THE TEA-SHOP
When we landed at Sitka I went ashore with a fellow passenger. He was
a clever man, and had made trips up there already for the sake of
taking photographs of the people and the scenery; he knew Sitka well
and came up to me just before we arrived there with the remark:
"If you come with me I'll take you to have tea with the prettiest girl
you've ever seen."
This certainly seemed an invitation to accept, and I did so on the
spot.
"She really is," he continued, observing my sceptically raised
eyebrows, "wonderfully pretty. She keeps a tea-shop and she is
Chinese." With that he bolted into his own cabin, which was next mine,
and as I heard him laughing, I concluded he was joking and thought no
more about it. However, as the ship glided up over flat sheets of
golden water to the landing-stage, he joined me again, and together we
stood looking up the principal street of Sitka which runs down to meet
the little quay.
It was just four in the afternoon, and everything was vivid living
gold, as the floods of yellow sunshine filled all the shining air. The
green copper dome of the church alone stood out a soft spot of
delicate colour in the dazzling burnished haze.
At the sides of the street sat and crouched the small squat figures of
the Alaskan Indians, each with a mat before it on which the owner had
set out his little store of wares--bottles of various-coloured sands,
reindeer slippers beautifully embroidered in blue beads, carved walrus
teeth.
We stepped on the shore and the Indians looked up at us with quaint
brown questioning eyes, like their own seals.
They did not ask you to buy, but watched you silently.
"Come along," said my friend, "we'll go up and get tea before there's
a crowd."
After about five minutes' walk, while I was gazing about interested in
this quaint little capital, my companion suddenly exclaimed:
"In here," and turned through an opening at the corner of a square
enclosure on our right hand. I followed, and saw we had entered a
little square court or compound, similar to those with which the
poorer classes in any Eastern community surround their huts.
The floor was dried and hardened mud, the walls about seven feet high,
and numerous small tables laid for tea stood round them.
My companion did not pause here, however, but went straight through in
at the low house door, and we found ourselves in a very small, dark
passage, hung with red and with red cloths dangling from the ceiling,
that swept our heads as we came in.
It seemed quite dark inside, coming from the fierce gold light of the
streets, but there was a dim little lamp in Eastern glass of many
colours swinging somewhere at the farther end, and we found our way
down to a low door in the side of the passage. This brought us into a
small square room which gave the impression of being sunk below the
level of the street. There were diminutive windows in the outer wall,
but they were close to the low ceiling and though the glorious light
from without tried hard to come in, it was successfully obstructed by
little rush blinds of red and green. The rushes were placed vertically
side by side and fastened together with string and painted in bright
tints. The breeze from the sea came through them and sang a low song
of its own. The walls were hung with red stuff curtains, over which
ramped wonderful Chinese dragons in green; the floor was spread with
something soft, on which the feet made no sound; in the corners of the
room stood some little tables.
To the farthest of these, under the rush-covered windows, we made our
way and sat down on some very ordinary American chairs, a hideous note
in the quaint surrounding, introduced as a concession, no doubt, to
Western taste.
"I rather like this, Morley," I said as I took my seat and looked
round.
"Thought you would," he returned, and pressed his hand on a tiny
bronze figure standing on the table. At the touch of his finger the
head of the figure disappeared between its shoulders, and then sprung
up again, producing a harsh clanging sound of a gong.
Hardly a moment later the red curtains that hung over the doorway
parted, and a figure came into the room.
Such a sweet figure, the very spirit of poetic girlhood seemed
incarnate before us.
In appearance she was a Chinese maiden of seventeen or eighteen years;
seventeen or eighteen according to our standard of looks, doubtless
she was in reality younger.
The face was wonderfully beautiful, a very rounded oval and of the
most perfect creamy tint, the nose, straight and fine, was rather
long, the upper lip short, and the mouth very small, soft, and
full-lipped. The eyes inclined a little to the Chinese shape, but were
large, wide, and well-opened and brimming to the lids with
extraordinary light and fire; delicately narrow black eyebrows arched
above on the low satiny forehead, from which was brushed upwards a
mass of shining black hair piled on the top of the small head and
apparently secured there by two weighty gold pins thrust through from
side to side.
The last touch of beauty, if any were needed, was added by the
earrings of turquoise-blue stone that swung against the ivory-tinted
softness of the full young throat.
Those blue stones against the creamy neck! For years afterwards how I
could see them again in the darkness that lies behind closed lids! How
often I was back in the crimson darkness of the tiny chamber with the
sea song of the Alaskan waves coming through the painted rushes above
my head!
She was very simply dressed, yet so fitly to her own beauty.
A straight pale blue jacket covered her shoulders and opened on the
breast over a white muslin vest. Her skirts hung like the full
trousers of Persian women, and were a deep yellow in colour. Her feet
were bare, and shone white on the red floor.
"How do you do, Suzee?" said Morley.
"How do you do, Mister Morlee," returned the girl lightly, smiling and
showing pretty little teeth as she did so.
"You two gentlemen want some tea? Very good. I make it."
She glided to the curtains and disappeared as rapidly and noiselessly
as she had entered.
I turned to Morley with enthusiasm.
"She's lovely, perfect."
"Isn't she just? I knew you'd say so. But she's married, old man, so
don't you think you can go playing any tricks with her."
"Married?" I gasped incredulously, "that child? Impossible! You're
joking."
"I'm not, 'pon my honour. She has a great roaring brute of a baby,
too."
"How horrible!" I exclaimed. "Yes, horrible. You've spoiled it all. It
seems a sacrilege."
"Fiddlesticks," returned my practical friend. "That's the sort that
does these things, isn't it? Would you expect her to turn into an old
maid?"
"No, but so young!" I faltered. In reality it was a shock to me. To
have such an exquisite sight float before one for a moment, and then
to be roughly dragged down to earth from the exaltation it had caused,
hurt and bruised me.
The next moment she was back again, bearing a tray in her hands which
she set on our table, and deftly arranged the steaming teapot and tiny
cups before us.
As she bent near us over the little table a strange sensation of
delight came over me, a faint scent of roses reached me from the
little buds behind her ear. The blue stones in the long gold earrings
swung against her neck of cream as she set out the tea things.
"How is your boy, Suzee?" asked Morley with a tone of mischief in his
voice.
"He is very well, thank you, Mister Morlee."
"I should like to see him. Will you bring him in?" he continued,
commencing to pour out the tea.
"Yes; he is asleep now, but I will wake him up," she returned
nonchalantly, and, in spite of a protestation from me, she went out to
do so.
After a minute we heard loud screams from across the passage and
presently Suzee reappeared dragging (I can use no other phrase) in her
arms an enormous baby. Its face was red, and it was roaring lustily.
The girl-mother did not seem disturbed in the least by its cries, but
staggered slowly over to us, clasping the child awkwardly round the
waist and holding it flat against her own body.
It seemed very large, out of all proportion to the small and
exquisitely dainty mother. She was short and small, and the child
really, as I looked at it, seemed to be quite half the length of her
own body.
"What a big boy he is," remarked Morley.
"Yes, isn't he?" said the mother proudly.
The baby roared its loudest, tears streamed down its scarlet face, and
it dug its clenched knuckles furiously into its eyes.
"Surely it's in pain," I suggested.
"Oh, he always cries when he is woken up," returned the mother
tranquilly. She did not seem to take the least notice of the child's
bellowing. She might have been deaf for all the effect it had upon
her. She stood there placidly holding it, though it seemed very heavy
for her, while the child screamed itself purple. She began a
conversation with Morley just precisely as if the child were
non-existent.
I never saw such a picture, and it struck me suddenly I should like to
paint it, just as it was there, and call the thing "Maternity."
But no. What would be the good? No one, certainly not the British
public, would ever believe its truth.
They would think it a joke, and a grotesque one at that. "Beauty and
the Beast" would do for a name, I mused, or "Fact and Fancy."
Nothing could be more delicately soul-absorbingly beautiful than the
mother; nothing so brutally hideous as the child.
Suzee had sat down on the floor now, and the baby, still roaring, had
rolled on to its face on the ground beside her. Still she took not the
smallest notice of it; she laid one shapely hand on the small of its
back, as if to make sure it was there, and continued her conversation
tranquilly with Morley. How she could hear what he said I could not
tell. I could hear nothing but the appalling row the child made.
"Do take it away," I said after a few moments more, in an interval of
yells, during which the baby rolled, apparently in the last stages of
suffocation, on the floor. "I can't stand that noise."
"Ah!" said Suzee meditatively, lifting her glorious almond eyes to
mine, "you do not like my boy-baby?"
"I do not like the noise he makes," I said evasively, "and I don't
think he can be well, either."
"Oh yes, he is quite well," she returned composedly; "but I will take
him away."
So saying, she began to haul at the loose things about the child's
waist, as a tired gardener hauls at a sack of potatoes prior to
lifting it up.
I thought really she would get the child into her arms head downwards,
so carelessly did she seem to manage it, and as she rose and carried
it to the door it seemed as if the awkward weight of it must strain
her own slight body.
When the curtain closed behind her and the screams got faint in the
distance as the unhappy child was hauled to a back room, I drew a
breath of relief and began to drink my tea, which really hitherto I
had been too nervous to do. Morley chuckled and remarked:
"Good for you to be disillusioned."
"I'm not in the least, with _her_. She is a divine piece of physical
beauty. I wish I could get her on my canvas."
"You won't be able to; that old curmudgeon of a husband of hers will
see to that."
"I should think he has the devil of a temper, judging by his
offspring," I answered. "She looks sweet enough."
Morley nodded, and we finished our tea in silence. Suzee came back
presently with cigarettes for us and sat down on the floor herself,
rolling one up between supple fingers. She had an air of extraordinary
unruffled placidity. The dragging about of the child had not disturbed
her dress nor heated her face. In cool, tranquil, placid beauty she
sat and rolled cigarettes while the child's cries dimly echoed in the
distance.
"Where's the boss, Suzee?" questioned Morley presently.
"He has gone down to Fort Wrangle for two days," she returned, and my
spirits leapt up at her words. Her husband away for two days! Perhaps
there was a chance for a picture....
My eyes swept over her seated on the floor in front of us. What
exquisite supple lines! What sweet little dainty curves showed beneath
the blue silk jacket and sleeve! What a glory of light and passionate
expression in the liquid dark eyes when she raised them to us!
After a few minutes Morley got up, and I saw him laying down on the
table the money for our tea. I added my share, and Morley remarked,
"We'd better go and walk about before dinner, hadn't we? You'd like a
look round?"
I was gazing at Suzee.
"Do you have any time to yourself?" I asked her. "Later in the evening
perhaps when you could come for a walk with me."
Suzee looked up. There was surprise in those wonderful eyes, but I
thought I saw pleasure too.
"At six," she said. "I close the restaurant for a short time, but I
don't walk, I smoke and go to sleep. But I will come with you if it is
not too far," she added as an after-thought.
Morley gave a whistle, indicative of surprise and disapproval, but I
answered composedly.
"Very well, I shall come here at six; so don't be asleep and fail to
let me in!"
Suzee laughed and shook her head, and we picked up our hats and went
out of the little room into the passage. In the outer court, as we
passed through, we saw most of the tables occupied, and an elderly
woman serving.
"We had the best of it," I remarked.
"Yes, rather. But you are going ahead with that girl. Do be careful or
you'll have the old terror of a husband down on you."
"You introduced me," I returned laughing. "You have all the
responsibility."
"You know dinner's at six on this unearthly boat. Aren't you going to
get any dinner to-night?"
"I'm not very particular about it. I shall pick up something. I
thought six when all the men would be back on board would be her free
time."
"But what are you going to do with her?"
"Get her to pose for me, if she will."
"Anything else?"
"One never knows in life," I answered smiling.
Morley regarded me thoughtfully.
"You artists do manage to have a good time."
"You could have just the same if you chose," I said.
"No, I don't think I could somehow," he answered slowly. "I am not so
devilishly good-looking as you are, for one thing."
"Oh, I don't know," I replied; "and does that make much difference
with women, do you think? Isn't it rather a passionate responsiveness,
a go-aheadness, that they like?"
"Yes, I think it is, but then that's it, you've got that. I don't
think I have. I don't seem to want the things, to see anything in
them, as you do."
I laughed outright. We were walking slowly down one of the gold,
light-filled streets towards the church now, and everything about us
seemed vibrating in the dazzling heat.
"If you don't want them I should think it's all right." I said.
"No, it isn't," returned my companion gravely. "You want a thing very
much and you get it, and have no end of fun. I don't want it and don't
get it, and don't have the fun. So it makes life very dull."
"Well, I _am_ very jolly," I admitted contentedly. "I think really,
artists--people with the artist's brain--do enjoy everything
tremendously. They have such a much wider field of desires, as you
say; and fewer limitations. They 'weave the web Desire,' as Swinburne
says, 'to snare the bird Delight.'"
"They get into a mess sometimes," said Morley sulkily; "as you will
with that girl if you don't look out. Here we are at the church.
There's a very fine picture inside; you'd like to see it, I expect."
We turned into the church and rested on the chairs for a few minutes,
enjoying the cool dark interior.
At six o'clock exactly I was in the little mud-yard again, before the
tea-shop; having sent Morley off to his dinner on board. I felt
elated: all my pulses were beating merrily. I was keenly alive. Morley
was right in what he said. An artist is Nature's pet, and she has
mixed all his blood with joy. Natural, instinctive joy, swamped
occasionally by melancholy, but always there surging up anew. Joy in
himself--joy in his powers--joy in life.
I knocked as arranged, and Suzee herself let me in. She had been
burning spice, apparently, before one of the idols that stood in each
corner of the tea-shop; for the whole place smelt of it.
"What have you been doing?" I said. "Holding service here?"
"Only burning spice-spills to chase away the evil spirits," replied
Suzee.
"Are there any here?" I inquired.
"They always come in with the white foreign devils," she returned with
engaging frankness.
I laughed.
"Well, Suzee, you are unkind," I expostulated. "Is that how you think
of me?"
She looked up with a calm smile.
"The devil is always welcomed by a woman," she answered sweetly--her
eyes were black lakes with fire moving in their depths--"that is one
of our proverbs. It is quite true."
The lips curled and the creamy satin of the cheeks dimpled and the
blue earrings shook against her neck.
"What lovely earrings," I said, smiling down upon her, and put up my
hand gently to touch one. She did not draw back nor seem to resent my
action.
"You think them pretty? I have others upstairs. Will you come up and
see my jewellery?"
I assented with the greatest willingness, and we went on down the
passage and then up the narrow, steep flight of stairs at the end.
"Don't wake up your child," I said in sudden horror, as we reached the
small square landing above of slender rickety uncovered boards.
"Oh, he never wakes till one pulls him up," she answered tranquilly,
and led the way into a little chamber. Did she sleep here? I wondered.
There was no bed, but a loose heap of red rugs in one corner. The
windows were mere narrow horizontal slits close to the ceiling. In the
centre, blocking up all the space, stood a high narrow chest. It
looked very old, of blackened wood and antique shape. I had never seen
such a thing. On the top of this, which nearly came to her chin, she
eagerly spread out heaps of little paper parcels she took from one of
the drawers.
"Have you any earrings just like those you are wearing?" I asked her.
If she had, I would buy them if I could for my cousin Viola, I
thought. Viola was excessively fair, and those blue stones would be
enchanting against her blonde hair.
"You want to buy them?" she said quickly. "I have a pair here just
like, only green. Buy those."
"No," I said. "It is the colour I like. Do you want to sell these blue
ones you are wearing?"
"No," she said quickly; "not these," and ran to a small mirror on the
wall and looked in hastily, fearfully, as if she thought that by
wishing for them I could charm them away from her out of her very
ears.
That she appreciated so well the effect of the colour harmony between
the blue stones and her own cream-hued skin, and the value of it in
setting off her beauty, pleased me. It seemed to augur well for her
artistic sense.
"May I sit down here?" I asked her, going to the pile of scarlet rugs
and cushions in the corner.
"Oh yes, Meester Treevor, sit down," and she came hastily forward to
rearrange them for me with Oriental politeness. I sat down, drawing up
my legs as I best could, and pointed to a place beside me.
"Come and sit down, Suzee," I said; "I have something to show you
now."
She came and sat beside me, but not very close, with her knees raised
and her smooth lissom little hands clasped round them. Her almond eyes
grew almost round with curiosity. I had brought with me a small
portfolio of some of my sketches with the object of introducing the
subject of her posing for me. I opened it and drew out the topmost
sketch. It was the figure of a young Italian girl lying on a green
bank beneath some vines. She was not wholly undraped, but most of her
attire was on the bank beside her, and the rest was of a transparent
gauzy nature suited to the heat suggested in the sunlit picture.
The moment Suzee's eyes fell upon it she gave a shriek of dismay and
covered her face with her hands. Over any portion I could still see
of it spread the Eastern's equivalent of a blush: a sort of dull heavy
red that seems to thicken the tissues.
"What is the matter?" I asked, surveying her in surprise. There was
nothing in the picture which would cause the least embarrassment to
any English girl.
"Oh, Treevor, it is dreadful to look at things like that," she
exclaimed, moving her fingers before her face and looking at me with
one eye through them. Then she made some rapid passes over her head,
as if to ward off the evil spirits I had conjured up.
I laughed.
"You may think so, Suzee," I said; "but in our country, and many
others, these 'things,' as you call them, are not only very much
looked at, but also admired, and bought and sold for great sums. What
do you see so very bad in it?"
Suzee ventured to peer through her fingers with both eyes at the
fearful object.
"Dreadful!" she exclaimed again, quickly shutting her fingers. "It is
a very bad woman, is it not?"
"No," I said, somewhat nettled; "certainly not. This was quite a
respectable girl. I have quantities of these portraits and sketches.
Look here," and I opened the portfolio and spread out several pictures
on the rug.
Suzee drew herself together, tightly pursed up her and looked down at
them with alarm,--as if I had let loose a number of snakes.
"They are very, very wicked things," she said, primly as a dissenting
minister's wife; and lowered her eyelids till the lashes lay like
black silk on the cheeks.
I gathered the offending sketches together and pushed them back under
cover.
"I wanted you to pose for me," I said, "that I might have your
picture, too; but I expect you won't do so for me?"
"I! I!" said Suzee, with virtuous indignation, "be put on paper like
that? I would die first." Her face had thickened all over as the blood
went into it. Her eyes looked stormy, alluring.
I leant towards her suddenly as we sat side by side, put my arms round
her waist, drew her to me, and pressed my lips on the ridiculous
little screwed-up mouth, with a sudden access of passion that left her
breathless.
"You are a horrid little humbug, and goose, and prude," I said,
laughing, as I released her. "What do you think of letting me kiss you
like that, then? Is that wrong?"
Suzee sighed heavily, swaying her pliable body only a very little way
from me.
"It may be--a little" she admitted; "but it's not like the pictures."
"Oh! It's not so bad--not so wicked?" I asked mockingly.
"Oh no, not nearly," she returned decisively.
"Well," I answered, "many people would think it much worse. Those
girls who have let me draw them would not let me kiss them--some of
them," I added. "So, you see, it's a matter of opinion and idea. Now,
will you say why the picture is so much worse than a kiss?"
"A kiss," murmured Suzee, "is just between two people. It is done, and
no one knows. It is gone." She spread out her hands and waved them in
the air with an expressive gesture. "Those things remain a monument of
shame for ever and ever."
I laughed. I was beginning to see there was not much chance of a
picture, but other prospects seemed fair. In life one must always take
exactly what it offers, and neither refuse its goods nor ask for more,
either in addition or exchange. Sitka would give me something, but
perhaps not a picture as I had hoped.
I looked at her in silence for some seconds, musing on her curious
beauty.
"I shall call you 'Sitkar-i-buccheesh,'" I said after a minute.
Suzee looked frightened and made a rapid pass over her head.
"What is that?" she asked. "It sounds a devil's name."
"It only means the gift of Sitka," I answered. "This city has given
you to me, has it not? or it will," I added in a lower tone.
I put my arm round her again, and she leant towards me as a flower
swayed by the breeze, her head drooped and rested against my shoulder.
"If it were the name of a devil," I said laughing, "it would suit you.
I believe you are an awful little devil."
"All women are devils," returned Suzee placidly.
I did not answer, but Viola's face swam suddenly before my vision--a
face all white and gold and rose and with eyes of celestial blue.
"What would your husband say to all this?" I asked jestingly.
"He will never know. I tell him quite different. He believes
everything I say."
Involuntarily I felt a little chill of disgust pass through me. Deceit
of any kind specially repels me, and deceit towards some one trusting,
confident, is the worst of all.
Perhaps she read my thoughts instinctively, for she said next, in a
pleading note, to enlist my sympathies:
"He is very, very cruel, he beats me all the time."
I looked down at her as she lay in the cradle of my arm, a little
sceptical.
From what I knew of the Chinese character it did not seem at all
likely that Hop Lee did beat his wife; moreover, the delicate,
fragile, untouched beauty of the girl did not allow one to imagine she
had suffered, or could suffer much violence.
Again she seemed to feel my doubt of her, for she pushed up suddenly
her sleeve with some trouble from one velvet-skinned arm and pushed it
up before my eyes. There was a deep dull crimson mark upon it the size
of a half-crown.
"Unbeliever! Look at this bruise."
I looked at it, then at her steadily.
"Suzee, did your husband make that bruise?"
"Yes. He pinched me so hard in a rage with me," she said a little
sulkily.
"Give me your arm," I said.
She held it out reluctantly. I looked at the bruise, then I rolled the
sleeve back a little farther, and in it found a heavy gold bangle with
a boss on one side corresponding with the size of the mark on the
flesh.
"I think it is the gold bracelet your kind old husband gave you that
you have pressed into the flesh," I said, "that has marked it. That is
about what his cruelty to you amounts to." I dropped her arm
contemptuously, and rose suddenly.
She had succeeded in dispelling for the moment the charm of her
beauty. Her prudery, her deceit, her lies made up to me a peculiarly
obnoxious mixture.
She sprang up, too, as I rose and threw herself on her knees,
clasping her arms round mine so that I could not move.
"Oh Treevor, I do love you so much. You are my real master, not he. A
woman loves a man who conquers her, but not by buying her. But because
he is better and stronger than she. Because he has great muscles, as
you have, and could kill her, and because she can't deceive him,
because he sees all her lies, as you do. Yes, Treevor, I love you now
very much indeed. Come here again, kiss me again."
But somehow her pleading did not move me. The moment when I had been
drawn to her had gone by, swallowed up in a feeling of disgust.
I stooped down and unlocked her hands and put her back among her
cushions.
"Good-bye, Suzee, for to-day," I said. "To-morrow I will come and take
you for a walk. You must let me go now. I do not want to stay any
longer."
She looked at me in silence, but did not offer to move from where I
had put her.
I gathered up my portfolio and left the room, went down the stairs and
through the passage and courtyard to the sun-filled street.
I went on slowly, and after a time found myself close to the church
again. I went in, for the interior interested me, and found service
was being held. A Russian priest, wholly in white clothing, stood
before the altar, the cross light from the aisle windows falling on
the long twist of fair hair that lay upon his shoulders. The whole air
was full of incense that rose in white clouds to the domed roof. I sat
down near the door and listened while the priest intoned a Latin hymn.
The figure of the young priest at the altar attracted me. I thought I
should like a sketch of it; but I hesitated to take one of him in the
church, even surreptitiously, so I fixed the picture of him as he
stood there on my eyes as far as I could, and then, in a convenient
pause of the service, quietly slipped outside.
Near the church was a great outcrop of rock surmounted by a
weather-beaten tree. In the shade thrown by these I got out a sheet of
loose paper and made a sketch of the fair, long-haired priest, with
the quaint frame building of the church, its green copper dome and
bell tower and double gold crosses behind him.
After I had been there some time I was suddenly surprised by Morley.
"Hullo!" he exclaimed. "You here? Why, I thought you would be in the
arms of the fair Suzee by this time."
"So I might have been," I answered, looking up from the sketch, "but I
got put off somehow, so I left her and went to church instead!"
Morley burst out laughing.
"You _are_ the funniest fellow," he exclaimed, taking his seat beside
me on the ground and clasping his hands round his knees. "So Suzee has
offended you, has she? Do you know, I think that's where we ordinary
people get ahead of fellows like you. You are too sensitive. We're not
so particular. When I'm stuck on Mary Ann it doesn't matter to me what
she says or does. It doesn't interfere with my happiness."
I went on painting in silence.
"Funny those chaps look with their long hair, don't they?" he remarked
after a moment, as I painted the light on the priest's long curl.
"Very picturesque, don't you think?" I said.
"No, I don't," returned the Briton stoutly. "I think it's beastly."
I laughed this time, and having completed the portrait, slipped it
into my portfolio and prepared to put away my paints.
"Don't you want any dinner?" asked Morley. "You must be hungry."
"Well, I hadn't thought of it," I answered. "But, now you mention it,
perhaps I am. Do you know of any place where one can get anything?"
"There's one place at the end of the town where you can have soup and
bread," replied Morley, and we started off to find it.
Later on, towards ten o'clock, when we were leaving the little, frame,
sailors' restaurant, I looked up to the western sky and saw that
strange colour in it of the Alaskan sunset that I have never found in
any other sky, a bright magenta, or deep heather pink, a crude colour
rather like an aniline dye, but brilliant and arresting in the clean,
clear gold of the heavens.
Great ribs and bars and long flat lines of it lay all across the West.
No other cloud, no other colour appeared anywhere in the sky. It was
painted in those two tints alone; the brightest magenta conceivable
and living gold.
Walking back slowly to the ship, I gazed at it with interest. No other
sky that I could recall ever shows this tone of colour. Pink, scarlet,
rose, and all the shades of blood or flame-colour are familiar in
every sunset, but this curious tint seemed to belong to Alaska alone.
I watched it glow and deepen, then fade, and softly disappear as the
sun dipped below the horizon.