Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1911-05-03

| through plated bamboo gates, at last,
that shone like woven gold then among
the woodland huts and Towering fruit
trees of small deSsa-a village all asleep
and motioniess. like a stage background
! There's your house Bowman. de-
clared the sultan, YEARLY. He pointed To
a neat hutch of basket work. fresh and
yellow among it's tawny neighbors- Il
had it built for you this afternoon
! Good night" He turned off, but paused
"Oh, and / say-my Chinese tailor's going
to make you fresh clothes overnight.
Give Amat yours for the pattern. Sleep
WE'LL
The parting advice was easier to give
than to follow. David. stretched on a
clean, new cot, in his tiny chamber. lay
wakeful for a long time. staring through
the open door at band of starlight
fringed with the darkness of treetops
That wet imprint on the old sultan $
grave, the same distorted foot which
twice before had daunted him. now reared
in the memory it's threatening symbol,
acute and vivid like a spot painfully
dancing before sun-blinded eyes. So this
danced and wavered through long night
thoughts. fretting and obscuring the mind.
David saw but one fact The skipping
halfbreed Rosario. though himself harm
less as parrot. took on sudden grim
dignity: he no longer figured alone, but
as precursor to something without shape
which came and went in darkness, a mid
night shadow, dripping like water
wrath. Still, where lay the cause? At
what command by what rites. could so
grinning and fatuous all agent summon
the likeness of such footprint?
Mary's well out of this, thought the
young man, tossing on his cot. Cant
even call her Mary can |? Not ever.
Anyway. glad she's not here.
Sleep at last. followed this conclusion.
And when David woke the fresh morn
ing sun fickered through many shifting
crevice in bamboo leaves, to dispense all
veXing questions with its showered light,
its cool. bright bath of healing. over the
dashed platform of his new house quiv-
cred herringbone shadows from nipah
palm. Girls ROBBED in buttercup yellow
and fairy pink traled a slow procession
under the fruit blossoms. like eastern
houris passing in a pageant. The dessa.
though quiet. had been long awake, for
all these meek brown girls slender and
straight under head burdens, and swaying
with the gait Of gOddesses. already were
filing home from some distant bazaar
They vanished murmuring. Naked chill
dren scampered in the clean little street,
their bellies tight-ballooned with fairness.
Nearer to hand. in the shade OF a rice
barn shaped like cradle, two withered
old men squatted on a purple carpet Of
fallen Jambu petals and held serene dis
course.
"A real chief" said one, proudly. See
how he walks there! A true prop of the
old banyan. this prince
True" assented the other, squirting
from stained lips piC0u-TP0 stream OIL
betel Great are his comeliness and
valor. See how all the women leave their
batik frames to watch. So they sing in
the pantup:
- Hang Casturi passes the door--
The young wife runs from her husbands arms "
The first elder thoughtfully nodded
Great is YOUTH he replied, with sn1il
ing regret But this prince-he cares not
for the women. His breed is the fighting
breed. That young Dato Hasan is mere
dandy. who spends more hours in dress
ing than girl: sitting on horseback he
will straighten his turban by his shadow
on the ground. / have seen him. But
our prince here, no-hs is a fighter and
brave. Brave as Omar's gamecock or
the fighting crickets from Sangean. The
son Of brightness and wonder. See him
there"
The object of their praises came into
view. 1t was the Sultan Rama. in dull
blue robe and scarlet sandals, returning
from the bath. He stalked slow aud
naughty as young Tamburlaine. y girl
in pale yellow minced before him, carry
ing a silver soap case: another in pale
green minced behind, with towel--self-
conscious and demure, both of them, as
though bearing publicly the instruments
Of an emperor's baptism. From every
door among the gold brown huts peeped
a woman's face, admiring. Rama had
glanceS for no one, left or right, but
moved in all the dignity of boredom.
Good morning. What pleaSes you SOP
He paused suddenly before Davids We
randa, and brushing the two girls away
like flies, stood looking in at the door. He
had caught David, perched on the edge
of his couch, grinning. What is your
joke
David pulled a more sober face.
II was listening. he replied. ingenu-
ously, Ito those old men. They praised
your valor.
Rama, in his blue robe. gave a comical
start, a jerk Of discontinue. A black
frown cloudexi his face, then cleared in
smile. part aestere, part sheepsh.
Last night you mean? You think |
went futt?" He turned away, signaling
with delicate fingers a truce to argument
ether. My courage-We'll talk of that
after breakfast
He paced majestically from sight
round the rice-barn cradle Along the
street the faces Of the women disap-
peared indoors or bent studiously over
loom and sarong frame, dyeing pot and
shuttle.
David, meanwhile. donned the white
clothes made by magic in the night
new rubber helmet OF London make
lay ready for his morning walk. Break
last he ate, coram populo, iii the We
randa OF his new hOuse-a sylvan break
fast, brought by unknown, silent men,
who served him as deftly with a. much
reverence, a. though he had owned them
for lifetime. From the treetops while
he banqueted bellbird scattered every
where tinkling melody, that seemed the
voice of mountain sunshine, the singing
OF the leaves. the green light of the dcssa