystery, to James, * to all who thought they knew him, and ! 'most of all to himself. A pariah, an outcast, a fugitive from the bloodless * hand of the law> a gentleman born, once upon a time a clubman, college ). bred; a contradiction, a puzzle for which there was not any solution, not | even in the hidden corners of the , man's heart. His name wasn't War- | ; ring ton; and he had'rubbed elbows with the dregs of humanity, and still look6d you straight in the eye because he had come-through inferno without bringing any of the defiling pitch. From time to time he paused to relight crumbling clicroot. The to1 )J& CD. jRATftf 111) >ons, etc. i ~)/1PAt1Y W i I bacco was strong and bitter and stung his parched lips; but the craving for the tang of the smoke on his tongue was not to be denied. i Under his arm he carried a small iron cage, patterned something like | a rat trap, it contained a Rajputana parrakeet, not much larger than a robin, but possessor of a soul as fierce as that of Palladln, minus, however, the smoothing influence of chivalry. He had been born under the eaves of the scarlet palace in Jaipur (so his history ran); but the proximity of Indian princes had left him untouched; he had neither chivalry, politeness, nor diplomacy. He was, in fact, thoroughly and consistently bad. Round and round he went, over and over, top side, down side, restlessly. For at this moment he was hearing those familiar evening sounds whtbh no human ear can discern?the mutterlngs of the day birds about to seek cover for the night. In the field at the right of the road stood a lonely tree. It was covered with brilliant scarlet leaves and blossoms, and justly the natives call it the Flame of the Jungle. A flock of small birds were gyrating above it. "Jah, Jah, Jah! Jah?Jah?Ja-a-a-h!" cried the parrot, imitating the Burmese bell gong that calls to prayer. Instantly he followed the call with a shriek so piercing as to sting the ear of the man who was carrying him. "YOU littlft ?nn nf a ?riinf" Ho laughed; "where do you pack away all that noise?" There was a strange bond between the big yellow man and this little green bird. The bird did not suspect it, but the man knew. The pluck, the pugnacity and the individuality of the feathered comrade had been an object lesson to the man, at a time when he had been on the point of throwing up the fight. "Jah, jah, Jah! Jah?jah?ja-a-a-h!M The bird began its interminable somersaults, pausing only to reach for the tantalizing finger of the man, who laughed again as he withdrew the digit in time. For six years he had carried the bird with htm, through India and Burma and Malacca, and not yet had he won a sign of surrender. There were many scars on his forefingers. It was amazing. With one pressure of his hand he could have crushed out the life of the bird, but over its brawB, unconquerable spirit he had no power. And that is why he loved it. Far away in the past they had met. He remembered' the -day distinctly and bitterly.' fie had been on the brink of self-(ipntriir?Hnn Vowor ?nH poverty and terrible loneliness had battered and beaten him flat Into the dust, from which this time he had no wish to rise. He had walked out to the railway station at Jaipur to witness the arrival of the tourist train from Ahmadabad. The natives surged about the train, with brassware, antique articles of warfare, tiger hunting knives (accompanied by perennial fairy tales), skins and' silks. There were beggars, holy men, guides and fakirs. Squatted in the dust before the door of a first-class carriage was a solemn, brown man, in turban and clout, exhibiting performing parrots. It was Rajah's turn. He fired a cannon, turned somersaults through a little steel hoop, opened a tiny chest, took out a four-anna piece, carried it to his master, and in exchange received some seed.v Thereupon he waddled resentfully back to the iron cage, opened the door, closed it behind him, and began to mutter belligerently. Warrington haggled for two straight hours. When he returned to his sordid, evil smelling lodgings that night he possessed the parrot and four rupees, and slat up the greater part of the night trying to make the bird perform his tricks. The idea of suicide no longer bothered htm; trffllng though ft was, he had found an Interest Is life. And on the morrow came the Eurasian, who trustfully loaned Warrington every coin that he could scrape together. Often, In the dreary heart-achy days that followed, when weeks passed ere he saw the face of a white man, when he had to combat opium and bhang and laxiness in the natives under him, the bird and his funny tricks hsd saved him from whisky, er vprse. In camp he gave Rajah much freedom, li_ ?-- - - ' * " us wjuga D?ms ouppea; ana notmng pleated the little rebel to much at to claw his way up to hit matter's shoulder, tit there and watch the progress of the razor, with internet,?, tent "jawing" at his own redeetfon in the cracked hand mirror. Up and down the Irrawaddy, at the resthouses, on the boats, to those of a Jocular turn of mind, the three were known as "Parrot & Co." Warrington's amiability often misled the various scoundrels with whom lie was at times forced to associate. A man who smiled most of the time and talked Hindustani to a parrot was not to be accorded much courtesy; until one day Warrington had settled all distinctions, finally ami primordinlty? with tho square of his fists. After that he went on his way unmolested, I having soundly trounced one of the biggest bullies In the teak timber yards at Rangoon. He made no friends; he had no confidences to exchange; nor did he offer to become the repository of other men's pasts. Rut he would share his bread and his rupees, when he had them, with any who asked. Many tried to dig into his past, but he was a.<? unresponsive as granite. It takes a woman to find out what a man is and has been, and Warrington went about women in a wide circle. In a WaV llG was thn most HnfTllncr lrttirl of a mystery to those who knew him; he frequented the haunts of men, took a friendly drink, played cards for Bmall sums, laughed and jested like any other anchorless man. In the East men are given curious names. They become known by phrases, such as, The Man Who Talks, Mr. Once Upon a Time, The One-Rupee Man, and the like. As Warrington never received any mail, as he never entered a hotel, nor spoke of the past, he became The Man Who Never Talked of< Home. "I say, James, old sport, no mora going up and down this bally old river. We'll go on to Rangoon tonight, If we can And a berth." "Yes, sahib; this business very piffle," replied the Eurasian without turning his head. Two things* he dearly loved to acquire?& bit of American slang and a bit1 of Ehgllfch silver. He was invariably changing rupees into shillings, and Warrington could not convince him that he wan always losing in the transaction. They tramped on through the dhst The sun dropped. A sudden chill few gan to penetrate the haze. The white man puffed his cheroot, its wrapper dangling; the servant hummed an Urdu lullaby; the parrot complained unceasingly. Warrington laughed and shook the dust from his beard. "It's a great "Two Rupees!" James Paused and' Turned. world, James, a great, wonderful world. jl*ve Justtwo rupees myself. In other words we are busted." "Two rupees!" James paused and turned. "Why, sahib, you have three 1 hundred thousand rupees In your | pocket." i "But not worth an anna until I get to Rangoon. Didn't those duffers give you anything for handling their luggage the other day?" "Not a pice, sahib." "Rotters! It takes an Englishman to turn a small trick like that. Well, well; there were extenuating circumstances. They had sore heads. No man likes to pay three hundred thousand for something he could have bought for ten thousand. And I made them come to me, James, to me. 1 made them come to this god-forsaken 1 hole, just because it pleased my fancy. I I believe I'm heaven born, after all. The Lord hates a quitter, and so do I. I nearly quit myself, once; eh,1 Rajah, old top? But I made them j Aomn tn ma Tha?'? i~ 4V-. I ? ?? ? U VU? UIIIK 111 UIO j cocoanut, the curry on the rloe. . They ; almost - had me. Two Tupeesl It truly 1b a great world." "Jab, Jab, Jah! Jah?jab?-Jab? ja-a-a-h!" screamed the parrot "Chaloo!" "Go on! That's thp ticket. If I were a praying man this would be the time for It Three hundred thousand rupee#!" The man looked at the far horlson, as if he would force hie gate beyond, Into the delectable land, the Ifiden out of which he had been driven. "James, I owe you three hundred rupees, and I am going to add seven hundred more. We've been fighting this old top for six years together, and you've been a good servant and a good friend; and 111 take you with me as far as this fortune will go, If you say the Word." | "Ah, sahib, 1 am much sorry. But Delhi Calls, and I ago. A thousand rupees will make much huslnese for me In the Chandney Chowk." Presently they became purple shades la a brown world. CHAPTER II. A Man With a Past. The oriental nlarht *1 r was ^ u ? - ?* UV11 1UUV? It was without refreshment; it became a labor and not an exhilaration to. breathe it. A pall of suffocating dust rolled above and about' the Irrawaddy flotilla boat which, buffeted by the I strong, irregular current, strained at its cables, now at the bow, now at the sfern, not dissimilar to the last rocking of a deserted swing. This sensation was quito perceptible to the girl who leaned over the bow rail, her handkerchief preseed to her nose, and gn'/.cl interestedly at the steep bank, up and down which the sweating coo lies swarmed like Gargantuan rats. A dozen torches were stud* into the ground above the crumbling \edr>e: she saw the ftnmes as one bees a burning match cupped in a smoker's hands, shedd'ug light upon nothing save that which stands immediately behind it. She choked a little Her eyes smarted. ller lips were slightly cracked, and cold-cream seemed only to provide a surer resting place toi the impalpallll> fliittt It hurl nonotrnf^xl UirrMiah wool and linen and silk, ultimately, until three baths r?, day had become a welcome routine, providing it was possible to obtain water. Water. Her tongue ran across her lips. Oh, for a drink from the old cold pure spring at home! Tea, coffee, and bottled soda; nothing that ever touched the thirsty spots in her throat. She looked up at the stars and they looked down upon her, but what she asked they could not, would not, answer. .Night after night she had asked, and night after .night they had only twinkled as of old. She had traveled now for four months, and still the doubt beset her. It was to be a leap in the dark, with no one to tell her what was on the other side. But why this insistent doubt? Why could she not take the lfeap gladly, as a woman should who had given the affirmative to a man?" With him she was certain that she loved him, away from him she did not know what sentiment really abided in her heart. She was4 wise enough to realize that something, was ' wrongr; and there were but three months between her and the Inevitable decision. Never before had she known other than momentary Indecision; and it Irked her to And that her olarlty of vision was fallible and human like the rest of her. The truth was, she didn't know her mind. She shrugged, and the movement stirred the dust that had gathered upon her shoulders. "A rare old lot of dust; eh, Miss Chetwood? I wish we could travel by night, but you can't trust this blooming old Irrawaddy after sundown. Charts are so much waste-paper." "I never cease wondering how those poor coolies can carry those heavy rice bags," she replied to the purser. "Oh, they are used to it," carelessly. The great gray stack of paddy-bags seemed, in the eyes of the girl, fairly to melt away. "By Jove!" exclaimed the purser. "There's Parrot & Co.!" He laughed and pointed toward one of the torches. "Parrot & Co.? 1 do not understand." "That big blond chap behind the fourth torch. Yes, there. Sometime I'll tell you about him. Picturesque duffer." She could hare shrieked aloud, but all she did was to draw in her breath with a gasp that went so deep it gave her heart a twinge. Her fingers tightened upon the teak rail. Suddenly she knew, and was ashamed of her weakness. It was simply a remarkable likeness, nothing more than that; it could not possibly be anything more. Still, a ghost could not have startled her as this living man had done. "Who is he?" "A chap named Warrington. But over here that signifies nothing; might just as well be Jones or Smith or Brown. We call him Parrot & Co. He's always carrying that Rajputana parrot. You've seen the kind around the palaces and forts; saber-like wings, long tail-feathers, green and blue and scarlet, and the ugliest little rascals going. This one is trained to do tricks." ljui tne man!" impatiently. He eyed her, mildly surprised. "Oh, he puzzles us all a bit, you know. Well educated; somewhere back a gentleman; from the States. Of course I don't know; something shady, probably. They don't tramp about like this otherwise. For all tl\it, he's rather a decent sort; no bounder like this rol- ; ter we left at Mandalay. He never talks about hixhself. 1 fancy he's lonesome agai^*."; - ' "Loneabme?" i "It's the way, you know. These poor beggars drop aboard for the night, merely to see a white woman again, to hear decent English, to dress and dine like a human being. They disappear the next day, and often we never see them again." "What do they do?" The question came to her lips mechanically. "Paddy-flelds. White men are needed | to oversee them. And then, there's t the railway, and there's the new oil country north of Promo. You'll see the wells tomorrow. Rather fancy this Warrington chap has been working along the new pipe line. They're running them down to Rangoon. If he's with us tomorrow, I'll have him put the parrot through its turns. An amusing little beggar." "Why not introduce him to me?" "Beg pardon?" "I'll take : U the responsibility. It's a whim." "Well, you American girls are the eighth wonder of the world." The. purser was distinctly annoyed. "And it may be an impertinence on my part* but I never yet saw an American woman who would' accept advice or act upon it" "Thanks. What would you advise?" with dangerous sweetness. "Not to meet this man It's- irreguticr H know nothing* about him*- If! you had a father or a brother on board. . . " "Or even a husband!" laughing. "There you are!" resignedly. "You laugh. You women go everywhere, and half the lime unprotected." I "Never *julto unprotected We never venture beyond the call of gentlemen." "That f'j true," brightening "You inj sif.t on meeting this chap?" "1 do not insJH; oniy, t am bore;). rind ho might Interest mo for an hour." She added: "Besides, he may annoy the others " Tho purser grinned reluctantly. "You and the colonel don't get on Well, I'll introduce this chap at dinner. If 1 don't. . . "I am fully capable of speaking to him without any introduction whatever." She laughed again. "It will bo very kind of you." When he had geno she mused over this impulse so alien to her character. An absolute stranger, a man with a past, perhaps a fugitive from iustice; and because ho looked like Arthur Ellison, she was seeking his acquaintance. Something, then, could break through her reserve and aloofness? She had traveled from San Francisco to Colombo, unattended savo by an elderly maiden who had risen by gradual stages fiom nurse to companion, but who could not be made to remember that she was no lonepr a nnrsa In all these four months Elsa had not made half a dozen acquaintances, and of these she had not sought one. Yet, she was asking to meet a stranger whcse only recommendation was a singular likeness to another man. The purser was right. It was very irregular. "Parrot & Co.!" Bhe murmured. She searched among the phantoms moving to and fro upon the ledge; but the man with the cage was gone. It was really uncanny*. Elba Chetwood was twenty-five, lithely built,, outwardly* reposeful, but dynamlo within. Education, environment and breeding had somewhat smothered the glowing fires, She was a- type of the ancient repression of woman, which finds its exceptions in ther* Aspasias and Helena and Cleopatras of legend and history. In features she looked exactly what she was, well-bred and well-born. Beauty she also had, but it was the cold beauty of northern winter nights. It compelled admiration rather than invited it. Spiritually, Elsa was asleep. The fire was there, the gift of loving greatly, only it smoldered, without radiating even the knowledge of its presence. Men loved her, but in awe, as one loves the marbles of Phidias. She knew no restraint, and yet she had passed through her stirless years restrained. Her independence was inherent and not acquired. She had laid down certain laws for herself to follow; and that these often clashed with the laws of convention, which are fetish to those who divide society into three classes, only mildly amused her. Right from wrong she knew, and that sufficed her. Her immediate relatives were dead; those who were distantly related remained so, as they had no part in her life nor she in theirs. From her father she had inherited a remarkable and seldom errant judgment. To her, faces were generally book covers, they repelled or attracted; and she found large and undimlnishlng interest in the faculty of pressing back the covers' and reading the text. Often battered covers held treasures, and often the editions de luxe were swindles. But in between the battered covers and the exquisite Florentine hand-tooling there ranged a row of mediocre books; and it was among these that Elsa found that her instinct was not wholly infallible, as will be seen. Today she was facing the first problem of her young life, epochal. She was, as it were, to stop and begin life anew. And she didn't know she wasn't sure. There were few passengers aboard. i nere were tnree iusay old English maidens under the protection of a still fussier old colonel. The quartet greatly amused Elsa. Their nods were abrupt, and they spoke in the most formal manner. She was under grave "Parrot A Col". Sha Murmured. ' /. suspicion; In the first place, she was traveling alone. In the second place, she was an American. At table there was generally a desultory conversation and many a barb of malice Blsa shot from her bow. Figuratively, the colonel walked about like a porcupine, bristling with arrows instead of quills. Blsa could have shouted at times, for tfeJSt'ot& war dog was perfectly oblivi6ti8: There was, besides, the inevitable Oermnn tnnriet u>hn ohnllnrf ?rUVi questions every man who wore b- ass buttons, until there was some serious talk of dropping him astern some day. He had shelled the colonel, but thai gentleman was snugly incased in the finest and most impenetrable Hessomer, complacency Upon these lrrawaddy boats the pur: or is usually the master of ceremonies in *lv? dining saloon. Elsa usually sat at the purser's right, and tonight she found the stranger sitting quietly at her side The chair had been vacant since the depart ire from Mandalay. Evidently the purser had I decided to be thorough in regard to J her wishes. It would l^ok less conspicuous to make the introduction in this manner. And she wanted to meet this man who had almost made her cry out in astonishment "Miss Chetwood, Mr. Warrington." This was as far as the purser would unbend. The colonel's eyes popped; the hands of the three maidens fluttered. Warrington bowed awkwardly, for he was decidedly confused. "Ila!" boomed the German. "Vat do you tink uff . And from soup to coffee Warrington eluded, dodged, stenned under and ran around the fusillade of questions. Elsr laughed softly. There were breathing spells, to be sure. Under the cover of this verbal bombard* ment she found time to Inspect tho stranger. The likeness, so close at hand, started a ringing in her ear* and a flutter in her throat. It was al* most unbelievable. He was bigger, broader, his eyes were keener, but there was only one real difference: this man was rugged, whereas Arthur was elegant. It was- a* if nature had taken two forms from the same mold* and had finished but one of them. Hi* voice was not unpleasant, but ther% were little sharp points of harshness in it, due quite possibly to the dust. "I am much interested in that littl* parrot of yours; I have heard about him." "Oh! I suppose you've heard what they call us?" His eyes looked straight into hers, smilingly-. "Parrot & Co.? Yea Will you show him off tomorrow?" "I shall be very happy to." But all the while he was puzzling over the Durser's unaornuntnhlA aaHm* in deliberately introducing him to this brown-eyed, golden-skinned young woman. Never before had such a thing occurred upon these boats. True, he had occasionally been spoken to; an idle question flung at him, like a bare bone to a dog. If flung by an Englishman, he answered it courteously, and subsided. He had been snubbed too many times not to have learned this lesson. It never entered his head that the introduction might have been brought about by the girl's interest. He was too mortally shy of women to conceive of such a possibility. So his gratitude was extended to the purser, who, on his sidQwregretted his good-natured recbmmendations ot the previous hour. When Elsa learned that the man at. ' her side was to proceed to Rangoon, she ceased to ask him any more questions. She preferred to read her books slowly. Once, while he was engaging the purser, her glance ran over his clothes. She instanly berated her impulsive criticism as a bit ot downriffht raHlltahnaaa TKa 1A T\?l? WW ?? A UV V% the coat were shiny; the winged eoh lar gave evidence of having gone to the native laundry once too often, and the cuff buttons were of ordinary rupe% silver. The ensemble suggested tha% since the purchase of these habilt* ments of civilization the man ha4 grown, expanded. Immediately after dinner she retired tc her stateroom, conscious that her balance needed readjusting. She had heard and read much lore concerning reincarnation, skeptically; yet here^ within call of her voioe, was Arthur* not the shadow of a substance, but Arthur, shorn of his elegance, his soft* lazy voice, his half-dreaming eyes, high charming indolence. Why should this man's, path cross hers, out of all th% millions that ran parallel? She opened her window and looked up at the stars again. She wondered what this man had done to put hint beyond the pale. , It was not possible* that dishonor lurked behind thos% frank blue eyes. She turned from th% window and threw open one of her kit-bags, delved among the soft feb? rics and silks and produced a photo* graph. She had not glanced at it dur? iub mu mese weexs. There bad been, a purpose back of this apparent nag* lect The very thing she dreaded hap* pened. Her pulse beat on, evenly, stirred. She was a failure. In the photograph the man's beard was trimmed Valois; the beard of th%> man who had sat next to her at dinner had grown freely and naturally, fait Such a beard was out of fashion, sav% among country doctors. It signified* carelessness, indifference, or a fall lift wherein the niceties of the raxor bed of necessity been ignored. Keenly she searched the familiar llkeneag. What an amaalng freak of nature! 1% waf unreal. She tossed the photograph back into the kit-bag, bewth dered, uneasy. Meantime Warrington followed the purser into his office. "I haven't paid for my stateroom yet," he said. "I'll make it out at once. Rangoon* I understand 7" "Yes. But I'm In a difficulty. I have* nothing in change but two rupees." The purser froxe visibly. The tal% was trite in his ears. "But I fancy I've rather good securt* ty to offer," went on Warrington cool* ly. He drew from his wallet a folded slip of paper and spread it out. ' The purser stared at it, enchantedi Warrington stared dbWW'a^'tl^b^risbf^ equally enchanted. "By Jove!" the former gasped'final* % h ? ? ly. Ana so you re the chap who'? been holding up the oil syndicate all these months? And you're the chap who made them come to this bally Uiv\<Jin? three days ago?" [ Continued next v/t Jc ] I f ^f|