oabe, the yoke-yellow robe of a
pongee, the vehement scarlet belt
• nd badge of a muslin-clad chup
rassy—bands and whorls, dots and
patches of color, as If the whole
palette had been wasted abroad with
one gigantic spatter-brush. Cam
berwell went blinking and hurrying
through It all, random-footed and
random minded as well.
‘‘I must remember this!" gloated
Camberwell, and tried to make sure
of it, clicking the mental camera
furiously. But the folk swept him
on and each vista blotted out the
one that went before and made it
seem poor and meager and alto
gether Insignificant.
IIow on earth was a man to re
member anything, any one aspect,
when another was always shifting
In—equally surprising and equally
true. The best he could do was to
clutch his guide-book the tighter
and blink the faster, and mop his
bewildered beaming face In a heat
that waxed about him like a steam
bath and go tearing on—seeing,
still seeing. . .
A mad sort of pilgrimage, and be
fore evening It had led him the ex
tended round. To the bazaars and
the forts and the race-course. To
the Chinese millionaire’s—an Im
mense carven glove-box in cinna
bar, lampblack and chrome. To the
Mohammedan mosque—a wedding
cake of frosty white, and the Hindu
temple—a birthday cake of pink
icing. Finally, to the municipal gar
dens. where fantasic vegetation
from the most expensive hot houses
in the world had been recklessly
heaped right outdoors to display
every tinge, wash, stain, tincture,
or complexion that man ever named,
and many more they never would—
every blooming color^ as Davison
had said.
‘‘This is It!" decided Camberwell,
again and again. But how was a
fellow to choose.
And when, at last, the seeker
after truth took refuge in a big
open-faced hotel by the Bunder
hot, tired, dry and dusty—ha^y.
but somehow baffled, satiated but
yet unsatisfied—when he called for
refreshment In a broad dim bar of
tables and pillars and swaying
unkahs where "Manhatcoktail" and
"Thos. Collins; I Dol." lent an er
ratic familiarity to the decorations
—by one of those co incidental er
rors that triumph over any studied
irony—lo!—a stupid Goaboy waiter
set out before him the wrong glass
—a thin finger-depth of variegated
sparkling liquor.
"Pousse-cafe!" exploded Camber
well then. ‘‘Half way around the
world to find this! . . Pousse cafe?”
He turned with a human Impulse
to divide at large the Inestimable
humor of It; with the same gesture
he flung open his well-crammed
wallet to make payment. And that
was the precise moment at which he
met the Inquiring, brilliant smile of
the little gentleman from Macao.
The little gentleman from Macao
occupied the adjoining table. It was
wholly natural for him to reply with
winning and easy politeness. "Par
don,” he said. "Is your order wrong
' the steward? Maybe I can do a
service. If you will allow me—*’
He appeared to be only some
casual merchant, clerk, or agent of
the port. 'VYhh his suit of spotless
drill and low hrimmed Panama, with
his languid glance and pruned
moustache, there was nothing to set
him apart in the class of resident
local whites and superior Eurasians
Camberwell had been vaguely aware
of such a class. He even thought
for an instant he must have seen
this gentleman before somewhere.
But that was hardly possible. The
gentleman from Macao had been
trailing him half the day, and it
would have been very poor business
indeed If lie had Intruded himself
so clumsily. A certain experience in
these affairs had taught the gentle
man from Macao to be neat as a
pin. Inconspicuous as a cat, smooth
and deft always. Which he was
and, except for his smile, complete
ly colorless.
"You don’t like? he queried.
"Why no; I don’t," said Camber
well. readily is somewhat ruefully.
"The way it comes, they certainly
put one over on me. I leave it to
you. Here I've been running in cir
cles since early morn to discover
the special domestic attraction of
your burg—and here's the answer I
get slipped to me after all. A com
mon. everyday mixed drink!”
"Ah-ha! Too common? Not amus- i
ing enough."
“Oh, it's amusing. But exasperat
ing." Camberwell held up the
glass. "I didn't come for this!”
"No,” agreed the other. "No, of
course you didn't. The same 'sing
you get at 'ome—eh? And 'ere you
expected somesing new—someslng
different!"
"Mister, you've said it!"- returned
Camberwell.
A most Intelligent little person—
this gentleman from Macao. He
nodded. “I onerstan'. If you please
wait one second—"
To the stolid Ooaboy, still hover
ing near, he passed a few swift,
purring phrases. It was a curious
detail that ho used a Portuguese
dialect which is almost as safe as a
secret code, even In the babel of a
far eastern town. But nobody could
have noticed the order he gave, nor
how he gave it; nobody could have
suspected him of taking any in
terest in the visitor. Only, after the
fresh drink had been brought—
“ 'Ow you like that?"
“Great!" The stuff looked exact
ly like liquid topaz, tasted exactly
as topaz ought to taste—delicate,
keen and pungent. “It’s great!" ad
mitted Camberwell, sipping.
Only then, the gentleman from
Maooa leaned a trifle closer. “And
about these amusement. These att
the eagerno^ 3 the brightness of
his dreams came back with a rash.
As a pilgrim re inspired he turned
to the quest one come.
"By George! It’s a fact, I still
have the night, haven't I? Mister,
you're a wiz! If you happen to
keep that address on you—the re
gion, the whereabouts—’’
A minute later, the gentleman
from Macao had taken himself
and his unfailing smile elsewhere,
leaving a card behind him on the
table with the polite murmured di
rection:
"Tell any ’rickshaw-man."
brass cash under the banker’s pale
yellow fingers. The bronze of In
tent faces, the gamboge and citrine
of downward-flaring lamps, the
amethyst drift of smoke. Puce and
mauye and maroon among the
clustered players. Turquoise and
▼iolet and crimson among the
dresses of the women. He liked them
all. He liked them better as he
won and won.
And that was easy, too. You
shoved your bet on one of the four
numbers, and then they counted
your number from the bowl and
gave you white banknotes to match
your greenish bills. ... At
least, they did at first. Easy! With
that little nina to help you pick up
the profits, whispering and nudging
at you in the most kindly fashion,
waiting.upon you with her great,
soft-tender glance. Really, an aw
ful prefly girl—young, too. Though
he could not understand why there
should be teardrops caught in her
“Mother?” she breathed. "Sisters—you ’ave? An’ you can speak of them ’ere?"
raction you speak of. Maybe I
could 'elp you also. Suppose, now."
he went on. In a voice of infinite
suggestion, "suppose you go see a
lid'l dance—eh? Mu sic dancers.
Very special—very different In
deed! A lid'l sing-song—" He
stopped, for the visitor had drawn
hack.
"Thanks," said Camberwell, with
out offense. "That's not quite what
I'm after.”
“No?” exclaimed the gentleman
from Macoa. and it was his turn to
ask, as Davison had asked before
him; "No! But what Is It you are
after?”
So again, for the second time
since dawn, Camberwell hnd to give
account of himself In the East.
“The dope," he said simply, "Just
the true dope. I want what this
place can show—the Inwardness, the
meaning, the color. I want the
color of it, right!” he cried, with a
sort of passion, and shook hia hond.
“I’ve been looking and looking all
day," he added whimsically. "But
I haven't found it yet—not to be
sure."
And again, in his turn, the gen
leman from Macao searched Cam
berwell’s face—just as Davison hnd
done—met Camberwell's eyes, those
rather remarkable eyes. Whatever
he saw there, he made no sign to
declare; perhaps could not have told
any better than the second officer.
The fact remains he adjusted to It
with even greater celerity.
"Ah-ha! Yes,"—he nodded—"I on -
derstan.' But 'ave you ever re
flect' to yourself," he offered, lean
ing still closer until his teeth glis
tened, '* 'ave you reflect' 'ow these
dope of yours change? If you want
the color, the true color—eh, what?
—why not go at night-lime?”
Camberwell ant up. There was n
pleasant tingling In hla veins; hi*
fatigue and disappointment hnd
lifted like fog from a channel. All
And while Camberwell read the
jotted number, he chuckled aloud:
"Too bad about the one the mate
wouldn't give me! . , . Wonder If
this Is the same!"
As a matter of fact, it was the
same—geographically a district, a
section, public place, A famous
place. In its way. Moreover, it was
that identical place elsewhere
toward which that obliging inform
ant of his was even then gliding
away through the clogged purlieus
of the city and the sticky tropic
night—keeping to the shadow like
a sleek thing of prey which runs
before to prepare its ambush.
Camberwell came in condition to
enjoy It, to enjoy almost anything,
thanks to the topaz drink and the
mummy faced Goaboy, who must
have had some talent, too. for
Camberwell was accurately and
sufficiently within the penultimate
limit. How he reached the main
entrance, how he braved the por
tals of that famous place where
angels certainly tear to tread, he
could never have told; but In good
time he tipped the grinning door
keeper a gold piece and bashed
hla sun helmet over the celestial
head, hung his cane on a Joss,
shook hands with a Cantonese
hatchet-man—the Oriental equiva
lent of a bouncer—elbowed through
as choice a gang of cut-throats
and half-caste outcasts as ever
gathered between Hakodate and
Suez, yanked a chair from under
the worst of them, offered It to
the nearest scared nlna de salon
and stood In to play. Kasily. With
complete enjoyment. . . .
Kor the colors were there. It was
just as his casual little friend had
said—the colors were there—mel
lowed and deepened In the night
time; hot and bright and swinging
around him now with the most
entrancing gyrations. Beagreen on
the table top—tiny twinkles of
lashes like a dew on a flower. Un
less, perhaps, she was crying for
him because he had begun to lose.
He plunged the heavier, to reas
sure her. He lost . . . Crying
for the luck, was she? Charming
girl, always plucking at his sleeve
for some reason! But he would
show her how well lie could do this
town In the night-time. He plunged
. And he lost. Dunged again,
until. In an unmeasured interval,
and from an unmeasured distance,
her sharp, urgent message filtered
through his dazed senses.
"Come a way; come a way—quick,
There Is danger—danger—danger!"
He rallied to that call and tried
to follow her through the crowd as
she edged out. But it was not so
easy this way—not nearly so easy
to leave Id Chwan's as to enter It.
Arms were put out to Impede
them. A mutter rose here and
there. But they had reached the
edge of the throng, the threshhold
of another apartment, before u
moonfaced Chinaman came bustling
up, chattered angrily at the girl
and snatched her back toward him.
Chamberwell drove a fist to the
jaw with a gesture so natural as to
be almost unconscious—aliollshed
that Chinaman, sent him tumbling
and clawing while the girl slammed
a door and leaned there alrenible.
"You said—some danger?" quer
ied Camberwell gravely, surprised
to find how slowly the worfla and
thoughts came.
"Koah you—foah you!” she cried,
prettier than ever In her distress.
"I dbl try to make you go a way.
I tried! Now you are caught!"
He got the Idea dimly, lie looked
round him. They were alone In n
sort of closed alcove with heavy
hangings all about the walls, and
at the fur aide the curtains of two !
windows. The girl seemed to be i
looking toward the windows with a J
strained face. She led hlin a step I
or two, and stopped, and wrung her
hands. A smart blow fell upon the
door. Voices were babbling Inside
there. The house was up against
them. A perception common to all
trapped creatures reached Camber
well.
•There must be a way out of
thin"
"Yes—but you can never get to
itr
"Show roe. please. Which aide?"
Again she led him a few steps
ward the far corner of the room,
and again she topped and held him
back. They had to pass the second
window If they were going to move
any further. The girl held to him
with stiffened fingers while a tattoo
struck the door. She could not turn
either way.
"Why?" she cried, despairing,
"Oah, why did you ever come ’ere? »
Yop 'ave lost your money; you got
no money for it!” In fact the wallet
he still kept In his hand was sadly
shrunken. "Didn' you know on-lee
bad an* wicked come to such a
place? What you cpme after, you?"
He regarded her. and, by the
solemn logic of drink, it seemed to
him that she meant a legitimate
question. She was so very pretty—
so troubled and fearful for him, but
brave and true, too. So like any
right kind of girl to whom a man
can and should tell these matters.
For the thir* time within hla
twenty-four hours, the explorer
through strange foreign parts ex
plained himself in all good faith.
"Well. I tell you,” he said, sway
ing; "y'know—I wanted to buy some
little things to take home with me.
I wanted some little presents for my
—my mother and sisters, y’know.
Kimonas or shawls or things. And
I thought—I thought, wouldn't It be
great If I could only get the right
colors? . . . Colors, good colors—I
love 'em, and I wanted—the true
color of the Kast to bring back.
That's all. But of course,” he added
mournfully, showing the wallet, "I
can't do It now."
Then It was the turn of the half- a
caste girl to look Into his face and *
his eyea—the rather remarkable
eyes of Camberwell—and she looked,
long and deep, from her agony of ^
despair and life-weariness.
" 'Mother'?" she hreatlied. “ 'Sis
ters'—you 'ave? An1 you can speak
ot them ’ere?” He nodded, unvexed.
"Boy!" she said, with something like
a sob. "You—you boy from far
a way! You have the clean heart-^^^»
the «weet heart'” She caught him
closer. "Do not remember me—
never, never think of me a'galn.
But now—will you on-lee kiss me
once bifor' you go?”
Well she looked the eort of girl
one kisses. And. besides, having
asked—
He drew the back of his hand
across his mouth. Her own was
quite close, quite tempting. They
were standing by the window. But
in the long moment while she clung
to him and their lips met, she swung
him round, so that she leaned
among the curtains herself.
A thundering assault fell upon the
door, and at the same time she
thrust him away from her so vio
lently that he staggered toward the
far corner and almost fell, literally,
down the well of the rear staircase
that guided him to the street.
There the second officer met him,
wandering in the unprofitable
dawn, and picked him up with a
great roar of relief.
"Thank God, Mr. Camberwell, sir!
I've been looking all about for yau.
You gave me a frigbt. I can tell you.
1 was feared you might be over In
here in this here gambling hole on
the next block. A tough place! Tltf „
police raided it last night, and
seems they caught a little murder
ing yellow rat of a Macao Porto
gee—''
Camberwell stopped him.
"Never mind any of that. I don't (
care. The only thing l want to know
Is when the ship sails.”
"On the tida. sir—half an hour."
"Come along then, won't you?" |
"Why, sir?" was Davison's query.
"Have you hnd enough- of thia
queer port and these queer people?*’
"Yes,” said the student of local
color. "Yes; I've had enough. Det'a
go!”
As they started along the water
front he rubbed his lips surrepti
tiously, as a man will do, on the
back of his hand. And when he
looked, there was a red smear. Red!
That was the final discovery of
Cnmliorwell in the Far Kast. Red.
The color of life, everywhere the
same Just common red. In a sud
den brusque gesture of distaste and
disillusion, he scrubt>ed it with hie
handkerchief. . . . For he thought,
and he went on thinking, and he
always would think, that (he staff
was nothing but rouge,
(t'opyrisht. t222.>