There comes a time in the lives of all young men sojourning in foreign
lands when the powers that be across the water summon them to return to
the land of their birth.
Years before, letters and cablegrams not unsimilar to those that now
poured in upon her friends came persistently across the water to the
father of Sunny. Then there was no Professor Barrowes to govern and lay
down the law to the infatuated man. He was able to put off the departure
for several years, but with the passage of time the letters that
admonished and threatened not only ceased to come, but the necessary
remittances stopped also. Sunny's father found himself in the novel
position of being what he termed "broke" in a strange land.
As in the case of Jerry Hammond, whose people were all in trade, there
was a strange vein of sentiment in the father of Sunny. To his people
indeed, he appeared to be one of those freaks of nature that sometimes
appear in the best regulated families, and deviate from the proper paths
followed by his forbears. He had acquired a sentiment not merely for the
land, but for the woman he had taken as his wife; above all, he was
devoted to his little girl. It is hard to judge of the man from his
subsequent conduct upon his return to America. His marriage to the
mother of Sunny had been more or less of a mercenary transaction. She
had been sold to the American by a stepfather anxious to rid himself of
a child who showed the clear evidence of her white father, and greedy to
avail himself of the terms offered by the American. It was, in fact, a
gay union into which the rich, fast young man thoughtlessly entered,
with a cynical disregard of anything but his own desires. The result was
to breed in him at the outset a feeling that he would not have analysed
as contempt, but was at all events scepticism for the seeming love of
his wife for him.
It was different with his child. His affection for her was a beautiful
thing. No shadow of doubt or criticism came to mar the love that existed
between father and child. True, Sunny was the product of a temporary
union, a ceremony of the teacup, which nevertheless is a legal marriage
in Japan, and so regarded by the Japanese. Lightly as the American may
have regarded his union with her mother, he looked upon the child as
legally and fully his own, and was prepared to defend her rights.
In America, making a clean breast to parents and family lawyers, he
assented to the terms made by them, on condition that his child at least
should be obtained for him. The determination to obtain possession of
his child became almost a monomania with the man, and he took measures
that were undeniably ruthless to gratify his will. It may be also that
he was at this time the victim of agents and interested parties.
However, he had lived in Japan long enough to know of the proverbial
frailty of the sex. The mercenary motives he believed animated the woman
in marrying him, her inability to reveal her emotions in the manner of
the women of his own race; her seeming indifference and coldness at
parting, which indeed was part of her spartan heritage to face dire
trouble unblenching--the sort of thing which causes Japanese women to
send their warrior husbands into battle with smiles upon their lips--all
these things contributed to beat the man into a mood of acquiescence to
the demands of his parents. He deluded himself into believing that his
Japanese wife, like her dolls, was incapable of any intense feeling.
In due time, the machinery of law, which works for those who pay, with
miraculous swiftness in Japan, was set into motion, and the frail bonds
that so lightly bound the American to his Japanese wife, were severed.
At this time the mother of Sunny had been plastic and apparently
complacent, though rejecting the compensation proffered her by her
husband's agents. The woman, who was later to be known as Madame Many
Smiles, turned cold as death, however, when the disposition of her child
was broached. Nevertheless her smiling mask betrayed no trace to the
American agents of the anguished turmoil within. Indeed her amiability
aroused indignant and disgusted comment, and she was pronounced a
soulless butterfly. This diagnosis of the woman was to be rudely
shattered, when, beguiled by her seeming indifference, they relaxed
somewhat of their vigilant espionage of her, and awoke one morning to
find that the butterfly had flown beyond their reach.
The road of the mendicant, hunger, cold, and even shame were nearer to
the gates of Nirvanna than life in splendour without her child. That was
all part of the story of Madame Many Smiles.
History, in a measure, was to repeat itself in the life of Sunny. She
had come to depend for her happiness upon her friends, and the shock of
their impending departure was almost more than she could bear.
She spent many hours kneeling before Kuonnon, the Goddess of Mercy,
throwing her petitions upon the lap of the goddess, and bruising her
brow at the stone feet. It is sad to relate of Sunny, who so avidly had
embraced the Christian faith, and was to the proud Mr. Sutherland an
example of his labours in Japan, that in the hour of her great trouble
she should turn to a heathen goddess. Yet here was Sunny, bumping her
head at the stone feet. What could the Three-in-one God of the Reverend
Mr. Sutherland do for her now? Sunny had never seen his face; but she
knew well the benevolent comprehending smile of the Goddess of Mercy,
and in Her, Sunny placed her trust. And so:
"Oh, divine Kuonnon, lovely Lady of Mercy, hear my petition. Do not
permit my friends to leave Japan. Paralyse their feet. Blind their eyes
that they may not see the way. Pray you close up the west ocean, so no
ships may take my friends across. Hold them magnetised to the honourable
earth of Japan."
Sitting back on her heels, having voiced her petition anxiously she
scanned the face of the lady above her. The candles flickered and
wavered in the soft wind, and the incense curled in a spiral cloud and
wound in rings about the head of the celestial one. Sunny held her two
hands out pleadingly toward the unmoving face.
"Lovely Kuonnon, it is true that I have tried magic to keep my friends
with me, but even the oni (goblins) do not hear me, and my friends'
boxes stand now in the ozashiki and the cruel carts carry them through
the streets."
Her voice rose breathlessly, and she leaned up and stared with wide eyes
at the still face above her, with its everlasting smile, and its lips
that never moved.
"It is true! It is true!" cried Sunny excitedly. "The mission sir is
right. There is no living heart in your breast. You are only stone. You
cannot even hear my prayer. How then will you answer it?"
Half appalled by her own blasphemy, she shivered away from the goddess,
casting terrified glances about her, and still sobbing in this gasping
way, Sunny covered her face with her sleeve, and wended her way from the
shrine to her home.
Here the dishevelled upset of the house brought home to her the
unalterable fact of their certain going. Restraint and gloom had been in
the once so jolly house, ever since Professor Barrowes had announced the
time of departure. To the excited imagination of Sunny it seemed that
her friends sought to avoid her. She could not understand that this was
because they found it difficult to face the genuine suffering that their
going caused their little friend. Sunny at the door of the living room
sought fiercely to dissemble her grief. Never would she reveal uncouth
and uncivilised tears; yet the smile she forced to her face now was more
tragic than tears.
Jinx was alone in the room. The fat young man was in an especially
gloomy and melancholy mood. He was wracking his brain for some solution
to the problem of Sunny. To him, Sunny went directly, seating herself on
the floor in front of him, so that he was obliged to look at the
imploring young face, and had much ado to control the lump that would
rise in Jinx's remorseful throat.
"Jinx," said Sunny persuasively, "I do not like to stay ad this Japan
all alone also. I lig' you stay wiz me. Pray you do so, Mr. dear Jinx!"
"Gosh! I only wish I could, Sunny," groaned Jinx, sick with sympathy,
"but, I can't do it. It's impossible. I'm not--not my own master yet. I
did the best I could for you--wrote home and asked my folks if--if I
could bring you along. Doggone them, anyway, they've kept the wires hot
ever since squalling for me to get back."
"They do nod lig' Japanese girl?" asked Sunny sadly.
"Gosh, what do they know about it? I do, anyway. I think you're a peachy
kid, Sunny. You suit me down to the ground, I'll tell the world, and you
look-a-here, I'm coming back to see you, d'ye understand? I give you my
solemn word I will."
"Jinx," said Sunny, without a touch of hope in her voice, "my father are
say same thing; but--he never come bag no more."
Monty and Bobs, their arms loaded with sundry boxes of sweets and pretty
things that aforetime would have charmed Sunny, came in from the street
just then, and with affected cheer laid their gifts enticingly before
the unbeguiled Sunny.
"See here, kiddy. Isn't this pretty!"
Bobs was swinging a long chain of bright red and green beads. Not so
long before Sunny had led Bobs to that same string of beads, which
adorned the counter of a dealer in Japanese jewelry, and had expressed
to him her ambition to possess so marvellous a treasure. Bobs would have
bought the ornament then and there; but it so happened that his finances
were at their lowest ebb, his investment in the Syndicate having made a
heavy inroad into the funds of the by no means affluent Bobs. The
wherewithal to purchase the beads on the eve of departure had in fact
come from some obscure corner of his resources, and he now dangled them
enticingly before the girl's cold eyes. She turned a shoulder expressive
of aversion toward the chain.
"I do nod lig' those kind beads," declared Sunny bitterly. Then upon an
impulse, she removed herself from her place before Jinx, and kneeled in
turn before Bobs, concentrating her full look of appeal upon that
palpably moved individual.
"Mr. sir--Bobs, I do nod lig' to stay ad Japan, wizout you stay also.
Please you take me ad America wiz you. I are not afraid those west
oceans. I lig' those water. It is very sad for me ad Japan. I do nod
lig' Japan. She is not Clistian country. Very bad people live on Japan.
I lig' go ad America. Please you take me wiz you to-day."
Monty, hovering behind Bobs, was scowling through his bone-ribbed
glasses. Through his seventeen-year-old brain raced wild schemes of
smuggling Sunny aboard the vessel; of choking the watchful professor; of
penning defiant epistles to the home folks; of finding employment in
Japan and remaining firmly on these shores to take care of poor little
Sunny. The propitiating words of Bobs appeared to Monty the sheerest
drivel, untrue slush that it was an outrage to hand to a girl who
trusted and believed.
Bobs was explaining that he was the beggar of the party. When he
returned to America, he would have to get out and scuffle for a living,
for his parents were not rich, and it was only through considerable
sacrifice, and Bobs' own efforts at work (he had worked his way through
college, he told Sunny) that he was able to be one of the party of
students who following their senior year at college were travelling for
a year prior to settling down at their respective careers. Bobs was too
chivalrous to mention to Sunny the fact that his contribution to the
Sunny Syndicate had caused such a shrinkage in his funds that it would
take many months of hard work to make up the deficit; nor that he had
even become indebted to the affluent Jinx in Sunny's behalf. What he did
explain was the fact that he expected soon after he reached America, to
land a job of a kind--he was to do newspaper work--and just as soon as
ever he could afford it, he promised to send for Sunny, who was more
than welcome to share whatever two-by-four home Bobs may have acquired
by that time.
Sunny heard and understood little enough of his explanation. All she
comprehended was that her request had been denied. Her own father's
defective promises had made her forever sceptical of those of any other
man in the world. Jinx in morose silence pulled fiercely on his pipe,
brooding over the ill luck that dogged a fellow who was fat as a movie
comedian and was related to an army of fat-heads who had the power to
order him to come and go at their will. Jinx thought vengefully and
ominously of his impending freedom. He would be of age in three months.
Into his own hands then, triumphantly gloated Jinx, would fall the
fortune of the house of Crawford, and _then_ his folks would see! He'd
show 'em! And as for Sunny--well, Jinx was going to demonstrate to that
little girl what a man of his word was capable of doing.
Sunny, having left Bobs, was giving her full attention to Monty, who
showed signs of panic.
"Monty, I wan' go wiz you ad America. _Please_ take me there wiz you. I
nod make no trobble for you. I be bes' nize girl you ever goin' see
those worl. Please take me, Monty."
"Aw--all right, I will. You bet your life I will. That's settled, and
you can count on me. _I'm_ not afraid of _my_ folks, if the other
fellows are of theirs. I can do as I choose. I'll rustle up the money
somehow. There's always a way, and they can say what they like at home,
I intend to do things in my own way. My governor's threatening to cut me
off; all the fellows' parents are--they're in league together, I
believe, but I'm going to teach them all a lesson. I'll not stir a foot
from Japan without you, Sunny. You can put that in your pipe and swallow
it. _I_ mean every last word _I_ say."
"Now, now, now--not so hasty, young man, not so hasty! Not so free with
promises you are unable to fulfil. Less words! Less words! More deeds!"
Professor Barrowes, pausing on the threshold, had allowed the junior
member of the party he was piloting through Japan to finish his fiery
tirade. He hung up his helmet, removed his rubbers, and rubbing his
chilled hands to bring back the departed warmth, came into the room and
laid the mail upon the table.
"Here you are, gentlemen. American mail. Help yourselves. All right, all
right. Now, if agreeable, I desire to have a talk alone with Miss Sunny.
If you young gentlemen will proceed with the rest of your preparations I
daresay we will be on time. That will do, Goto. That baggage goes with
us. Loose stuff for the steamer. Clear out."
Sunny, alone with the professor, made her last appeal.
"Kind Mr. Professor, please do not leave me ad those Japan. I wan go ad
America wiz you. Please you permit me go also."
Professor Barrowes leaned over, held out both his hands, and as the girl
came with a sob to him, he took her gently into his arms. She buried her
face on the shabby coat of the old professor who had been such a good
friend to her, and who with all his eccentricities had been so curiously
loveable and approachable. After she had cried a bit against the old
coat, Sunny sat back on her heels again, her two hands resting on the
professor's knees and covered with one of his.
"Sunny, poor child, I know how hard it is for you; but we are doing the
best we can. I want you to try and resign yourself to what is after all
inevitable. I have arranged for you to go to the Sutherlands' home. You
know them both--good people, Sunny, good people, in spite of their pious
noise. Mr. Blumenthal has charge of your financial matters. You are
amply provided for, thanks to the generosity of your friends, and I may
say we have done everything in our power to properly protect you. You
are going to show your appreciation by--er--being a good girl. Keep at
your studies. Heed the instructions of Mr. Sutherland. He has your good
at heart. I will not question his methods. We all have our peculiarities
and beliefs. The training will do you no harm--possibly do you much
good. I wish you always to remember that my interest in your welfare
will continue, and it will be a pleasure to learn of your progress. When
you can do so, I want you to write a letter to me, and tell me all about
yourself."
"Mr. Professor, if I study mos' hard, mebbe I grow up to be American
girl--jos same as her?"
Sunny put the question with touching earnestness.
"We-el, I am not prepared to offer the American girl as an ideal model
for you to copy, my dear, but I take it you mean--er--that education
will graft upon you our western civilisation, such as it is. It may do
so. It may. I will not promise on that score. My mind is open. It has
been done, no doubt. Many girls of your race have--ah--assimilated our
own peculiar civilisation--or a veneer of the same. You are yourself
mainly of white blood. Yes, yes, it is possible--quite probable in fact,
that if you set out to acquire western ways, you will succeed in making
yourself--er--like the people you desire to copy."
"And suppose I grow up lig' civilised girl, _then_ I may live ad
America?"
"Nothing to prevent you, my dear. Nothing to prevent you. It's a free
country. Open to all. You will find us your friends, happy--I may
say--overjoyed to see you again."
For the first time since she had learned the news of their impending
departure a faint smile lighted up the girl's sad face.
"I stay ad Japan till I get--civil--ise."
She stood up, and for a moment looked down in mournful farewell on the
seamed face of her friend. Her soft voice dropped to a caress.
"Sayonara, _mos_ kindes' man ad Japan. I goin' to ask all those million
gods be good to you."
And Professor Barrowes did not even chide her for her reference to the
gods. He sat glaring alone in the empty room, fiercely rubbing his
glasses, and rehearsing some extremely cutting and sarcastic phrases
which he proposed to pen or speak to certain parents across the water,
whose low minds suspected mud even upon a lily. His muttering reverie
was broken by the quiet voice of Jerry. He had come out of the big
window seat, where he had been all of the afternoon, unnoticed by the
others.
"Professor Barrowes," said Jerry Hammond, "if you have no objection, I
would like to take Sunny back with me to America."
Professor Barrowes scowled up at his favourite pupil.
"I do object, I do object. Emphatically. Most emphatically. I do not
propose to allow you, or any of the young gentlemen entrusted to my
charge, to commit an act that may be of the gravest consequences to your
future careers."
"In my case, you need feel under no obligations to my parents. I am of
age as you know, and as you also know, I purpose to go my own way upon
returning home. My father asked me to wait till after this vacation
before definitely deciding upon my future. Well, I've waited, and I'm
more than ever determined not to go into the shops. I've a bit of money
of my own--enough to give me a start, and I purpose to follow out my own
ideas. Now as to Sunny. I found that kid. She's my own, when it comes
down to that. I practically adopted her, and I'll be hanged if I'm going
to desert her, just because my father and mother have some false ideas
as to the situation."
"Leaving out your parents from consideration, I am informed that an
engagement exists between you and a Miss--ah--Falconer, I believe the
name is, daughter of your father's partner, I understand."
"What difference does that make?" demanded Jerry, setting his chin
stubbornly.
"Can it be possible that you know human nature so little then, that you
do not appreciate the feelings your fiancée is apt to feel toward any
young woman you choose to adopt?"
"Why, Sunny's nothing but a child. It's absurd to refer to her as a
woman, and if Miss Falconer broke with me for a little thing like that,
I'd take my medicine I suppose."
"You are prepared, then, to break an engagement that has the most hearty
approval of your parents, because of a quixotic impulse toward one you
say is a child, but, young man, I would have you reflect upon the
consequences to the child. Your kindness would act as a boomerang upon
Sunny."
"What in the world do you mean?"
"I mean that Sunny is emphatically not a child. She was fifteen years
old the other day. That is an exceedingly delicate period in a girl's
life. We must leave the bloom upon the rose. It is a sensitive period in
the life of a girl."
A long silence, and then Jerry:
"Right-oh! It's good-bye to Sunny!"
He turned on his heel and strode out to the hall. Professor Barrowes
heard him calling to the girl upstairs in the cheeriest tone.
"Hi! up there, Sunny! Come on down, you little rascal. Aren't you going
to say bye-bye to your best friend?"
Sunny came slowly down the stairs. At the foot, in the shadows of the
hall she looked up at Jerry.
"Now remember," he rattled along with assumed merriment, "that when next
we meet I expect you to be the Empress of Japan."
"Jerry," said Sunny, in a very little voice, her small eerie face
seeming to shine with some light, as she looked steadily at him, "I lig'
ask you one liddle bit favour before you go way from these Japan."
"Go to it. What is it, Sunny. Ask, and thou shalt receive."
Sunny put one hand on either of Jerry's arms, and her touch had a
curiously electrical effect upon him. In the pause that ensued he found
himself unable to remove his fascinated gaze from her face.
"Jerry, I wan' ask you, will you please give me those
American--kiss--good-a-bye."
A great wave of tingling emotions swept over Jerry, blinding him to
everything in the world but that shining face so close to his own. Sunny
a child! Her age terrified him. He drew back, laughing huskily. He
hardly knew himself what it was he was saying:
"I don't want to, Sunny--I don't----"
He broke away abruptly and, turning, rushed into the living room, seized
his coat and hat, and was out of the house in a flash.
Professor Barrowes stared at the door through which Jerry had made his
hurried exit. To his surprise, he heard Sunny in the hall, laughing
softly, strangely. To his puzzled query as to why she laughed, she said
softly:
"Jerry are afraid of me!"
And Professor Barrowes, student of human nature as he prided himself
upon being, did not know that Sunny had stepped suddenly across the gap
that separates a girl from a woman, and had come into her full stature.