The Ragged Edge

  CHAPTER XII

  The doctor shifted his books and magazines to the crook of hiselbow. He had done this a dozen times on the way from his office.Books were always sliding and slipping, clumsy objects to hold.Looking at this girl, a sense of failure swept over him. He had notbeen successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account,the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had nevermaterialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe.

  And yet he knew that his skill was equal to that of any fashionablepractitioner in Hong-Kong. He wasn't quite hard enough to winworldly success; that was his fault. Anybody in pain had only tocall to him. So, here he was, on the last lap of middle age, inChina, having missed all the thrills in life except one--the waragainst Death. It rather astonished him. He hadn't followed thisangle of thought in ten years: what he might have been, with alittle shrewd selfishness. This extraordinary child had opened upan old channel through which it was no longer safe to cruise. Shewas like an angel with one wing. The simile started a laugh in histhroat.

  "Why do you laugh?" she asked gravely.

  "At a thought. Of you--an angel with one wing."

  "Meaning that I don't belong anywhere, in heaven or on earth?"

  "Meaning that you must cut off the wing or grow another to mate it.Let's go up and see how the patient is doing. Wu may have news forus. We'll get those books into your room first. And I'll havesupper with you."

  "If only...." But she did not complete the thought aloud. If onlythis man had been her father! The world would have meant nothing;the island would have been wide enough.

  "You were saying--?"

  "I started to say something; that is all."

  "By the way, did you read those stories?"

  "Yes."

  "Worth anything?"

  "I don't know."

  "Silly love stories?"

  "No; love wasn't the theme. Supposing you take them and read them?You might be able to tell me why I felt disappointed."

  "All right. I'll take them back with me. Probably he has somethingto say and can't say it, or he writes well about nothing."

  "Do you believe his failure caused...."

  "What?" he barked. But he did not follow on with the thought. Therewas no need of sowing suspicion when he wasn't really certain therewere grounds for it. "Well, you never can tell," he continued,lamely. "These writer chaps are queer birds."

  "Queer birds."

  He laughed and followed her into the hotel. "More slang," he said."I'll have to set you right on that, too."

  "I have heard sailors use words like that, but I never knew whatthey meant."

  Sailors, he thought; and most of them the dregs of the South Seas,casting their evil glances at this exquisite creature and trying tosmirch with innuendo the crystal clearness of her mind. Perhapsthere were experiences she would never confide to any man. Suddenindignation boiled up in him. The father was a madman. It did notmatter that he wore the cloth; something was wrong with him. Hehadn't played fair.

  "Remember; we must keep the young fellow's thoughts away fromhimself. Tell him about the island, the coconut dance, the woodentom-toms; read to him."

  "What made him buy that sing-song girl?" Regarding this, Ruth hadideas of her own, but she wanted the doctor's point of view.

  "Maybe he realized that he was slipping fast and thought a fineaction might give him a hand-hold on life again. You tell me hedidn't like the stuff."

  "He shuddered when he drank."

  "Well, that's a hopeful sign. I'll test him out later; see if thereis any craving. Give me the books. I'll put them in your room; thenwe'll have a look-see."

  The patient was asleep. According to Wu, the young man had notopened his eyes once during the afternoon.

  So Ruth returned to her room and sorted the books and magazines thedoctor had loaned her, inspected the titles and searched forpictures. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson'sverse--her first adventure into poetry. The hymnal lyrics had neverstirred her; she had memorized and sung them parrot-wise. But herewas new music, tender and kindly and whimsical, that first roved toand fro in the mind and then cuddled up in the heart. Anything thathad love in it!

  The doctor comprehended that he also had his work cut out. Whilethe girl kept the patient from dwelling upon his misfortunes,whatever these were, he himself would have to keep the girl frombrooding over hers. So he made merry at the dinner table, toldcomic stories, and was astonished at the readiness with which shegrasped the comic side of life. His curiosity put itself into aquestion.

  "Old Morgan the trader," she explained, "used to save me _Tit-Bits_.He would read the jokes and illustrate them; and after atime I could see the point of a joke without having it explained tome. I believe it amused him. I was a novelty. He was always in astate of semi-intoxication, but he was always gentle with me.Probably he taught me what a joke was merely to irritate my father;for suddenly Father stopped my going to the store for things andsent our old Kanaka cook instead. She had been to San Francisco,and what I learned about the world was from her. Thank you for thebooks."

  "You were born on the island?"

  "I believe so."

  "You don't remember your mother?"

  "Oh, no; she died when I was very little."

  She showed him the locket; and he studied the face. It was equallyas beautiful but not quite so fine as the daughter's. He returnedthe locket without comment.

  "Perhaps things would have been different if she had lived."

  "No doubt," he replied. "Mine died while I was over here. Perhapsthat is why I lost my ambition."

  "I am sorry."

  "It is life."

  There was a pause. "He never let me keep a dog or a cat about thehouse. But after a time I learned the ways of the parrakeets, andthey would come down to me like doves in the stories. I never madeany effort to touch them; so by and by they learned to lightfearlessly on my arms and shoulders. And what a noise they made!This is how I used to call them."

  She pursed her lips and uttered a whistle, piercingly shrill andhigh; and instantly she became the object of intense astonishmenton the part of the other diners. She was quite oblivious to thesensation she had created.

  The picture of her flashed across the doctor's vision magically.The emerald wings, slashed with scarlet and yellow, wheeling andswooping about her head, there among the wild plantain.

  "I never told anybody," she went on. "An audience might havefrightened the birds. Only in the sunshine; they would not answermy whistle on cloudy days."

  "Didn't the natives have a name for you?"

  She blushed. "It was silly."

  "Go on, tell me," he urged, enchanted. Never was there another girllike this one. He blushed, too, spiritually, as it were. He hadinvited himself to dine with her merely to watch her table manners.They were exquisite. Knowing the South Seas from hearsay and bytravel, he knew something of that inertia which blunted thefineness, innate and acquired, of white men and women, the eternalwarfare against indifference and slovenliness. Only the strongsurvived. This queer father of hers had given her everything buthis arms. "Tell me, what did they call you?"

  "Well, the old Kanaka cook used to call me the Golden One, but thenatives called me the Dawn Pearl."

  "The Dawn Pearl! Odd, but we white folks aren't half so poetical asthe yellow or the black. What did you do when your father went ontrips to other islands?"

  "Took off my shoes and stockings and played in the lagoon."

  "He made you wear shoes and stockings?"

  "Always."

  "What else did you do when alone?"

  "I read the encyclopaedia. That is how I learned that there weresuch things as novels. Books! Aren't they wonderful?"

  The blind alley of life stretching out before her, with its secretdoorways and hidden menaces; and she was unconcerned. Books; aninexplicable hunger to be satisfied. Somewhere in the world therewas a book clerk with a discerning mind; for he had given her thebest he had. He envied her a little. T
o fall upon those tales forthe first time, when the mind was fresh and the heart was young!

  He became aware of an odd phase to this conversation. Thecontinuity was frequently broken in upon by diversory suppositions.Take the one that struck him at this moment. Supposing that was it;at least, a solution to part of this amazing riddle? Supposing herfather had made her assist him in the care of the derelicts solelyto fill her with loathing and abhorrence for mankind?

  "Didn't you despise the men your father brought home--thebeachcombers?"

  "No. In the beginning was afraid; but after the first severalcases, I had only pity. I somehow understood."

  "Didn't some of them ... try to touch you?"

  "Not the true unfortunates. How men suffer for the foolish thingsthey do!"

  "Ay to that. There's our young friend upstairs."

  "There's a funny idea in my head. I've been thinking about it eversince morning. There was a loose button on that coat, and I want tosew it on. It keeps dangling in front of my eyes."

  "Ah, yes; that coat. Probably a sick man's whim. Certainly, therewasn't a thing in the pockets. But be very careful not to let himknow. If he awoke and caught you at it, there might be a set-back.By the way, what did he say when he was out of his head?"

  "The word 'Fool.' He muttered it continually. There was anotherphrase which sounded something like 'Gin in a blue-serge coat'. Iwonder what he meant by that?"

  "The Lord knows!"

  The patient was restless during the first watch of the night. Hestirred continually, thrusting his legs about and flinging his armsabove his head. Gently each time Ruth drew down the arms. There wasa recurrence of fever, but nothing alarming. Once she heard himmutter, and she leaned down.

  "Ali Baba, in a blue-serge coat!... God-forsaken fool!"