THE QUARREL
It was not a happy party that assembled in the old Count Takishima’s
spacious dining-hall. Phil and Sydney were anxious and uncomfortable;
Lieutenant Takishima was preoccupied, while an atmosphere of
depression hung over every one else at the feast. The meal was served
in the Japanese fashion, the guests seated upon soft cushions on the
mat-covered floor.
Takishima’s father, an old Samurai and a count of the empire, received
his guests with distinguished courtesy, bowing low and welcoming
each arrival with the vaunted gallantry of Japan’s ancient chivalry.
Takishima’s sister was wistfully silent. She had been told that
Captain Inaba had gone away on duty for the Emperor, and was sad and
disconsolate. O Chio-san and Helen Tillotson were the only ones who
evinced a semblance of gaiety for the feast.
Phil found himself next to Helen, and the girl did her utmost to draw
him out of his fit of despondency.
The old-fashioned Samurai, whose two children had been educated
in America, made heroic efforts to induce his son and daughter to
interpret for him his expressions of welcome, but he soon gave it up as
an impossible task and lapsed into silence.
It was not until Takishima’s sister Hama-san had carried off the women
guests to show Helen that part of the house reserved for women’s eyes
alone, and the old count also withdrew, that the midshipmen found
themselves alone with their classmate.
In Takishima’s bosom there rankled the thought placed there against his
will by Captain Inaba’s words, that these two friends had contemptibly
betrayed him. While professing their friendship they had secretly taken
and read an official letter sealed with the sacred seal of the Emperor.
Furthermore, they had been guilty of writing a sensational story
calculated to stir up the Emperor’s subjects against Americans. And yet
here they were his guests, under his father’s roof. The situation, to
one brought up to cherish high ideals of honor, was intolerable. The
sanctity of the home was his strongest heritage. An enemy was ever safe
when under the family roof-tree. He decided that he would take them
elsewhere. He could not be impolite in his own home. The laws of the
host for centuries forbade an unkind word to be spoken to a guest.
“Miss Tillotson will be driven home by O Chio-san,” Takishima said
awkwardly, as he led the way through the garden toward the gate. The
midshipmen followed in silence, glad to leave the heavy atmosphere; to
be free of the impressive and studied politeness of their classmate.
Both lads felt keenly the accusing sting in Takishima’s manner.
“You must explain,” Sydney whispered as the three took waiting
jinrikishas and were quickly in motion on the smooth boulevard.
The three had not gone a half mile before a fourth rikisha came
trotting up and the self-satisfied face of Robert Impey smiled from its
raised hood.
“I was afraid I had missed you,” he exclaimed. “Can I speak to you,
lieutenant?” he asked, motioning his sturdy coolie to steer up
alongside of the rikisha of the Japanese naval officer.
Takishima bent his head to listen. The midshipmen kept their eyes and
ears to the front while the low murmur of Impey’s voice came to them
indistinctly.
Shibu park was soon reached and the coolies having had their
instructions entered the shady roadway leading to a tea house
frequented by foreigners.
The four men were led into the garden by daintily gowned Japanese
girl attendants and located under the foliage of a spreading oak at a
table cunningly made from a clinging grape-vine. The two midshipmen
were not, however, in the mood to notice the natural beauties of their
surroundings.
Phil was inwardly annoyed at Impey’s presence. He blamed him for
his present predicament, and before him how was he to explain the
intolerable situation?
“The audience of the American captain with His Majesty has been
postponed,” Impey said carelessly, noting with evident enjoyment the
surprise and alarm in the faces of the Americans. Phil’s heart almost
stopped beating. What Captain Rodgers had feared had taken place!
Takishima’s lips trembled. With that power of restraint cultivated by
the people of his race for centuries he succeeded in controlling his
features. No other outward expression of the effect of Impey’s words
was evident.
“On the ‘Shimbunshi’s’ bulletin-boards is a cable from America that the
Chinese government has agreed to turn over its new navy to America.”
Impey strove to show unconcern, giving the startling news in his
every-day voice. “The bulletin says that the President at a cabinet
meeting this morning decided to buy the ships and had sent orders to
the United States fleet in Manila to receive and man them.”
Takishima trembled inwardly with rage against his former friends.
Then Captain Inaba had failed to stop their cable to America. Now
he looked upon them as his avowed enemies. Had they not spied upon
his countrymen? Had they not stolen secret letters and divulged
them? And that while protesting their love and friendship for him
and his country. Phil sat next to him, his face pale and his eyes
wide with excitement. Impey’s part in this international tragedy was
clearing before his eyes. This two-faced scoundrel had stood in with
both parties, warning each that the other was striving to obtain the
ships. With consummate cunning he had covered up his tracks. Each side
believed in his loyalty. How he had obtained the secret letter Phil
could not fathom, but that letter contained the information which,
upon its being known in Washington where the ambassador had cabled
it, had decided the United States government to take a step which was
unparalleled in its history; a step taken only as a necessary measure
just before the outbreak of a war. Phil gazed into Takishima’s face.
He was startled at the sudden gleam of hatred in the dark eyes of his
friend.
“In Japan we cut open the carcasses of such traitors as you and feed
them to the pigs,” the Japanese lieutenant cried in a voice scarcely
recognizable.
Both midshipmen jumped to their feet. Greater consternation could not
have been caused by the explosion of a shell in their midst. The
slowly spoken direct words were too plain to be misunderstood. Impey
sat by in silence, an outraged expression on his face. He raised his
hand in the rôle of peacemaker. The two men of different races and
traditions stood face to face; one self-controlled, disdainful, the
pride of the old time Samurai, generations of them, looking out of
unbending and unflinching eyes; the other angry, hurt, surprised into a
stupid, stolid silence, stung to the quick by the vituperation in his
erstwhile friend’s voice.
“I---- Why, what do you mean?” Phil gasped, his face livid. He towered
head and shoulders above his unflinching accuser.
Phil took a step forward, putting out his right hand impetuously.
No idea of menace entered his mind. His one idea was to stay the
torrent of abuse that he knew was undeserved, no matter how black the
case looked against him. It cut him to the quick to be so severely
arraigned. Takishima, his mind embittered by the convincing chain of
evidence, saw only a threat in the attitude of the young giant. So
quickly that the eye could not follow, the Japanese stooped under the
midshipman’s outstretched hand, seizing Phil’s wrist in an iron grip
with his left hand, then catching the midshipman’s right leg back of
the knee with his right hand, suddenly straightened his sapling-like
body and threw the astonished lad with great force over his head.
Phil fell with a crash to the stone pavement and lay there completely
stunned.
Sydney made a step forward, his blood boiling at this unprovoked
jiu-jitsu attack, but Impey interposed his bulk, and calmer judgment
prevailed as he realized the difference in size between himself and his
one time friend.
“You little coward,” he hissed angrily as he raised Phil to his feet.
There was blood on the lad’s face from a cut on his head made by a
sharp edge of a stone in the gravel walk. “You deserve a good thrashing
for this.”
Takishima stood his ground. “I am prepared,” he said quietly. “I should
think you’d both be ashamed to show your faces after your deceitful
conduct.”
[Illustration: “_YOU DESERVE A GOOD THRASHING FOR THIS_”]
Phil steadied himself by the table, gazing stupidly at the small crowd
of excited Japanese and foreigners that had collected about them. He
had paid no attention to the words of Takishima’s defense. The
midshipmen and Takishima were in uniform, and a great depression
overcame Phil as he thought of the possible publicity of the affair.
The attack had been so sudden and the blow on the head so stunning
that for a second no thought of revenge came into his mind. Then his
dazed eyes fell upon the unruffled little figure of his assailant, and
a wild fury suddenly welled into his eyes. With a savage cry he shook
off Sydney’s retaining hand and in one stride reached the object of
his mad rage. No jiu-jitsu art was possible. The little naval man felt
himself seized as if by two iron rods and raised above the ground. For
the fraction of a second he was held poised, then as a great mastiff
might chastise an obstreperous terrier, Phil shook him until every bone
in his body rattled. The combined efforts of Sydney and Impey became
necessary to save Takishima from serious injury.
Fortunately the affair was over before a large crowd could collect, and
Impey managed to hurry them into their jinrikishas and drive quickly
away.
A half hour later Phil and Sydney were back in their room at the
hotel, while Impey had gone away with the Japanese naval man.
“Syd, I wouldn’t have had that happen for anything in the world.” Phil
was nearly in tears as he threw himself on the bed.
“He’ll undoubtedly challenge you,” Sydney replied gravely. “I saw it in
his face; it was so determined and quiet. If he does, what will you do?
You can’t fight him!”
“I must!” Phil declared. “To these people the code of honor is the same
as it was with us a hundred years ago.”
“But if you do, it means disgrace and dismissal from the navy,” Sydney
protested.
“I laid myself open to it when I put my hands on him,” Phil insisted
stubbornly. “We can’t fight in the American style, with fists. I am
twice his size. It’s the only redress he has. His code of honor demands
a duel.”
“That’s child’s talk, Phil, and you know it,” Sydney exclaimed
heatedly. “I am not going to stand by and let you ruin your career on
account of a foolish out-of-date code of honor. Our articles for the
government of the navy forbid a duel, and the penalty is dismissal.
I’ll go and see Taki.”
“You won’t do any such thing,” Phil replied sternly. “We’ll wait to
hear from him. If he wants satisfaction I shall give it to him, and
shall select small swords. I can shoot all around him with a revolver,
but at the Academy we were equally matched with foils.
“I shall ask Impey to act as my second, much as I dislike and distrust
him,” he added.
“Impey for second! What are you talking about?” Sydney demanded. “I am
your second if you are really going to be foolish enough to fight.”
“Remember the articles of war, Syd.” Phil smiled a ghastly smile. “‘Who
fights a duel or acts as a second in a duel.’ You don’t suppose I would
let you jeopardize your career. Impey will do.”
“I think a straight-jacket is what you need instead of a second,”
Sydney exclaimed in annoyance. “If I had you tightly strapped into one,
I’d have you carried off to the ship and put in a cell until after she
sailed.
“Come in,” he added in answer to a knock.
Captain Rodgers entered the room and closed the door behind him.
“I have just returned after a fruitless attempt to break down the
stubborn resistance of that wall of officialdom around a throne,” he
said sadly as he unloosed the buttons on his tightly fitted special
dress coat. “I talked with both the prime minister and the Minister of
Marine. ‘They were very sorry, but His Majesty was quite too ill to see
anybody, but an audience would be arranged at a very early date.’ I
knew that His Majesty was probably at that minute riding his favorite
horse within the palace grounds and they saw that I knew it was only
a diplomatic way of saying: ‘We do not desire that you should see His
Majesty.’
“They believe we are here to spy on them,” he added, after a moment’s
pause. “Did you make it straight with your Japanese classmate?”
Phil swallowed hard and shook his head sorrowfully while Sydney came to
his friend’s aid.
“We didn’t get a chance, but we shall this evening. We expect to meet
him soon, don’t we, Phil?” he asked grimly.
“It may clear the atmosphere,” the captain said. “I don’t like
the aspect of it. Have you heard of the bulletin in front of the
‘Shimbunshi’ office? There were thousands of Japanese standing in front
reading it when we drove past.”
The lads nodded in assent.
“That’s pretty quick work. The ambassador sent a cable this morning,
and here we get action in the afternoon. If word went to Manila at the
same time we may be getting our orders to sail at any moment. I’ve
already cabled my failure to obtain an audience.” Captain Rodgers
opened the door as he finished speaking.
“Come in, sir. What can we do for you?” he exclaimed in surprise as a
dapper Japanese naval lieutenant stood at the threshold. Phil’s heart
was beating wildly. Here was Takishima’s representative. The relations
between the two countries would now be further strained when this
unfortunate duel was made public.
“I desire to speak with Meester Perry and Meester Monroe,” the newcomer
replied politely, bowing profusely.
“There they are,” Captain Rodgers returned, smiling and motioning him
to enter. “Good-bye. Keep out of trouble,” he added banteringly as he
bowed and left them with the Japanese lieutenant, no thought of the
seriousness of the call entering his mind.
“I have come from Count Lieutenant Takishima with his card,” the
newcomer said importantly and in carefully studied English.
Sydney made a move to step forward, but Phil interrupted.
“Tell him I am at his service. The weapons will be small swords, time
as soon as possible. He may name the place,” he said quietly.
The lieutenant stood with puzzled face for a second translating and
digesting the words.
“I will be here again, soon.” He spoke hesitatingly, not sure of his
meaning. The lads bowed in response to his ceremonious farewell.