“This is past all endurance!” he shouted, pushing back his chair.
The Chinese waiter had turned back, by this time, and stood, bowing
respectfully by his chair.
Crocker swore under his breath, sprang to his feet, and with a short,
hard swing of his right hand struck the unsuspecting Chinaman on the
jaw.
I never before saw a man fall in precisely that way. Indeed, it was not
a fall in the ordinary sense of the word. It was more like a sudden
paralysis. His knees appeared to give, and he sank to the floor without
the slightest sound that I was conscious of.
There was a good deal of confusion, of course. Women made sounds. One
or two, I think, ran from the room. There was much scraping of chairs as
men got up and made for us. The manager of the hotel appeared, crowding
through toward us.
The Chinaman did not stir; he was now merely a heap of blue clothing at
our feet, huddled against the table-leg.
Crocker stood beside the table, steadying himself by gripping the
back of his chair, and smiling with an air of rather self-conscious
distinction. He bowed slightly to the breathless manager.
[Illustration: 0059]
“It was quite unavoidable,” he said. “As a gentleman you will readily
see that.” His tongue was thicker now. “Nobody regrets it more'n
I--nobody more'n I.”
The manager gave me a look and caught him by one arm. I took the other.
Crocker hung back.
“This is quite unnecessary,” he said, “quite unnecessary. I'm perf'kly
sober, I assure you. As a matter o' fac', I'm soberes' man in th 'ole big
room. Very big room. Ver' big room indeed. Bigges' room ever saw.”
Between, us, the manager and I got him upstairs and into his room. Then
I was left alone with him to undress him and get him into his bed. The
task consumed all of an hour. He was rough, almost violent, one moment,
and absurdly polite the next. His mind developed a trick of leaping off
on unexpected tangents. He tried to point out reasons against removing
each article of clothing as we came to it. It was interesting, on the
whole. I have since almost regretted that I did not make exact notes
of these curious mental flights. But at the moment it seemed too remote
from my own field of study. And I suppose my decision was reasonable.
It occurs to me, in glancing back over the foregoing paragraph, that
Crocker--had I been the drunk one and he the sober--would not have
drifted into this highly self-conscious theorizing; he would not have
felt this detachment from the fact. Perhaps that is the secret of my
difference from other men. Perhaps that is the peculiar respect in which
I am not wholly normal. If this is so, am I doomed to dwell always apart
from my fellows in a cold region of pure thought? I am going to set this
confession down here: I have almost envied Crocker to-night--not, of
course, the frightful things he does, but the human, yes, the animal
quality of the man that makes it possible for him to get drunk now and
then. _For I can't do it!_ I am farther from the norm than he; on the
opposite side, to be sure, but farther. Is not this why I have never had
a man chum?
Is not this why no good woman has ever looked on me with the eye of
love?
I got him to bed, finally, and sat by him until he fell asleep. I am
going back there now to pass the night on his sofa, first undressing
here. I shall feel somewhat conspicuous, walking down the hall in the
gay kimono I bought this morning. But I do not think any one will notice
it. They seem not to mind such things out here.
The manager has just been up to see me. He says that the waiter is all
right now, excepting a slight nausea. And he suggests that Crocker leave
the hotel as soon as convenient. Poor fellow, I shall have to carry this
word to him. I found, on pinning the manager down, that by the phrase
“as soon as convenient” he means as early to-morrow as possible. But I
shall not wake Crocker up; he shall have his sleep before they turn him
out on the Bund.
Well, I must get ready now for my night watch. It is the first time I
have ever been responsible for a drunken man.
To-morrow I leave over the Tokaido Railway for the Straits of Tsushima,
Korea, Manchuria, and the barbaric old capital of the newest republic on
earth. It has been a curious experience throughout, this with Crocker.
But it will soon be over now. And I do not regret it. I may never again
be drawn so deeply into the rough current of actual life. My way lies
far from this.
On the Railway, Coasting the Island Sea--March 31st.
|CROCKER'S story came out, after all. This morning, in his room. It is
rather difficult writing here on the train, with only a suit-case for a
table; but I feel that I must set down the last of this strange story,
now that I have given so much of my time and thought to the man; and
it must be written before any new experiences may arise to claim my
attention and perhaps erase some salient detail of the narrative. Then,
who knows? This may not be the last. I may find myself involved in it
again. Sir Robert observed yesterday: “The China Coast is even smaller
than the well-known world. Even if I should miss you at Peking, we shall
meet again.” He is doubtless right. We shall meet again. And Crocker and
I, too, shall meet again, I think. When and how, I can only wonder.
I slept badly last night, on his sofa. Early this morning I returned to
my own room, dressed, ordered up a light breakfast, and then spent two
hours in packing. It was nearer eleven than ten when I tapped on the
door.
“Come in!” he called.
He had pulled an extra pillow in behind his head, and was sitting up
in bed. He was whiter than I had before seen him. And the hand that he
extended to me shook so that he could hardly hold it up. It was cold to
the touch.
For a few moments after I had sent a boy for his coffee, we talked about
next to nothing--the time, the weather, my departure. But his hollow
eyes were searching me.
“Who put me here?” he asked, finally.