Peter the Brazen: A Mystery Story of Modern China

by George F. Worts

  CHAPTER XIV

  Peter Moore's curiosity regarding the motives which were sending MissAmy Vost into Szechwan, most deplorable, most poverty-stricken ofprovinces, was satisfied before the _Hankow_ had put astern the greatturbulent city after which it had been named.

  At Hankow the _Hankow_ picked up the raft which it would tow all theway up to Ching-Fu. Upon this raft was a long, squat cabin, in and outof which poured incessantly members of China's large and growing family.

  There were thin, dirty little men, and skinny, soiled little women, andquantities of hungry, dirty little boys and girls. A great noise wentup from the raft as the _Hankow_ nosed in alongside, and the newtowline was passed and made fast over the bitts.

  As the big propeller thumped under them and churned the muddy waterinto unhealthy-looking foam, Peter Moore and Miss Vost leaned upon therail, where it curved around the fantail, and discoursed at length,speculating upon the probable destination of that raftful of dirtyhumanity, and offering problematic answers to the puzzling question asto why were all these people deserting relatively prosperous Hankow forthe over-populated, overdeveloped province of Szechwan.

  Peter had an inkling that Miss Vost was distressed by the scene.

  "Let's take a stroll forward," he suggested.

  An urchin, directly below them, stood rubbing his eyes with two grimyfists. His whines were audible above the churning of the engines.

  "No, no. I'm quite accustomed to this. Look--just look at thatmiserable little fellow!"

  "He is blind," stated Peter quietly.

  "Half of them are blind," Miss Vost replied. Her features weretransfixed by a look of sadness. "Wait for me. I'll return in asecond."

  Peter watched the graceful swing of her shoulders as she strode downthe deck to the forward companionway, admiring the slim strength of hersilk-clad ankles. She was every inch an American girl. He was proudof her. She returned, carrying a small oblong of cardboard, upon whicha photograph was pasted.

  Peter found himself looking into the sad, be-wrinkled eyes of agray-bearded man, a patriarchal gentleman, who stood on the hard clayat the foot of a low stone stairway. His nose, his eyes, hisintellectual forehead were distinctly those of Miss Vost. A child in afreshly starched frock, with eyes opened wide in surprise and interest,was firmly clutching one of his trouser-legs.

  "My father," explained Miss Vost. "He was stationed at Wenchow then,in charge of the mission. I have not seen him since."

  Peter remarked to himself that somehow Miss Vost did not seem to be thedaughter of a missionary, nor was the costly way she dressed in keywith her remark. Perhaps she divined his thoughts.

  "He has money--lots of it. He has a keen, broad mind. But he chosethis. When he was first married be brought mother to China. He saw,and realized, China's vast problems. And he stayed. He wanted tohelp."

  Peter gazed into her gray eyes, which seemed to take on a clear violettinge when she was deeply moved.

  "He told me to come to see him because he was growing old. I stoppedoff in Amoy," said Miss Vost with a ghost of a smile. "A youngmissionary he wanted me to meet lives there. I met him. But I couldnot admire that young missionary. He was a--a _poseur_. He waspretending. One reason I like you, Mr. Moore, is because you're sosincere. He was so transparent. And his 'converts' saw through him,too. They were bread-and-butter converts. They listened to him; theydevoured his food--then they went to the fortune-tellers! Father couldnot have known Doctor Sanborn longer than a few minutes--or else he'snot the father that he used to be! I inherit his love for sincerity.I--I'm sure he will like you!"

  "But--but----" stammered Peter--"I don't expect to go to Wenchow.Better say he'd like--Bobbie!"

  "Oh, he'd like anybody that I liked," Miss Vost said lightly."It--it's really interesting, you know, from Ching-Fu to Wenchow. Wetake bullock carts--if we can find them. Otherwise we walk. Doesn'tit--appeal to you--just a little--to be all alone with me for nearly ahundred miles?"

  "Very much indeed," replied Peter earnestly. "But our roads part--atChing-Fu. I go directly south."

  "In search of more adventure and romance? Perhaps--perhaps a girl whois not so silly as I have been? Or--is it India--or Afghanistan?"

  "Neither. An old friend!"

  "Is that why you are growing a beard--to surprise--_him_?"

  "Perhaps," said Peter, absently fingering the bristles. "Don't tell meit's unbecoming or I'll have to shave it off!"

  "As if what I thought made a particle of difference!" retorted MissVost defiantly.

  Peter gave her a thoughtful, a puzzled stare. "I overheard you lastnight. You broke your promise. You promised to be nice to him."

  "I was. Do you mean what I said about Liauchow?"

  "You don't realize what you _mean_ to Bobbie. My dear, dear girl----"

  "I am not your dear, dear girl!"

  Peter groaned.

  "Does your heart ache, too, Peter?"

  "Of course it does! I--I'd like----"

  "Then why don't you?"

  "It wouldn't be fair, that's why!"

  "To--Bobbie?"

  "Bobbie, too."

  "Then there _is_ another girl," Miss Vost cried bitterly. She bit herlip. "You should have told me before."

  "I thought it wouldn't be necessary."

  Miss Vost dropped her eyes to Peter's hand which was resting on therail. Her own hand moved over and nestled against it.

  "Do--do you l-love her as much as th-this?" Her eyes returned to hisface.

  "I did think I did!"

  "But you're not sure--now?"

  "Oh, I thought I was sure! I _am_ sure'"

  "There's little more to say, then, is there?" Her lids were blinkingrapidly as she looked down at the mob of filthy little Arabs on theflat. Her fingers plucked, trembling, at the embroidered hem of awhite, wadded handkerchief.

  "Bobbie _does_ care for you so," observed Peter with unintentionalcruelty.

  "Oh--oh--_him_!" sobbed Miss Vost, leaving him to stare after herdrooping figure as she retreated down the deck.

  She seemed on a sudden to be avoiding the entrance to the forwardcompanionway. He wondered why.

  The girl stopped, with her hands clenched into white fists at her sides.

  From the doorway, smiling suavely and wiping one hand upon the other ina gesture of solicitous meekness, emerged the tall and commandingfigure of the Mongolian--or was he a Tibetan? He was attired now inthe finest, the shiniest of Canton silks. His satin pants, of agorgeous white, a _courting_ white, were strapped about ankles whichterminated in curved sandals sparkling with gold and jewels in themid-day sun. His jacket, long and perfectly fitting, was of a robin'segg blue. His blue-black queue, freshly oiled, gleamed like the coilsof an active hill snake.

  He was a picture of refined Chinese saturninity.

  Miss Vost, beholding him, was properly impressed. She stepped back,not a little appalled, and swept him from queue to sandal with a lookthat was not the heartiest of receptions. The Mongolian was speakingin oiled, pleasing accents.

  Peter strode toward them.

  "He insulted me!" panted Miss Vost. "Like many fine, Chinesegentlemen, he thought, perhaps, that I might be--what do they call'em--a 'nice li'l 'Melican girl!' Impress him with the fact that I amnot, Mr. Moore--please do that!"

  She hastened around the forward cabin, out of sight.

  The Mongolian was regarding Peter with a cool, complacent smile. Hisexpression was smug, uninjured.

  "Looka here, Chink-a-link," Peter advised him, "my no savvy you; you nosavvy my. My see you allatime. Allatime. You savvy, Chink-a-link?"

  "I comprehend you, my friend," replied the Mongolian in polishedaccents. "In my case, 'pidgin' is not, let me hasten to say,necessary."

  "Very good, Chink; the next time you so much as glance in Miss Vost'sdirection, you're going to walk away with a pair of the dam'dest blackeyes in China! Get that--you yellow weasel?"

  "Unfortunately,
" replied the Mongolian, lifting his fine, blackeyebrows only a trifle, "your suggestion--your admonitions--are again,most inappropriate. Miss Vost--do I pronounce it correctly? Miss Vostand yourself are the victims of a misunderstanding."

  "Take off your coat, and prove I'm wrong!" shouted Peter. "I'm abetter man than you are! Swallow it or--fight!"

  Peter's gray tweed coat flopped in a heap upon the ironwood deck.

  The Mongolian retired a few feet, with indications of anxiety.

  "I--I did not intend to offend her," he retracted. His ropy throatmuscles seemed to convulse. His long face flamed hotly red. He burstout, as though unable to control himself: "My savvy allatime you nosavvy! _Ni buh yao t[=i] na go hwa! Djan go chue, rang o dzou!_"

  "_Lao-shu_," laughed Peter. "_Dang hsin!_"