Chapter 8 MR. CHALMERS SEES THE GARDEN AND HEARS THE TRUTH

Early next day I cornered Jane privately and told her of the conversation I had overheard the night before and the visitor I was expecting, adding, "This is Orphan Asylum day. I can't go, but take Zura with you. I don't want her to see that Chalmers boy again. He's too friendly, too highly colored to suit my ideas."

If my tones were sharper than the occasion demanded, it was because of the combination of a shriveled cash account, and an undesirable male around. The general disturbance of mind made me say, not quite honestly:

"He may be all right, but so far I can see not one good quality in Mr. Chalmers's make-up."

"Oh! yes, there is, Miss Jenkins," said Jane, quick to defend. "He can whistle beautifully. Last night as he went down the street you should have heard, 'Oh! Promise Me!' It was so pretty I almost cried."

"Spare your tears, Jane; the prettiest whistle that ever grew never made a real man. Mr. Chalmers will have to shine in another direction before I am convinced. Now get Zura and clear out, and don't you dare to take more than one basket of gingerbread Johnnies to the orphans."

* * *

When Mr. Tom Chalmers walked in at ten o'clock he barely concealed his regret at there being only an elderly hostess to receive him. The garden where I conducted my visitor, might have added joy to its symbol of peace on this perfect day of early spring. In each flower, in every leaf a glad spirit seemed to dwell. The feathered tribe that made its home among the branches madly rejoiced in a melody of song and twitterings. A white mother pigeon sheltered her young in a gnarled old plum tree, full-blossomed and crimson, while in a lofty pine old man crow scolded all birdkind as he swayed on the topmost branch, a bit of ebony against the matchless sky of blue.

There is only one effectual way of dealing with things one does not want to do-make past history of them as fast as possible. Very soon after entering the garden I asked Mr. Chalmers, who was mildly interested in the beauties before him, to sit down with me. Without further dallying, I went straight to the point of the interview. I told him I had heard him make the appointment with Zura the night before and he seemed to have forgotten to mention the matter to me, though I was close by. For a time at least I was responsible for Zura, and I thought it best to call his attention to a few facts which could not be overlooked.

"I wonder, Mr. Chalmers, if you realize that in this country it is impossible for a boy and a girl to associate together alone. It is barely permissible for you to see her in the company of others. Already your attentions have caused Zura to be talked about and there is very serious trouble with her grandfather. Further than that, the excursion you are planning for to-night is not only improper in any country, but it means actual disgrace here."

"It does? Well, I'll be hanged! Can't take a girl out and give her a good time! I knew these Japs were fools, but their laws are plain rot."

"Possibly, from your standpoint, Mr. Chalmers; but you see these laws and customs were in good working order in Japan long before Columbus had a grandfather. They can't be changed on the spur of the moment."

"That's all right," he responded hotly. "What you can't change you can sometimes break; I'm good at that kind of game."

Something in the boy's resentful face said that I was an impudent old meddler, an officious interloper. It made my voice as sharp as pins. "Very well, young man," I said, "there will be just one time in your life's history when you have encountered both an old law and an old woman that you will neither break nor change. Your attentions to Zura Wingate have got to be stopped and at once."

"Stopped!" he retorted. "Who's going to make me? I come from a free country where every fellow is his own boss. I'll do as I please. What do I care about the laws of these little brown monkeys! Where would they be anyhow if it wasn't for America? Didn't we yank 'em out of their hermits' nest and make them play the game whether they wanted to or not? They had better lay low! Don't they know there are ninety millions of us? Why, with one hand tied behind we could lick the Rising Sun clean off their little old flag!"

If it ever happened, I wondered about what point in the battle I could locate Mr. Pinkey Chalmers. The more he talked, the less I was sure of my pet belief in the divine right of the individual. Then my heart jumped; I saw Page Hanaford coming.

"The maid was unable to find the book I came for. She directed me here. Do I interrupt?" he asked on reaching us, bowing slightly and looking inquiringly from my frowning face to Pinkey Chalmers's wrathful one.

"Interrupt? No," said that youth. "Welcome to our prayer-meeting! I've planned a picnic and a sail for Zura and me to-night. This lady says it shall not be and I'm speculating who's going to stop it."

Page stepped quietly up to the defiant Pinkey. "I will, Mr. Chalmers, if necessary. I know nothing of your plans, but in this place Miss Jenkins's word is law. You and I are here to obey it as gentlemen."

Tommy blazed. "Gentlemen! Who are you, I'd like to know, pushing in and meddling with my affairs," he said.

Page started forward. A sound stopped him

At the challenge the old look of confusion momentarily clouded Page's eyes. Then with an effort he found himself. "My ancestry would not appeal to you, sir. But"-half good-humoredly-"the punch of my fist might."

"Oh h-h-ho!" stuttered Pinkey, angry and game. "You want to fight, do you! Light in! I'm ready."

Page started forward. A sound stopped him. It was voices singing an age-old nursery tune:

"Skip to my loobyloo,

Skip to my loobyloo,

Skip to my loobyloo

All of a Saturday morning."

It was a strange and curious sight in that wonderful old garden. Down the sandy path under the overhanging blossoms came Jane and Zura, skipping and bowing in time to the game's demands. The last line brought them to us. Hand in hand they stopped, Zura dishevelled, Jane's hat looking as if it grew out of her ear, but old maid and young were laughing and happy as children.

"We were practising games for the 'Sylumites,'" explained Zura. "I'm premier danseuse to the Nipponese kiddies and Lady Jenny is my understudy. What's the argument?" she asked, observing first one face, then the other, keenly alive to some inharmony.

Mr. Chalmers started to speak.

I cut him short. "Zura, take Mr. Hanaford with you and give him the book he wants. You'll find it on my desk. You go too, Jane, and help; Mr. Hanaford is in a hurry. I'll bring Mr. Chalmers later."

"Lovely!" exclaimed Jane; "and everybody will stay to lunch. Come on, let's have a feast."

A feast! Jane knew well enough it was bean soup and salad day, and not even a sweet potato in the pantry. Miss Gray and Zura started house-ward, slowly followed by Page. He had looked very straight at Mr. Chalmers, who returned the gaze, adding compound interest, and a contemptuous shrug.

They were barely out of hearing when he began, "Brave soldier of fortune, that! Where did he come from?" Without waiting for me to answer he went on: "I didn't know you were a missionary, else you couldn't have tied me with a rope and made me listen to a sermon and a peck of golden texts 'à la Japanese.'"

"Unfortunately, Mr. Chalmers, I'm not a missionary. If I were, I would leave off teaching the so-called heathen at once and be head chaplain to some of the ninety millions you were talking about. Speaking of golden texts, I know my Bible too well to cast pearls. Now, young man, once for all let me say, this thing simply cannot be. Zura is a lonely girl in a strange land. She must live under her grandfather's roof. Your slightest attention will make mountains of difficulty for her, and she is not going with you to-night even if you mean to marry her to-morrow."

Pinkey turned nearly white. "Marry her!" he exclaimed, "Why, I'm engaged to a girl back home."

"Why, I never intended to marry her," he went on, more concerned than at any time before. "I was just having a little flirtation."

A little flirtation! By the powers that be! My country had progressed if it had come to the place where a man could swear allegiance to one woman, then blithely sail the seas to find heaven in another woman's eyes!

My few days' experience with a girl had set me more problems than I ever found in arithmetic. This boy was a whole algebra, and they both belonged to my country where I thought rearing children was like growing flowers. Not only were things happening, I was learning new lessons faster than I really cared for. I asked him if Zura knew of his engagement.

"No," he replied as he walked restlessly about, "I just met her coming over. She isn't in love with me and I don't trouble others with my private affairs."

"Really! I am afraid your manly self-control will cause Zura many a heart ache. I know of nothing more contemptible than being engaged to one girl and flirting with another."

"Most men do it," he answered sullenly.

"I don't believe you, boy, and it will take more proof than you can furnish to convince me that the men of my country have so low a standard of honor." I put a heavy accent on "men."

My guest flushed. "Well, I like that! What do you call me?"

"A thoughtless boy," I said. "But if you want to be a man, here's your chance. You go right back to your ship; write to Zura; tell her of your engagement and why you cannot see her any more; then stay away."

I knew as little about men as I did about fashion, but I plunged on. "What do you think the girl back home would think? Suppose somebody treated her as you have treated Zura? Shame on you, boy! Be a man and help an old woman as well as a young one."

The desire to have his own way died hard, but something conquered. "I'll do it! Just watch me," he said at last, a certain bravado accompanying his words.

I could see that he was much disturbed by our interview. He rose and moved towards the gate. His effort to live up to his newly-awakened manhood was boyish, but sincere.

He whirled about suddenly and said, "Miss Jenkins, I apologize to you and Zura. I-I'm awfully sorry. Zura is such a jolly chum, and she was very lonely; I wasn't any too gay myself at leaving home. But, honestly, I didn't mean to make it hard for her. I-I didn't think. Please tell her."

Impulsively he took my hand and lightly kissed it. But for his earnestness I would have thought it impudent. He was soon gone.

* * *

"Where's Pink Tommy?" cried Zura, as I entered the living-room.

"Where's Mr. Hanaford?" I questioned back.

"Why, he took his book and left. Didn't you say he was in a hurry?"

"Yes, I did; so was Mr. Chalmers. He left good-by!"

"Good-by?" In Zura's question there was much annoyance and some anger.

Jane chimed in. "Both the boys gone? What a pity! I've just made a relly joll."

Whether intentional or not, Jane's twisted words sent a little breeze of laughter before the coming storm. For the rest of the afternoon Zura had little to say. Book in hand she sat in the windowseat overlooking the water, watching the snow-white sails skim the opal sea.

I made no further explanation of Mr. Chalmers or his call, thinking it best to await the arrival of his note.

It came just before night. The reading of it left Zura white. She looked at me stonily, "I suppose," she began, stiff with anger, "that you did this."

"I did," I answered, looking into her blazing eyes.

"And I suppose too," she continued with withering scorn, "that was why the gay cavalier kissed your hand. I saw him through the window. So touching! That's what you were plotting when I found you in the garden. Page Hanaford was in it too; I saw it in his face. I hate him! I hate everything! Oh!" she cried, with a sudden outburst of passion, "the lot of you are a pack of withered mummies. Not one of you know what it means to be homesick; how I'm aching for a good time! Yes, I was going with Pinkey to have a picnic on the island. Yes, I was going to slip off without telling you. How could you understand? What was the harm in my having a little pleasure? Do you think I intend to bend to the rules of this law-cursed country? No, I will not! I'll go where I please. I'll have my own friends!"

As gently as I could I forced her to go to her room and listen to what I had to say. I related what had passed between Mr. Chalmers and me, of the fatal thing she was contemplating and how her grandfather had appealed to me for help. Never had I dreamed of such passion, such grief in a young girl. She was like some wild thing, trying to beat its way to freedom through prison bars.

No word of mine, however tender, seemed to touch her. I began to feel useless, miserable, and a joy killer in general. I almost wished for the dull days of old; at least I knew how to deal with them. I could give points to the Minister of Education, talk volubly at Mothers' Meetings and translate Confucius from the original, but I was helpless before this girl in her conflict with conditions to which she could never yield and which she fought with all the fierceness of undisciplined strength. I could think of no word to comfort her. I sought to divert her. "Zura, listen! Do you remember the hat I wore the first day I came to see you? You do remember, for I saw you smiling at it. Well, I've worn it for eight years. Don't cry, Dearie; please don't; and I'll let you send to Yokohama and select me another one."

Sending to Yokohama for anything had always been an event to me. It was the only excitement I could think of. But Zura flung herself around at me. "Hang your old hat! What is a hat to a man, and he the only friend I have out here. I don't care if there was another girl! She can have him. He was somebody to play with. It was something to do, a touch of home. Oh! it's cruel! cruel!"

Though another ideal was gone to smash, I was almost ready to cry myself with relief that it was only a playmate Zura wanted in Pinkey and not a sweetheart. Even at that I was at my wit's ends again to know what to say next when the door opened. Jane had heard the commotion, and there she stood in her sleeping garments and cap, a kimono floating behind her. In one hand was her candle, in the other the only ornament she possessed-a stuffed parrot!

She came in and, as if talking to soothe a three-year-old child, she coaxed, "Zury, Zury, don't cry! Look what Jane has to show you. This is Willie. For a long time he was my only friend; then he died. I missed him terribly at first; but don't you cry about Mr. Pinkey. There are plenty more men in this world, just as there are plenty more parrots and as easy to get."

"Oh, I wish everybody had died!" the girl sobbed on, heedless of Jane's attempt at comfort. Suddenly, turning away from us, she stretched her arms to the starlit space beyond the windows and cried, "I want my home! I want my friends! I want life!"

* * *

Hours later the great golden moon rose from out the velvety shadows of the mountains. It looked in the window, found a sleeping girl, and kissed the heavy lashes still wet with passionate tears. Veering still farther around to the balcony, it rested on two silent old women.

From the city there floated up to us the tinkling of the samisens in the tea-houses; the high, sweet voice of a dancing girl as she sang the story of an old, old love; the sad notes of the blind masseur as he sought for trade by the pathos of his bamboo flute; the night-taps from the far-away barracks. Off to the west we could see the fast-disappearing lights of a Pacific steamer.

Neither sounds nor sights seemed to touch Miss Gray nor ruffle her serenity. For a long time she had been looking steadily into space, as if held by a mental vision of some spiritual glory.

"Jane," I asked at last, "what shall we do?"

Maybe it was the moon, but something had smoothed out every wrinkle in her face. She looked young and wise, as she leaned over and put her hand on mine. Here was a Jane I had never known before. In a voice low and sweet, she repeated the ancient hymn:

"God holds the key of all unknown

And I am glad.

If other hands should hold the key,

Or if He trusted it to me,

I might be sad."

From that night my feeling of superiority to Jane diminished. Some of her strong sweetness, penetrating what seemed the crusty exterior of my heart, entered in to abide with me always.

* * *