AT THE DIVAN EXCHANGE.
When the news that Sarkies was cast out of the bosom of the church
reached the family, there was at first consternation and despair. But
pride came to their rescue. "I don't care," said Jimmy; and the mother
and the aunt, tossing their heads, echoed his sentiments. Mrs. Sarkies
returned a small box full of woolwork, the shop of the Dorcas Society,
with a stinging note to Mrs. Bunny, in which she accused that innocent
woman of having conspired to bring about the annoyance to which they
were subjected. Mrs. Sarkies was convinced that it was solely through
Mrs. Bunny's desire to have charge of the work of the Dorcas Society
that all this had happened.
The next Sunday the whole Sarkies family drove slowly past the
tabernacle in a hired phaeton just as the congregation were coming out
after service, and cut every member dead. It was glorious. They came
back to their midday meal feeling a calm satisfaction at having
revenged a great wrong.
There was much discussion as to whether the family should join the
congregation of the established church, or take the bolder step of
going over to Rome--the latter for preference, as it would fairly
spite their enemies. The question, however, was for the present left
in abeyance, and until it was settled they decided not to go to any
church at all. Mr. Sarkies himself felt a load lifted from his mind at
this decision. He determined not to let his love affair rest, and,
notwithstanding every precaution, managed to obtain an interview with
Lizzie, by the simple process of clambering up the trunk of a cocoanut
palm which leaned against the high wall surrounding the elder's
garden. Mr. Sarkies climbed up sufficiently high to overlook the wall,
and Lizzie stood on the ground below him. The glass-covered wall was,
however, between them. The position was not dignified, nor was it
exactly comfortable, and Mr. Sarkies dreaded the general publicity of
the whole scene. Still, however, he came to a satisfactory
understanding with Lizzie. When she finally turned and vanished amid
the trees, her white dress flitting through the open spaces in a
ghostly manner, Sarkies came down with a sigh of relief, and,
arranging his somewhat disordered dress, walked slowly toward a
cab-stand. Hailing a buggy, and jingling some coin in his pocket, he
jumped in and drove rapidly toward the Fort. He had mentally
determined to celebrate his success by having an evening at the Divan
Exchange, a saloon kept by an enterprising American, who concocted
wondrous drinks, where the billiard-table was good, and the ice-creams
marvellous. There was quite a crowd of cabs collected at the door, and
the place was full when Sarkies entered it. Over the bar was a huge
transparency representing the face of a clock, with the legend "No
Tick Here" inscribed in large capitals on its face--a motto often full
of sore disappointment to the customers. Immediately below this stood
Colonel William P. Tamblyn, the proprietor, watching the practised
hand of his tapsters as they poured forth monkeys, dogs' noses, eye
openers, maiden's blushes, and other drinks whose name is legion. From
the rooms above came the click of billiard balls, and the monotonous
call of the marker--"Fiftee--fiftee-two--good game, sar!" Little
marble-topped tables were scattered about, and from a dais in the
corner half a dozen musicians regaled the company with a choice
selection of airs, from the "Blue Danube" to "Yankee Doodle." The
music was almost drowned in the buzz of voices. All nationalities
except China were represented here. Colonel Tamblyn announced that he
drew the line there, and a flaring poster both outside and inside
announced that "Chinamen and Soldiers in uniform are not admitted."
Sarkies obtained a suitable drink; he chose that pink compound of rum,
mint, crushed ice, and peach brandy which rejoices in the name of
maiden's blush, and bore it away with him to the billiard-room
upstairs. The tables were full, and Sarkies, making himself
comfortable on a bench, waited for his turn to come.
Beside him sat a neat-looking man, clean-shaven, with red hair and
small black bead eyes. His blue coat with brass anchor buttons
explained his calling. His ducks were spotlessly white, and the
pipe-clay on his canvas shoes evidently just dry.
"May I trouble you for a light?" said the man.
"Certainly;" and Sarkies handed him a small plated box containing wax
vestas.
The stranger lit a cheroot, and, returning the box, inquired, "Come
here often?"
"Ya'as--sometimes," and Sarkies took a pull at his drink.
"This is about the first time I've been here; my ship has only just
come in. Pleasant place this." And the stranger watched the end of his
cheroot keenly to see that it was burning properly.
"Have a game after this?" asked Sarkies, and the stranger agreed.
They were able to get a table, and a small bet was made on the game,
which Sarkies, much to his delight, won. The stranger paid up, and as
he did so he remarked:
"You play a very good game--may I ask your name?"
"Oh, Sarkies--I'm in Apcoon Brothers."
"The great shipping agents--delighted to meet you--allow me to present
my card to you," and Mr. Sarkies's new acquaintance drew a card from a
new leather case and handed it to him.
Sarkies regretted within himself that he had not brought a card-case
with him, and determined in future never to be without one. He bowed
politely over the outstretched hand of his companion, and took the
card between his fingers; as he glanced at it an expression of
surprise came over his face.
"Captain S. Lamport, Merchant Marine," he said aloud. "This is
strange."
A shadow passed over his companion's face.
"I don't see anything strange in my name," he said a little sternly.
Sarkies looked at him; there was an ugly scowl on his face, and the
Armenian felt a little alarmed. "Not that, captain," he said; "only I
know a person named Lamport--and she is--I mean she is a widow, and is
going to be married."
The stranger's brow cleared. "Let us sit down for a bit," he said. "I
am much interested--and, sir, may I ask are you the happy man?"
"Oh, no--the padre of our--I mean the Methodist church--a Mr.
Galbraith."
"Um! I see," mused Captain Lamport; "lots of money--eh!"
"I expect so." And then with a knowing smile Sarkies added, "The padre
has the church funds, y'know."
"He! he!" laughed the captain, and poked Sarkies in the ribs; "sly
dog--you're a deep one, you are."
Mr. Sarkies, much flattered by the compliment, proposed a drink, and
the captain assented. In answer to his host's request to "name the
poison," the captain suggested monkeys, and the monkeys were brought.
Then there was more billiards and more betting, then a little rest and
more monkeys, then monkeys, billiards, and betting combined, and
finally Mr. Sarkies knew no more.
When he awoke again the stars were shining palely above him, and there
was a faint flush in the east. His hands were resting on something
damp on each side of him; he looked, and realized that he was on the
open plain in front of the Fort. Instinctively he felt for his watch
chain. It was gone. Mr. Sarkies rose to his feet, and the horizon swam
before him. He placed his hand to his burning head, and staggered
rather than walked toward the road. A late cab passed. Into this he
entered and drove home.