himself to the menu.
"Seen that girl of mine since she came ashore?" continued the captain.
"Miss Boynton?" asked Percival, as if not quite sure of the identity of
the person inquired for. "Oh, yes, I believe I did see her early this
morning. She went out with Mr. Black."
"Good! He'll show her a thing or two."
"Rather extraordinary," Percival could not help commenting, "the way
young American girls go about alone like that."
"Alone? What's the matter with Andy?"
"But I mean unchaperoned. Dare say young Black is very good in his way,
but he can't be called discreet."
"How do you mean?"
"Taking your daughter into that nasty mess of Chinamen in the steerage,
for instance, to watch them play fan-tan."
"What of that? She only lost a couple of quarters and had a dollar's
worth of fun. Can't see it was any worse than keeping her out at the
prow until midnight, or taking her up to the crow's-nest." The captain
pushed back his chair, and smiled with maddening significance. "See
here, my young friend, you needn't worry about Bobby. She's been taking
care of herself for twenty years. You better look after yourself."
The Honorable Percival did not answer. He got his eye-glass right and
looked straight ahead of him.
But the captain was not through. He leaned across the table and shook a
warning finger:
"Beware of J. Lucy," he said, then he took a smiling departure.
Through the rest of the meal and well into the afternoon Percival
puzzled his brain over that cryptic warning. When its meaning dawned
upon him he flung "Guillim's Display of Heraldry" clear across the room,
and used language not becoming an English gentleman. He assured himself
for the hundredth time that Americans were the most odious people in the
world, and the captain the most convincing proof of it.
The afternoon dragged miserably, and the prospect of waiting about the
hotel until the steamer sailed at noon the next day appalled him. The
obvious thing, of course, was to go out and see the city, but he had
declared to Judson that there was nothing worth seeing, and one must be
consistent before one's servants. Even the morrow offered no abatement
to his misery. Most of the people he knew were going from Yokohama to
Kobe by rail, and he pictured himself the only guest at the captain's
table for three mortal days.
At three o'clock he went down to the terrace and took his seat at a
small table that commanded a view of the hotel entrance. To one with
a free mind the scene was highly diverting, with jinrikishas and
occasional victorias thronging the bund, and gay parties constantly
arriving and departing. Coolies in blue, with mysterious Chinese
lettering on their kimonos and with bright towels about their heads,
trotted past; women with blackened teeth and with babies strapped on
their backs clattered by on wooden shoes; street venders sang their
savory wares; merchants displayed treasures of lacquer and ivory, street
dancers posed and sang to the tinkle of the samisen.
But to Percival it was at best a purgatory where he seemed to be doomed
to wait through eternity. Not that he meant to speak to Bobby Boynton
when she arrived or make the slightest sign of forgiveness. That she
should have allowed Andy Black to keep her out from eleven in the
morning until after three in the afternoon was even more shocking than
her behavior to him the night before. He was resolved to show her by
every means in his power that to even a disinterested acquaintance like
himself her conduct was wholly unpardonable. Meanwhile that emotion to
which the captain had so grossly alluded took entire and absorbing
possession of him.
Toward the middle of the afternoon Mrs. Weston joined him on the terrace
in an anxious mood.
"Have you seen anything of that naughty Bobby Boynton?" she asked. "I am
quite distracted about her. Our train for Kioto leaves in half an hour.
You don't suppose anything has happened to her, do you?"
"I really can't say," said Percival, with a shrug that suggested the
direst possibilities.
"We simply must go on to Kioto tonight," continued Mrs. Weston,
anxiously nervous. "My cousin would never forgive me if I disappointed
him. You see, he's lived in Kioto for years, and he's promised to take
us out to an old Buddhist temple on a wonderful sacred mountain that I
can't pronounce. We've been looking forward to it for weeks."
Percival stood back of his chair and watched his tea getting cold. The
suggestion of something having happened to Bobby had changed his anger
to sharp solicitude. Gruesome tales of brutality toward foreigners in
Eastern ports came back to him.
"I wonder," said Mrs. Weston, persuasively, "if you would mind taking a
jinrikisha and going down to Benten Dori to see if they are there. I
have no one else to send."
"I don't know that I should care to go myself," said Percival, "but I'll
send my man."
Judson having been despatched, Percival with difficulty refrained from
following him. Mrs. Weston's solicitude as she hovered between the
telephone-booth and the desk was infectious, and he found himself pacing
from entrance to entrance, imagining the most calamitous causes for the
delay.
It was not until a joyful exclamation from Elise Weston announced the
approach of the truants that he drew a deep breath of relief and retired
to the reading-room. He was more than ever resolved not to see Bobby; to
her former transgressions was now added the new and unpardonable offense
of having made him acutely anxious about her.
He took up an old copy of the "Graphic," and resolutely read of events
that had taken place before he left England. He even glanced through the
pages of the innocuous "Gentlewoman," and tried to concentrate upon an
article entitled "Favorite Fabrics for Autumn." In vain were his
efforts; every sound from the lobby or the street claimed his instant
attention. At last, when an unmistakable commotion without gave evidence
that the Weston party was leaving, he got up, despite himself, and went
to the window.
They were all there, Mrs. Weston, Elise, the Scotchman, Andy, and Bobby,
all climbing into their jinrikishas in the greatest possible haste and
in the highest possible spirits. One after another the jinrikishas
trundled away, until only Bobby's was left while her runner adjusted his
sandal. Percival saw her turn in her seat and eagerly scan the terrace
and the windows of the hotel. Then suddenly she caught sight of him, and
her face broke into a radiant smile as she waved her hand and nodded.
A moment later and his eyes were straining after a figure that was fast
disappearing up the bund. It was a small, alert figure, disturbingly
young and sweet and buoyant. The flying jinrikisha, the hair blowing
across her cheek, the scarf that fluttered in the breeze, all suggested
flight, and flight to the masculine mind is only another term for
pursuit.
He flung down his paper and strode out to the lobby.
"When is the next train for Kioto?" he demanded.
"At ten to-night, sir."
"Make out my bill, and get my luggage down; I'm leaving on that train."
"But, sir, you have made no reservation. You may have to sit up all
night."
"Have you any objections?" asked the Honorable Percival in his most
insular manner.
X
ON THE SEARCH
The clerk's prophecy proved all too true. Percival and his valet sat all
night in a crowded, smoke-dimmed car, between a fat Japanese wrestler
and a fatter Buddhist priest, both of whom squatted on their heels and
read aloud in monotonous, wailing tones. The air was close, and the
floor was strewn with orange peel, spilt tea, and cigarette ends.
Percival's fastidious senses were offended as they had never been
offended before. Under ordinary circumstances nothing could have induced
him to submit to such discomfort, but the circumstances were not
ordinary.
The alternative of remaining calmly in Yokohama and allowing an
aggressive young American to monopolize the girl of his even temporary
choice was utterly intolerable. Moreover, he was coming to see that
while Bobby had failed to droop under the frost of his displeasure, it
was still probable that she would melt into penitence at the first smile
of royal forgiveness.
During the long hours of that interminable night he had ample time to
reflect upon the folly of pursuing an object which he did not mean to
possess. But though wisdom urged discretion, a blue eye and a furtive
dimple beckoned.
When morning came, he straightened his stiff legs and, picking his way
through the wooden sandals that cluttered the aisle, went out to the
small platform. The train had stopped at a village, and a boy with a
tray suspended from his shoulders, bearing boxes of native food, was
howling dismally:
"Bento! Eo Bento!"
Percival beckoned to him. "I say, can't you get me a roll and a cup of
coffee!"
"Bento?" asked the boy, expectantly.
"Coffee!" shouted Percival. "Rather strong, you know, and hot."
"Tan San? Rhomenade?" asked the boy.
"Coffee. Café. What a silly fool!" Percival muttered.
About this time several windows in the car went up, and many voices took
up the cry of "Bento." When Percival reëntered, he found that a large
pot of boiling water had been deposited in the aisle, and small tea-pots
had been distributed among the passengers. Everybody was partaking of
breakfast, and everybody seemed to be enjoying it, especially Judson,
who was attacking his neatly arranged bamboo sprouts, pickled eels, and
snowy rice with avidity.
"This is a bit of all right, sir," he said with enthusiasm. "Shall I
fetch you a box, sir!"
Percival lifted a protesting hand. And yet the pungent odor of the
pickle and the still smoking rice was not unpleasant. He watched with
increasing appetite the disappearance of the various viands. There were
occasions when a man might even envy his valet.
At the Kioto Hotel there was no record of the Weston party, so he
snatched a hasty bite, and rushed on to the other large hotel. It was
on a hillside well out from the city, and two coolies were required for
each jinrikisha. Seeing that they had a newly arrived tourist, they were
moved to show him the sights, much to Percival's annoyance.
"San-ju-san-gen-do Temple," the man in front said, putting down the
shafts of the jinrikisha confidently. "Thirty-three thousand images of
great god Kwannon. Come see? No? So desu ka?"
Later he stopped at a flower-girt tea-house.
"Geisha maybe! Very fine dancers. Come see? No? So desu ka?"
So it continued, the two small guides trying in vain to arouse some
interest in the stern young gentleman who sat so rigidly in the
jinrikisha, with his mind bent solely on reaching the Yaami Hotel in the
shortest possible time.
On his arrival, he met with disappointment. The effusive proprietor
informed him that a party of five, "one single lady, and two young
married couples, he thought," had breakfasted there and left immediately
with Dr. Weston for Hieizan. They would not return until night.
"What, pray, is Hieizan?" Percival asked, dimly remembering Mrs.
Weston's outlined plan.
"Very grand mountain," said the proprietor; "view of Lake Biwa. Biggest
pine-tree in the world."
The last thing that Percival desired to see was a big pine-tree, but the
prospect of sharing the sight of it with Bobby Boynton spurred him to
further inquiry.
"But they must come back, mustn't they? Perhaps I could meet them
halfway?"
"Oh, yes. They go by _kago_ over mountain; you go by 'rickisha to
Otsu, and wait. Very nice, very easy. All come home together. I furnish
fine jinrikisha and very good man, Sanno; spik very good English."
Percival had an early lunch, and, leaving Judson sitting disconsolately
among the hand-bags, started for Otsu. From the first his runner
justified his reputation of speaking English; he began by counting up
to fifty, looking over his shoulder for approval, and expecting to be
prompted when his memory failed. He received Percival's peremptory
order to be silent with an uncomprehending smile and a glib recitation
of the Twenty-third Psalm. He was an unusually tall coolie, and the
jinrikisha-shafts resting in his hands were a foot higher than they
ought to be, throwing his passenger at a most awkward angle. Before Otsu
was reached a sudden rainstorm came on, and Percival was made yet more
uncomfortable by having the hood of the jinrikisha put up, and a piece
of stiff oilcloth tucked about him.
By the time he rattled into the courtyard of the small Japanese inn, he
was cramped and cold and very cross. Even the voluble welcome of the
proprietor and the four girls, who received him on their knees, failed
to revive his spirits. It was going to be deuced awkward explaining his
sudden appearance to the Weston party. There might even be jokes at his
expense. He decided to take a room and not make his appearance unless
everything seemed propitious.
An animated discussion was in progress between Sanno and the innkeeper,
the import of which Sanno explained with much difficulty. Owing to the
autumn festival of the imperial ancestors, the inn was quite full, but
hospitality could not he refused to so distinguished a foreign guest.
"Foreign bedstead is not," concluded Sanno; "foreign food is not; hot
bath is."
"I sha'n't want a bed, and I sha'n't want a bath," said Percival, then,
seeing that a diminutive maiden was unloosing his shoes, he added
petulantly: "My boots are quite dry. Tell her to go away."
But Sanno was getting his jinrikisha under cover, and Percival had to
submit to the gentle, but firm, determination of the _nesan_. She
was small and demure, but her attitude towards him was that of a nurse
towards a refractory child. She conducted him, with much sliding of
screens, through several compartments, to a room at the back of the
house that opened out on a tiny balcony overhanging a noisy stream.
Percival, standing in his stockinged feet on the soft mats, looked about
him. The room was devoid of furniture, its only decoration being a vase
of carefully arranged flowers in an alcove, and a queer kakemono that
hung on an ivory stick. As he was inspecting the latter, the nesan again
approached him.
This time she seemed to have designs upon his coat, and despite his
protest began to remove it. When he forestalled her at one point she
attacked another, until the situation became so embarrassing that he
shouted indignantly for Sanno.
"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded furiously. "Why doesn't the
girl go away, and leave me alone?"
"Gentleman bass already," said Sanno, soothingly. "Kimono? So?" he
joined forces with the nesan to get Percival out of his clothes and into
the fresh-flowered kimono that lay on the mat.
"But I never take a tub in the afternoon," persisted Percival.
Preparations went politely, but steadily, forward.
"What's this she's putting on me?" he cried. "I say, I _won't_ wear
a sash; the whole thing's too beastly silly. Tell her to take it off."
But despite his protests, the long red scarf was wound about his waist
and tied with many deft twists and pats into a butterfly bow at the
back. Seeing that protests were quite useless, and being still chilled
from his long ride, he decided to resist no longer, but to take the bath
that was so insisted upon, and be free to watch undisturbed for the
returning party.
The nesan produced a sponge and towel from her long sleeves and, taking
Percival by the hand, led him down the hall. Once in the big, square
wooden tank, with the hot water up to his chin, he forgot his trouble,
and gave himself up to the luxury of the moment. Even the knowledge that
the determined little nesan was waiting outside the door, and that she
frequently applied a round, black eye to a hole in the screen, did not
interfere with his enjoyment.
When he was again in his room, clothed except for his shoes, his
troubles once more assailed him. Suppose the Weston party did not return
by this route! The possibility of missing Bobby fired his desire to see
her at once. He had never known twenty-four hours to contain so many
minutes.
During the early stages of his malady it had only been necessary for him
to recall the aristocratic faces and bearing of his mother and sisters
to have his vision instantly cleared and his reason enthroned. Later it
became necessary to add the captain's sturdy countenance to his list of
exorcising spirits. Now Bobby routed them all, not only taking entire
possession of his mind, but actually invading Hascombe Hall, dancing
through the gloomy, corridors, and waking the echoes with her youth and
merriment.
Of course the Honorable Percival tried to stamp out these wild
imaginings, and assured himself repeatedly that the moment he landed in
Hong-Kong the whole episode would be relegated to oblivion. But
Hong-Kong was yet ten days away, and Percival saw no use in forgetting
before he had to. He went out to the courtyard and impatiently surveyed
the rain-soaked road.
"No come," said Sanno, cheerfully, from the step where he was keeping
watch. "Tea?"
Without waiting for an answer, he clapped his hands, calling, "_O
Cha!_"
Another small maiden in a cherry-blossom kimono, carrying a brazier full
of live coals, trotted around the corner and conducted Percival back to
his apartment. She proved even more irritating than the first one, for
during the tea-making she stopped many times to examine his cuff-links,
wrist-watch, and ring, making purring exclamations of delight over each
discovery. When he used his monocle she tried it also, and when he took
out his cigarette-case, she must examine every detail and help herself
to a cigarette into the bargain. Percival was acutely bored. He regarded
her as a persistent fly that refused to be brushed away. He sat with his
back against the paper screen, his stockinged feet rigidly extended,
drinking his tea as solemnly as if he had been in the most formal
drawing-room of Grosvenor Square.
The rainy afternoon closed in to twilight, and still the Weston party
did not come. Percival's impatience gave place to anger, but he doggedly
waited.
"Could they have gone back another way?" he demanded of Sanno.
"Way?" repeated Sanno.
Percival made a drawing on paper and tried to convey his meaning, but it
was useless.
"'Merican game?" asked Sanno, grinning.
At last, in desperation, Percival decided to return.
"Yaami Hotel, Kioto," he directed.
"Very sorry," said Sanno. "No come Kioto to-night. Big rain. Bridge him
very bad. Jinrikisha upset, maybe."
Percival declared this to be nonsense; he insisted that he would start
immediately. But as Sanno refused to bring out the jinrikisha, it was
not possible to carry out his intention. Then the Honorable Percival,
who was not used to being crossed, lost his temper, and the entire
household came out to see him do it. Sanno and the proprietor watched
him with bland and smiling faces, and the girls tucked their heads
behind their sleeves and laughed immoderately at his scowls and vehement
gestures.
Seeing that he was gaining nothing by argument, he stalked sullenly back
to his room, where active preparations were in progress for dinner. The
brazier which had been used for the tea still stood in the middle of the
floor, and all around it were porcelain bowls and lacquer trays, and a
wooden bucket full of steaming rice.
He took refuge on the two-foot balcony and gazed gloomily on the
sprawling stream below. The Westons were probably back in Kioto by this
time, and would be off again in the morning before he could possibly get
there. What headway might not that presumptuous Andy Black make with
Bobby Boynton in forty-eight uninterrupted hours!
His tragic reflections were interrupted by the announcement that dinner
was served. Seated on the floor before a twelve-inch table, with disgust
written on every feature, he drank fish-soup out of a bowl, and tasted
dish after dish as it was borne in and respectfully placed before him.
"Haven't you a fork?" he asked when the chop-sticks were proffered him.
"Forku?" repeated one of the three maidens who knelt before him; then
she joined the other two in a giggling chorus.
There had been moments in the Honorable Percival's life when his dignity
trembled on its pedestal, but never had it swayed so perilously as when
he tried to use chop-sticks for the first time under the fire of those
six mischievous black eyes. It was only by maintaining his haughtiest
manner that he remained master of the situation.
When bedtime came, a new difficulty arose. Sanno's prophecy that
"foreign bedstead probably is not" proved true. A neat pile of quilts
in the middle of the floor was offered as a substitute, and Percival,
after a long argument, stretched himself on the soft heap and courted
oblivion. But the Fates were against him. As if his thoughts were not
sufficient to torment him, hundreds of mosquitos swarmed up from the
stream below, and assailed him so viciously that at midnight he rose
and called loudly for Sanno.
With Sanno came the household, all eager to know what new excitement
the foreign gentleman was creating. When the trouble was explained,
elaborate preparations were set on foot to remedy it. After much
discussion, hooks were driven into the corners of the ceiling, and
a huge net cage, the size of the room, suspended therefrom.
During this performance Percival suffered great embarrassment, owing to
the fact that the pink silk underwear in which he was arrayed was an
object of the liveliest interest to the ladies.
When at last he was left alone, he fell into a troubled sleep. He
dreamed that the world was peopled solely by mosquitos, and he knew them
all, Captain Boynton, Andy Black, Sanno, the Lady Hortense, and even
Bobby herself. One by one they came and nipped him while he lay
helpless, clad only in a pink suit of silken underwear.
XI
THE GYMKHANA
The experiences of his first twenty-four hours in Japan were repeated
with variations three times before Percival reached Kobe. His mad desire
to overtake Bobby had carried him from Kioto to Nara, where he went to
the wrong hotel and missed the Weston party by fifteen minutes. From
Nara he made a night journey to Ozaka, during which the small engine
broke down in the middle of a rice-field, proving a sorry substitute for
the wings of love.
It was with a sigh of relief that he at last boarded the _Saluria_
and sank into his steamer-chair. At least there was one satisfaction,
no one but Judson knew of his futile search, and Judson was too well
trained to discuss his master's affairs. How good it was to be on board
once more! He felt an almost sentimental attachment for the steamer
which three weeks ago had fallen so short of what an ocean-liner ought
to be. Then the _Saluria_ was only an old Atlantic transport
transferred to the Pacific to do passenger service, but now she was
a veritable ship of romance, freighted with memories and dreams.
The passengers, coming aboard, seemed like old friends, and he found
himself greeting each in turn with a nod that surprised them as much
as it did him. At any moment now Bobby Boynton might appear, and the
prospect of seeing her raised his spirits to such a height that he
wondered if he would be able to play the rôle he had assigned himself.
He had definitely decided to be an injured, but forgiving, friend. She
should be made no less aware of his wounds than of his generosity. She
would doubtless recall another incident in which he had met ingratitude
with noble forgiveness, and she would rush to make reparation. If there
was one thing he prided himself upon it was a knowledge of women. Never
but once had his judgment erred, and even then, could he but remember
all his impressions, he doubtless had had moments of misgiving.
Bobby's voice sounded on the ladder, and the next moment she was
tripping down the deck toward him. It was in vain that he kept his eyes
on the letter in his hand, and assumed an air of complete absorption.
She came straight toward him, and dropped into the chair next his own.
"Oh, but you missed it!" she said. "I never had so much fun in all my
life."
He did not answer. Instead, he lifted a pair of melancholy eyes, and
looked at her steadfastly.
"Oh," she said after a puzzled moment, "I forgot. We are mad, aren't we?
One of us owes the other an apology."