OCR Text |
Show I HY ! PARROT HAROLDMACGRATH "THE CARPET FROM Mr ff BAGDAD," "THE PLACE OF J V V7i HONEYMOONS," ETC. Copyright by the Bobbs-Merrill Company CHAPTER !. East Is East. It bean somewhere in the middle of the world, at a forlorn landing on the west bank of the muddy, turbulent turbu-lent Irrawaddy, remembered by man only so often as It was necessary for the flotilla boat to call for paddy, a visiting commissioner anxious to get away, or a famil) homeward bound. On the -east side 6r the river, oyer there, was a semblance of civilization That is to say, men wore white linen, avoided murder, and frequently paid heir gambling debts. But on this west side stood wilderness, not the ikind one reads about as being eventually eventu-ally conquered by white men; na, the real, grim desolation, where the ax cuts but leaves no blaze, where the pioneer dvappears and few or none .follow. It was not the wilderness of the desert, Gf the jungle; rather the tragic, hopeless state of a settlement that neither progressed,, retarded nor .stood still. Between the landing and the settlement settle-ment itself there stretched a winding road, arid and treeless, perhaps two miles in length. It announced definitely defi-nitely that its end was futility. The dust hung like a fog-above it, not only for this day, but for all days between -the big rains. When the gods, or the elements, or Providence, arranged the world as a fit habitation for man, In--Jia and Burma were made the dustbins. dust-bins. And as water finds its levels, so will dust, earthly and human, the -quick and the dead. Along the road walked two men, phautomlike. One saw their heads dimly and still more dimly their bodies to the knees; of legs there was nothing noth-ing visible. Occasionally they stepped aside to permit some bullock cart to pass. One of them swore, not with any evidence of temper, not viciously, but in a kind of mechanical protest, which, from long usage, had become a habit He directed these epithets never at anything he could by mental or physical contest overcome. He swore at the dust, at the heat, at the wind, at the sun.-' - -" The other wayfarer, with the inherent inher-ent patience of his blood, said nothing and waited, setting down the heavy kit bag and the canvas valise (his own). When the way was free again he would sling the kit bag and the valise over his shoulder and step back into the road. His turban, once white, was brown with dust and sweat His khaki uniform was rent and the ragged rag-ged canvas' shoes spurted little spirals of dust as he walked. James Hooghly was Eurasian; half European, half Indian, In-dian, having his place twixt heaven and hell, which is to say, nowhere. He was faithful, willing and strong; and as a carrier of burdens took unmur-muringly unmur-muringly his place beside the tireless bullock and the elephant. He was a Methodist; why, no1 one could find lu-cid lu-cid answer.. By dint of Inquiry hi3 master had learned that James looked upon his baptism and conversion In Methodism as a corporal would have looked upon the acquisition of a V. C. Twice, during fever and plague, he had saved his master's life. With the guilelessness of the Oriental he considered con-sidered himself responsible for his master In all future times. Instead of paying off a debt he had acquired one. "Treated as he was, kindly but always iirmly, he would have surrendered his life cheerfully at the beck of the white man. Warrington' 'i-as "an' American.''' He was also one of those men who never held misfortune in contempt, whose outlook wherever It roamed was tolerant. tol-erant. He had patience for the weak, resolution for the strong and a fearless fear-less amiability toward all. He was like the St Bernard dog. very difficult diffi-cult to arouse. It is rather the way with all men who are strong mentally and physically. He was tall and broad and deep. Under the battered pith helmet his face was. as dark as the Eurasian's; but the eyes were blue, bright and small pupiled, as they are with men who live out of doors, who are compelled of necessity to note things moving at distances. The nose was large and well defined. All framed in a tangle of blond beard and mustache which, if anything, added to the general manliness of his appearance. ap-pearance. He, too, wore khaki, but with the addition of tan riding leggings, leg-gings, which had seen anything but rockinghorse service. The man was yellow from the top of his helmet to be soles of his shoes outside. For ithe rest, he was a mystery, to James, u.o all who thought they knew him, and -most of all to himself. A pariah, an outcast, a fugitive from the bloodless i hand of the law; a gentleman born, once upon a time a clubman, college bred; a contradiction, a puzzle for which there was not any solution, not even in the hidden corners of the man's heart. His name wasn't Warrington; War-rington; and he had rubbed elbows with the dregs of humanity, and still looked you straight in the eye because he had come through inferno without bringing any of the defiling pitch. From time to time he paused to relight re-light his crumbling cheroot. The to-' bacco was strong and bitter and stung his parched lips; but the craving for the tang of the smoke on his tongue was not to be denied. Under his arm he carried a small iron cage, patterned something like a rat trap. It contained a Rajputana parrakeet, not much larger than a robin, but possessor of a sil as fierce as that of Palladin, minus, however, the smoothing influence of chivalry. He bad been born under the eaves of the scarlet palace in Jaipur (so his history ran); but the proximity of Indian In-dian princes had left him untouched;' he had neither chivalry, politeness, nor diplomacy. He was, In fact, thoroughly thor-oughly and consistently bad. Round and round he went, over and over, top side, down side, restlessly. For at this moment he was hearing those familiar evening sounds which no human hu-man ear can discern the mutterings of the day birds about to seek cover for the night. In the field at the right of the road stood a lonely tree. It was covered with brilliant scarlet leaves and blossoms, and justly the natives call it the Flame of the Jungle. A flock of small birds were gyrating above it. "Jah, jah, jah! Jah jah ja-a-a-h!" cried the parrot, imitating the Burmese Bur-mese bell gong that calls to prayer. Instantly he followed the call with a shriek so piercing as to sting the ear of the man who was carrying him. "You little son of a gun!" he laughed; "where do you pack away all that noise?" There was a strange bond between the big yellow man and this little green bird. The bird did not suspect it, but the man knew. The pluck, the pugnacity and the individuality of the feathered comrade had been an object lesson to the man, at a time when he had been on the point of throwing up the fight. "Jah, jah, jah! Jah jah ja-a-a-h!" The bird began its interminable somersaults, som-ersaults, pausing only to reach for the tantalizing finger of the man, who laughed again as he withdrew the digit in time. For six years he had carried the bird with him, through India and Burma Bur-ma and Malacca, and not yet had he won a sign of surrender. There were many scars on his forefingers. It was amazing With one pressure of his hand he" could have crushed out the life of the bird, but over Its brave, unconquerable un-conquerable spirit he had no power. And that is why he loved it Far away in the past they had met He remembered the day distinctly and bitterly. He had been on tke brink of self-destruction. Fever and poverty and terrible loneliness bad battered and beaten him flat into the dust, from which this time he had no wish to rise. He had walked out to the railway station at Jaipur to witness wit-ness the arrival of the tourist train from Ahmadabad. The natives surged about the train, with brassware, antique an-tique articles of warfare, tiger hunt ing knives (accompanied by perennial fairy tales), skins and silks. There were beggars, holy men, guides and fakirs. Squatted in the dust before the door of a first-class carriage was a solemn! brown man, in turban and clout, exhibiting exhib-iting performing parrots. It was Rajah's Ra-jah's turn. He fired a cannon, turned somersaults through a little steel hoop, opened a tiny chest, took out a four-anna piece, carried It to his master, mas-ter, and in exchange received some seed. Thereupon he waddled resentfully resent-fully back to the iron cage, opened the door, closed It behind him. and began to mutter belligerently. Warrington War-rington haggled for two straight hours. When he returned to his sordid, evil smelling lodgings that night he possessed pos-sessed the parrot and four rupees, and sat up the greater part of the night trying to make the bird perform his tricks. The idea of suicide no longer bothered him; trifling though it was, he had found an Interest in life. And on the morrow came the Eurasian, who trustfully loaned Warrington every ev-ery coin that he could scrape together. Often, In the dreary heart-achy days that followed, when weeks passed ere he saw the face of a white man, when he had to combat opium and bhang and laziness in the natives under him, the bird and his funny trick3 had saved him from whisky, or worse. In camp he gave Rajah much freedom, its wings being clipped; and nothing pleased the little rebel so much as to claw his way up to his master's shoulder, sit there and watch the progress of the razor, with intermittent intermit-tent "jawing" at his own reflection in the cracked hand mirror. ' Up and down the-Irrawaddy, at the resthouses, on the boats, to those of a jocular turn of mind the three were known as "Parrot & Co." Warrington's Warring-ton's amiability often misled the various vari-ous scoundrels with whom he was at times forced to associate. A man who smiled most of the time and talked Hindustani to a parrot was not to be accorded much courtesy; until one day Warrington had settled all distinctions, finally and primordially, with the square of his fists. After that he went on his way unmolested, having soundly trounced one of the i biggest bullies in the teak timber yards at Rangoon. He made no friends; he had no confidences con-fidences to exchange; nor did he offer to become the repository of other men's pasts. But he would share his bread and his rupees, when be had them, with any who asked. Many tried to dig into his past, but he was as unresponsive as granite. It takes a woman to find out what a man is and has been, and Warrington went about women in a wide circle. In a nay he was the most baffling kind of a mystery to those who knew him; he frequented the haunts of men, took a friendly drink, played cards for small sums, laughed and jested like any other anchorless man. In the East men are given curious names. They become known by phrases, such as, The Man Who Talks, Mr. Once Upon a Time, The One-Rupee Man, and the like. As Warrington never received any mail, as he never entered a hotel, nor spoke of the past, he became be-came The Man Who Never Talked of Home. "I say, James, old sport, no more going up and down this bally old river. We'll go on to Rangoon tonight, if we can find a berth." "Yes, sahib; this business very piffle," replied the Eurasian without turning his head. Two things be dearly loved to acquire a bit of American slang and a bit of English silver. He was Invariably changing rupees into shillings, and Warrington could not convince him that he was always losing in the transaction. They tramped on through the dust. The sun dropped. A sudden chill began be-gan to penetrate the haze. The white man puffed his cheroot, its wrapper dangling; the servant hummed an Urdu lullaby; the parrot complained unceasingly. i Warrington laughed and shook the dust from his beard. "It's a great world, James, a great, wonderful world. I've just two rupees myself. In other words we are busted." "Two rupees!" James paused and turned. "Why, sahib, you have three hundred thousand rupees In your pocket." "But not worth an anna until I get to Rangoon. Didn't those duffers give you anything for handling their luggage lug-gage the other day?" "Not a pice, sahib." "Rotters! It takes an Englishman to turn a small trick like that Well, well; there were extenuating circumstances. circum-stances. They had sore heads. No man likes to pay three hundred thousand thou-sand for something he could have bought for ten thousand. And I made them come to me, James, to me. I made them come to this god-forsaken hole, just because it pleased my fancy. I believe I'm heaven born, after all. The Lord hates a quitter, and so do I. I nearly quit myself, once; eh. Rajah, old top? But I made them come to me. That's the milk in the cocoanut, the curry on the rice. They almost had me. Two rupees! It truly is a great world." "Jah, jah, jah! Jah jah jah ja-a-a-h!" screamed the parrot "Cha-loo!" "Cha-loo!" "Go on! That's the ticket If I were a praying man this would be the time for it. Three hundred thousand rupees!" The man looked at the far horizon, as If be would force his gaze beyond, into the delectable land, the Eden out of which he had been driven. "James. I owe you three hundred rupees, ru-pees, and I am going to add seven hundred more. We've been fighting this old top for six years together, and you've been a good servant and a good friend; and I'll take you with me as far as this fortune wtrt g-j. If you say the word." "Ah, sahib. 1 am much sorry. But Delhi calls, and I go. A thousand rupees ru-pees will make much business for me in the Chandney Chowk." Presently they became purple shades in a brown world. t CHAPTER II. A Man With a Past. The oriental night air was stirless. It was without refreshment; it became a labor and not an exhilaration to breathe it. A pall of suffocating dust rolled above and about the Irrawaddy flotilla boat which, buffeted by the strong, irregular current, strained at its cables, now at the bow, now at the stern, not dissimilar to the last rocking rock-ing of a deserted swing. This sensation sensa-tion was quite perceptible to the girl who leaned over the bow rail, her handkerchief pressed to her nose, and gazed interestedly at the steep bank, up and down which the sweating coolies coo-lies swarmed like Gargantuan rats. A dozen torches were stuck Into the ground above the crumbling ledge; she saw the flames as one sees a burning match cupped in a smoker's hands, shedding light upon nothing save that which stands immediately behind it. She choked a little. Her eyes smarted. smart-ed. Her lips were slightly cracked, and cold-cream seemed only to provide a surer resting place for the Impalpable Impalpa-ble dust It had penetrated through wool and linen and silk, intimately, jq-til jq-til three Laths a day had become a welcome routine, providing it was possible pos-sible to obtain water. Water. Her tongue ran across her lips. Oh, for a drink from the old cold pure spring at home! Tea, coffee, and bottled soda; nothing that ever touched the thirsty spots in he throat. She looked up at the stars and they looked down upon her, but what she asked they could not, would not answer. an-swer. Night after night she had asked, and night after night they had only twinkled as of old. She had traveled trav-eled now for four months, and still the doubt beset ver. It was to be a leap in the dark, with no one to tell her what was. on the other side. But why this insistent doubt? Why could she not .ake the leap gladly, as a woman should who had given the affirmative to a man? With him she was certain that she loved him, away from him she did not know what sentiment really abided in her heart She was wise enough to realize that something was wrong; and there were but three months between her and the inevitable decision. Never before had she known other than momentary indecision; and it Irked her to find that her clarity of vision was fallible and human like the rest of her. The truth was, she didn't know her mind. She shrugged, and the movement stirred the dust that had gathered upon her shoulders. "A rare old lot of dust; eh, Miss Chetwood? I wish we could travel by night, but you can't trust this blooming bloom-ing old Irrawaddy after sundown. Charts are so much waste-paper." "I never cease wondering how those poor coolies can carry those heavy rice bags," she replied to the purser. "Oh, they are used to it" carelessly. The great gray stack of paddy-bags seemed, in the eyes of the girl, fairly to melt away. "By Jove!" exclaimed the purser. "There's Parrot & Co.!" He laughed and pointed toward one of the torchei. "Parrot & Co.? I do not understand." under-stand." "That big blond chap behind the-fourth the-fourth torch. Yes, there. Sometime I'll tell you about him. Picturesque duffer." She could have shrieked aloud, but all'she did was to draw In her breath with a gasp that went so deep It gave her heart a twinge. Her fingers tightened tight-ened upon the teak rail. Suddenly she know, and was ashamed of her weakness. weak-ness. It was simply a remarkable likeness, nothing more than that; It could not possibly be anythln.: more. Still, a ghost could not have startled her as this livlug man bad done. "Who is be?" ' "A chap named Warrington. But over here that signifies nothing; might just as well be Jones or Smith or Brown. We call him Parrot ft Co. He's always carrying that Rajputana parrot. You've seen the kind around the palaces and forts; sabcr-like wings, long tail-feathers, green and blue and scarlet, and the ugliest little rascals going. This one is trained to do tricks." "But the man!" Impatiently. (TO BIS CONTINUED.) |