|THE upper-deck passengers awoke in the morning to find the engines
still at rest, and the now familiar View of Kiu Kiang still to be seen
from port-side windows; the _Yen Hsin_ had merely been moved a hundred
yards or so below the landing hulk and anchored. There was grumbling
about the breakfast table. The captain did not appear. The huge mate was
preoccupied; explaining with grave courtesy that he had no further news.
He assumed that orders to proceed to Hankow would be forthcoming
during the day. It was understood now that the republican troops
were everywhere protecting white folk, and, in any event, the foreign
concessions up the river were well guarded by the war-ships.
The outstanding fact was that they were to spend at least another night
on the river. The sensible thing to do, or so decided the younger men,
was to have a dance. Accordingly, before tiffin, committees were hard
at work planning decorations for the social hall. Miss Means proved a
fertile source of entertaining ideas. And it was agreed, during the day,
that Miss Andrews had a pretty taste at hanging flags.
The Chinese day begins with the light. And little Mr. Kato, sitting
smilingly through breakfast, had already passed hours among his
below-decks acquaintance. After breakfast he sat outside with the Kanes,
senior and junior, talking rapidly. There Miss Carmichael observed them;
later, when Rocky stood by the rail throwing brass cash down into
the crowding, nosing sampans of the water beggars, she strolled his
way--looking incredibly young--carrying a book from the boat's library,
a thin finger between the pages as a mark. She smiled at the quarreling
beggars below. But he, at sight of her, grew sulky.
“You didn't come last night,” he said, very low, his voice thick with
suddenly rising feeling.
“No, I couldn't. You can't always plan things.”
“Well, you said--”
“Rocky, please! You mustn't talk like that. We can be seen.”
“Well--” he closed his lips. It was the first time she had called him
by his name. That seemed something. And she was right; they must keep up
appearances. He felt that she was extremely clever; living her own life
as a business woman, away out here, doing as she chose, like a man,
never losing her head for a moment. Well, he would show her that he
could be a sport.
“Kato picked up some queer news this morning, prowling around. There's a
mutiny brewing below decks. He hasn't got all the facts, yet. He's down
there now. It's the viceroy's soldiers. First thing we know they'll be
blowing up the boat.” He was gloomy about it; boyishly turning his heavy
burden of self-pity and reproach into the new channel.
“Well,” said she, “we'll all have to take our chances, I suppose,” and
moved away a step, pausing and balancing gracefully on the balls of her
feet and smiling at him.
“Wait,” he muttered--“don't go!”
“It's better. No good in our being seen too much together--”
“Too much?”
“I'll save you some dances to-night.”
“A lot! All of them!”
She smiled again at this outburst; said, “We can visit afterward,
anyhow,” and moved away.
On the other side of the deck she found the Manila Kid leaning in a
doorway, moodily chewing a match. His listless eyes at once sought her
wrist.
“You're not wearing it,” he muttered.
“You know why, Jim.”
“Sure! Young Kane.”
“Oh, Jim, where are your brains? Don't try to tell me that Tex hasn't
seen that watch.... Well, do you want him to know there's something
between us--just now--”
“I don't know's I--”
Her pale cool eyes swept the deck. Then she leaned beside him; opened
her book, then looked out over it at the shipping and the dimpling river
beyond; smiled in her easy way. “Jim, why didn't you tell me that Tex
has started this thing without me?”
“I've been watching for a chance to.”
She considered this. He went on:
“Look here, Dixie, this is big stuff!”
“Of course.”
“I've been trying to figure out how we stand. I didn't quite get you
last night. Tex and his boy Tom have got a bunch of the soldiers now.
But they're moving careful because there's another show been started.
One of the regular revolutionary crowd is below there stirring 'em up.
Some of 'em are full of this republic idea, want to die for it and all
that stuff, and Tex has to move cautious to buy 'em off. Say, what does
he want so many for?”
“The more the better.”
“But how're you going to pay 'em?”
“Let them loot.”
“But Tex--and Tom--are promising them part of the real stuff, jewels.”
“Oh, you'd probably have to promise. But when they get into it, with
plenty of loot and liquor and women, it'll be easy enough to get away
from them.”
“But how're you going to keep 'em in hand before that? Do you know what
some of 'em are whispering around now? They want to carve up the boat.
Come right up here and go through the viceroy's outfit.”
“But he hasn't much stuff here, Jim. We've got bigger game than that.”
“I know--and anyway it'd bring a gunboat down on us. That's what Tex is
trying to make Tom see. Tom's in Tex's room now. But my God, Dixie, when
I think of what you've started in that offhand way o' yours....”
“Tex'll hold them down, Jim. That's one good thing about him, he's not
weak. You're nervous. Better go in and help the teachers hang flags.
That'll soothe you. You and I mustn't talk any more either. If there's
any news for me, better send me a chit by a boy.”
The Kid looked mournfully at her. He was a grotesque, this Jim Watson,
tall, angular, thin bony face under the tipped-back cap, bald salients
running up into his hair on either side the plastered-down front locks.
And as he gazed on this wisp of a girl who had slipped mysteriously
in among the adroit swindlers and adventuresses of the coast but a few
brief years back and had from the very beginning cleverly made her way,
his disorganized spirit yearned toward her. She had brains, and used
them. She knew how to be nice to a fellow, and the Kid hungered for
sympathy. And she was piquantly desirable: in part because men sought
her without success. Except perhaps that young naval officer at Hong
Kong, the name of no man had been seriously linked with hers; and
the fact that he was an eldest son of one of the richest and greatest
families in England in a measure removed the incident beyond the
confines of normal human experience. No, the Kid could hardly feel that
he ought to resent that. He knew, as he so moodily surveyed her, that
her sympathy--the word was his own--could be bought only at a high
price. The price, indeed, frightened him. He couldn't think along with
Dixie and Tex. Nor could he easily conceive of opposing Tex, for the man
was strong and merciless. Still....
“See here, Dixie, if I wasn't so fool crazy over you, do you think for
a minute I'd let you drag me into this kind of a mix-up? Why, my
God!--when I got to thinking about it last night--the risks you're
running--”
“It's big stakes, Jim. You can't expect a million to fall into your lap.
Got to play for it. Tell me--does this Tom Sung understand English?”
“Of course! He was a farm laborer in California, and a cook in the
United States Navy. Why?”
“I may have to talk to him myself before we get through with it.”
“Of course you know Tex means to rob you?”
“Of course,” said she, smiling a little for the benefit of a customs man
who appeared up forward. “You run along now, Jim. This is no game for
weak nerves. Remember, I need you.”
“Well--just this--”
“Careful!”
“--You listen, now! You won't find me getting-cold feet--”
“I'm sure of that.”
“And I ain't afraid o' Tex Connor, either! If you mean that I've got
to go up against him--Well, say, look here! If I go through--if I do
everything you say--how're we going to stand, you and me?”
“I let you give me the watch, didn't I?”
“Well--that's all right--but I asked you once to go to the Islands with
me, and you wouldn't.”
“Not over there. I know too many people.”
“Well, somewhere else, then! Tell me straight, now! If we pull this
off--shake down a real pile--will you go with me?”
She looked thoughtfully at him for a brief moment; then turned again to
the river. “You know I'm fond of you, Jim.”
“It's a trade, Dixie? If I stick to you, you'll stick to me?”
She considered this; finally, very quietly, barely parting her lips,
replied, simply: “Yes.”
He drew in his breath with a whistling sound.
She added, then: “Careful, Jim! I know how you feel, but don't let
yourself talk.”
“I know, Dix, but my God! When I think of how you've kept me dancing
this year--and now--”
“I'll say this, Jim. Just this. If you knew everything about Tex
Connor--”
“You mean, he's tried to--”
“I mean certain things he's said to me. If you're as fond of me as that
you'd understand why I've felt, once or twice, like killing him. That
man is a devil, Jim.”
Then she slipped away.
Miss Carmichael sat deliberately through tiffin; discreetly quiet, as
always; apparently without nerves. The Kid ate rapidly, speaking not a
word, seldom looking up from his plate. Tex Connor was calmly wooden, as
always, though at intervals Miss Carmichael felt his eye on her as she
daintily nibbled her curry.
After tiffin she was stretched comfortably in her deck chair, reading,
or seeming to, when Connor appeared, strolling along the deck, hands
deep in pockets, chewing the inevitable Manila cigar. He wore a neat
cap, and his large person was clothed in an outing suit of gray flannel.
On his feet were shoes of whitened leather with rubber soles. To any but
a shrewd student of physiognomy he might have passed for a prosperous
American business man or politician, of the bluff western sort.
He paused at her careless nod; bent his face around and stared coldly
at her. Nothing of the real man showed; even his rough vulgarity was
concealed behind the mask and the manner. He ought to have a woman
to tell him, she thought, that he was altogether too stout to wear a
Norfolk jacket.
“Sit down?” she asked.
He dropped into the chair beside her.
“Looks as if we'd be hung up here till night anyhow,” he said gruffly.
“All foolishness, too. It's safe enough between here and Hankow.
The Jardine boat came down this morning. And we land at the
concessions--don't have to go clear up to the city.” He drummed on the
chair; shifted his cigar. “I can't hang around here. Got to get up to
Peking before they close off the railroad.”
She listened quietly to this little tirade; then remarked: “Thought over
my proposition, Tex?”
“What proposition?.... Oh, that scheme? Sure, I've thought it over.
Nothing in it, Dix.”
“Why not?”
“Too complicated. Did you ever see a lot of soldiers on the loose--their
killing blood up? You could never handle 'em in the world.”
“Oh, of course,” said she, “if you tried any coarse work. But I wouldn't
pin that on you, Tex.”
“It's easy to talk.” Connor's voice rose slightly; he noted the fact
himself; paused and spoke with greater deliberation. “But I wouldn't
tackle a gamelike that. It ain't practical. Anyhow, Dix, I wouldn't go
it blind. I'd have to know where I was going every minute. If you wanted
to talk real business, it might be different. I might see a way to start
something. But even at that”--he got heavily to his feet.... “No, thing
for me's to stick to my own line.”
He was moving slowly away when her slow light voice brought him up
short. “Tex,” she said, “I see you're just a cheap liar, after all.”
Then she watched the color sweep over his face. It was something to stir
that wooden countenance with genuine emotion. She even found a perverse
thrill in the experience.
He stood motionless for a long moment. Finally he said, none too
steadily: “You know what would happen to a man that said that to me.”
“What would you do? Shoot?.... Where would that get you? No, Tex,
listen! Sit down here.”
But he stood over her.
“I know everything you're doing.”
“Oh--you do?”
“You're crossing me. But you can't get away with it. You know where you
are--in China! And you're tampering with the troops of the viceroy of
Nanking. My God, Tex, haven't you _any_ brains? Did you really think I'd
show my hand?”
He chewed the cigar in silence, staring down.
“I'll give you your choice,” she went on. “You can work with me.
fifty-fifty, or I'll have Tom Sung beheaded. And then you'll be out a
meal ticket. And all your expenses with Tom up to now. And the three
thousand you lost to the Kanes.”
“You don't know what you're talking about! I haven't even seen Tom Sung
in twenty-four hours.”
“That's another lie. He was in your room this morning.”
“How do you know that? Say, if Jim Watson's been talking....”
“He hasn't, Tex. I've got my information--and there's a lot of if--from
Kato the Japanese. Go and talk to him, if you like. Or to your friends
the Kanes.”
Connor, the color gone from his face now, looked steadily down at her.
Slowly he drew from an inner pocket a gold-mounted case of alligator
skin and selected a fresh cigar, lighting it on the stump of the old
one. Finally he said:
“Dix, I'm taking some rough talk from you. But never mind--now. You say
you know where the stuff is, but you won't tell me.”
“Not now. I'll keep that information to trade with, Tex.”
“Well and good. I'll tell you that you can't get it without a little
help from me. And you're not going to get it. Tell me where it is, and
I'll put it through and split with you. It'll have to be pretty quick,
too. If you won't, you don't get your loot. And you give up my boy
Tom--”
“What'll you do, Tex?” She was faintly smiling.
“Oh, I won't shoot you. I'll protect myself better'n that. But I'll run
you off the coast. You'll have turned your last card out here.”
To this she said simply nothing. For a moment her two eyes met his one
full. Then he strolled away. And the day passed.
Doane stood by the rail in the dusk of early evening looking in through
the open doorway. The social hall was gay with flags, the dragon of
China hung flat over the talking machine with the American and British
colors draped on either hand. The little teachers had on their brightest
and best. Miss Andrews in particular, wore a pink party gown that might
have been made by a village dressmaker--or, more likely, by herself--and
flushed prettily as she chatted with young Braker. The men were all in
their dinner coats.
Dixie Carmichael, in the inevitable blue middy blouse, sat quietly
reading in a corner. A strange creature, always imperturbably girlish.
Duane had observed her casually on the boat and about the Astor House
at Shanghai, and despite the curious tales that drifted along the
coast--already the girl had acquired an almost legendary fame--he had
never seen her other than discreetly quiet. Men who had observed her on
the steamer from Hong Kong after the outraged British wives as good as
drummed her out of town asserted that she exhibited not so much as a
ruffle of the nerves. A girl without emotion, apparently; certainly
without a moral sense.
She had for a time managed a gambling house on Bubbling Well Road,
Shanghai, but this year seemed to be more active up Peking way. At least
she had made several trips to the north. There were moments when her
thin, nearly expressionless face bore a look of infinite age; yet she
was young. It would be interesting, he reflected, to know of her home
and her youth, of the remarkable deficiency (or the equally remarkable
gift) that had sent her out alone, with her hair down her back, to pit
her uncanny quickness of thought and her sordid purpose against the
desperately clever rascals of the coast.
When again he passed the doorway they were dancing--a waltz. Dixie and
young Kane were together. Miss Means, primmer than ever, moved about
with a tall Australian. Braker was with little Miss Andrews. The others
of the younger men danced humorously with one another. The Manila Kid
stood lankily, gloomily, by the talking machine, sorting records.
There was a bustling outside the farther door; musical voices; the
shimmering of satin in the light; and the viceroy came in, escorting his
daughter and attended by all his suite. At the sight of Miss Hui Fei
as she appeared in the doorway and stepped lightly over the sill Doane
caught his breath. She wore an American costume, a gown of soft material
in rose color trimmed with silver, the stockings and little slippers in
silver as well. A girl at any college or suburban dance back home might
have dressed like that. Her richly black hair was parted on the side;
masses of it waved carelessly down over her temples and part of the
broad forehead. Her color was high, her eyes were bright. The eagerly
Western quality he had sensed in her was dominant now, triumphant as
youth can be triumphant.
Doane, for a moment, pressed a hand to his eyes. He could not relate
this radiantly Western girl with the quaintly Oriental figure he had
last seen by moonlight on the boat deck. It was difficult, too, to
understand her bright happiness. Had her insistently modern spirit
prevailed over her father's resolve to die? Or was she, after all,
carried away by girlishly high spirits at the thought of a party? On the
latter possibility Doane set his teeth; it raided thoughts of Oriental
fatalism and surface adaptability that he could not face. Surely the
girl who had talked so earnestly, who had so clearly exhibited a Western
view of her father's predicament, was more than Oriental at heart.
The most deeply sobering thought, of course, was that he should so
poignantly care. The mere sight of her thrilled him, shook him. All
night and during this day he had been fighting the new shining sense of
her in his heart; it was clear now that the battle was a losing one.
It was true, then; the last broken shards of his elaborately built up,
wholly mental philosophy of life had crashed hopelessly about his ears.
The pity of it seemed to him, even then, to be that he was possessed of
such abounding vitality of body and mind. He felt a young man. He was
never ill, never even tired. Only accident, he felt, could shorten his
life. Certainly he wouldn't take it himself; he had gone all through
that. He would have to go dully on and on; he was like an engine that is
using but a fraction of its proper power. He had not known that his need
was a woman until he met this woman. To no other, he felt, could he give
the rich upwellings of emotion in his heart; and vital emotion, he
had tragically learned three years earlier, can not be repressed
indefinitely. There was a breaking point... He was, even now, bringing
up favorable arguments. This young woman, as she had admitted, like
himself, stood between the worlds. She could never be happy in China;
hardly out of it. If.... If.... Thoughts came, bitter thoughts, of his
years, of his poverty. The thing had the grip of a demoniac possession.
He had seen other men mad over the one woman, and had pitied them; but
now he.... He called himself savagely, in his heart, a fool. Yet the
wild hopes mounted.
The waltz was over. The Kid changed the records and ground the machine.
An interpreter left the group of mandarins and spoke with one of the
Australians; led the man back to his excellency. A moment later the
music sounded again, and the Australian danced lightly away with Miss
Hui Fei in what Doane had no means of knowing was the very new
one-step. He had never danced; plainly she loved it. She moved like a
fairy--light, utterly graceful, her oval face, when she turned, flushed
a little and soberly radiant.
Hating the man who held her so close, he turned away. He did not know
that his excellency, glimpsing him outside there in the shadows, leaned
forward and bowed; he did not observe (or care) that Dixie Carmichael
was dancing with the German customs man, while Rocky Kane, suddenly
white, lighting one cigarette on another, stood in a corner devouring
with his eyes Miss Hui Fei. A little later, when the young man spoke,
there at his side, he started; for he had heard no one approach. Rocky
was hatless; hair rumpled as if he had been running nervous fingers
through it, cheeks deeply flushed, eyes staring rather wildly. He threw
his cigarette overboard and squarely faced the huge man in blue.
“I don't know what you'll think of me--” he began, in a breathless,
unsteady voice; then his eyes wavered.
Doane turned with him, Dixie Carmichael stood in the doorway, watching
them. Rocky, with a nervous gesture, as if he would brush her away,
looked up again into the stern older face. He was plainly lost in
himself, burning with the confused fires of youth.
“I don't know what you'll think of me--” he came again to a stop.
Apparently the words, “Mr. Doane,” would have completed the sentence,
but failed for some reason to find voice. Perhaps it was the habit of
his wealthy environment that restrained him even now from speaking with
more than casual respect to a uniformed employee of a river line; yet,
contradictorily, here he was, all boyish humility!.... “I'm a damn fool,
of course, I know that. But--you've seen her.”
Doane glanced again toward the door. Dixie Carmichael had disappeared.
“No--not that one!” cried the boy hotly; then dropped his voice. “The
girl in there! The--princess, isn't she?”
Doane inclined his head.
“Then she'd be the one I--well, you remember.”
“She's the same. The Princess Hui Fei--”
“Hughie Fay? Like that?”
“Yes.”
“What a lovely name!.... You--I know you won't understand! It's so hard
to--I _am_ young, of course. I've been sort of in wrong. I guess
you think I'm a pretty wild lot. I seem to have been trying about
everything. But until to-night--oh, there's no use pretending I'm not
hit all of a heap. I am. I never saw anything like her--never in my
life. I don't know what the pater would say--me falling for a Manchu
girl--you think I'm crazy, don't you?”
“No.”
“Perhaps I am. My head's racing. Just watching her in there makes my
pulse jump. I get bewildered. Tell me--she was all Chinese the--the
other time--all painted up. Big head-dress with flowers on it. Why did
she do that?”
“Out of respect to her father. The rouge and the head-dress were
according to Oriental custom.” He looked directly down at the boy,
and added, deliberately, “Veneration of parents is the finest thing in
Chinese life. I sometimes think we have nothing so fine in America.”
The boy's eyes fell. He mumbled. “Ouch! You landed there, I guess.” Then
he raised his eyes. “I can't help myself--whatever I am--but I can start
fresh, can't I? That's what I'm going to do, anyhow--start fresh.” He
squared himself. His lip quivered.
“Will you take me in there to the viceroy, and translate my apology?”
Doane stood a moment in silence. Then he replied, quietly, “Yes.” And
led the way into the social hall. He found himself watching, like a
spectator, the little scene.... the viceroy rising, with a quiet smile,
a gentle old man, awaiting with perfect courtesy of bearing whatever
might be forthcoming; Rocky Kane, seeming younger than before, with, in
fact, the appearance of an excited boy, the wild look still in his eyes
but the face set with supreme determination. Doane observed now that
he had a good forehead, wide and not too high. The nose was slightly
aquiline, like his father's. The eyes, so dark now, were normally blue;
the mouth sensitive; the skin fine in texture.
“Tell him”--thus the boy--“tell him I acted like a dirty cad, that I
know better, and--and ask his pardon.”
Doane translated discreetly. A dance was just ending, and curious eyes
were bent on the group. The mandarins stood behind the viceroy, all
gracefully at ease in their rich rubes.
His excellency, without relaxing that smile, replied in musical
intonation.
“What is it?” asked Rocky Kane, under his breath, all quivering
excitement; “what does he say?”
“That he accepts your apology, with appreciation of your manliness.”
Young Kane's nervous frown relaxed at this. He was pleased.
“Will you,” he was saying now, “will you ask if I may dance with the
princess?”
Doane complied. He felt now a strain of fineness in this ungoverned boy
that was oddly moving to his own emotion-clouded brain.... Hoi Fei was
approaching, the Australian at her side.
“He suggests”--Doane found himself translating--“that you ask her. He
does not know what engagements she may have made.”
The boy bit his lip. And then the princess was greeting the mate. “It's
nice to see you, Mr. Doane,” she was saying. “I wondered if you weren't
coming to the party.”
It seemed to Doane that he could feel young Kane's devouring eyes
fastened on her. The moment had come in which he must act. The
Australian, sensing a situation, thanked the princess and slipped away.
Quietly, Doane said: “Miss Hui Fei, this is Mr. Kane, who has asked
permission to meet you.”
She drew back a very little; Doane caught that; yet the courtesy of her
race did not fail her. She inclined her pretty head; even smiled.
“Should I speak English?” asked the boy, out of sheer confusion; then:
“Miss Hui Fei”--he was white; the words came slowly, almost coldly,
between set teeth--“I am sorry for my rotten behavior the other night.”
That was all. He waited. Miss Hui's smile faded.
No Oriental could have come out so bluntly with it. She seemed to be
considering him. Gradually the smile returned, and with it an air of
courteous dismissal.
“I have forgotten it.”
Kane gathered his courage.
“May I have a dance with you?”
For a moment the silence was marked. Perhaps Miss Hui was gathering
herself as well. But it was only a moment; she spoke, smiling as if she
were happy, her manner gracious, even kind: “I am sorry. I have promise'
every dance. The ladies are so few to-nigh'.”
That was all. The boy seemed somewhat slow in comprehending it. He stood
motionless; then the color returned slowly to his face, flooding it. He
bowed to her stiffly, then to her father, and rushed out on deck.
Miss Hui smiled up at the mate. “I have save' the dance you ask',” she
said pleasantly. “It is this nex' one, if you don' mind.”
The Manila Kid adjusted the needle and released the catch.
“I'm sorry,” said Doane, as they moved away, “I don't dance.”
The commonplace remark fell strangely on his own ears. It could hardly
be himself speaking. He was all glowingly warm with impulse, his logic
gone.
“We'll sit it out,” said Miss Hui pleasantly.
And during the brief walk across the room, beside this buoyantly
graceful girl, even while aware of the eyes upon him, he felt the magic
wine of youth thrilling through his arteries. What a fairy she was!
Snatches of poetry came; one--
“Were it ever so airy a tread....”
--and lingered fragrantly after they were seated and he found himself
looking down at her, listening with something of the gravity and
kindliness of long habit when she so quickly spoke.