The Liberal democrat. [volume] (Liberal, Kan.) 1911-1924, 1912-08-30
CHAPTER ".
The Chinese Servant.


Four o'clock found me rapplng at
the door of Cragholt Lodge. Consid-
ering that 1t was built thirty-five
years ago by one Of the TownSbury
family who probably read English
novels but had never been nearer to
England than Coney Island, It pos
sessed surprising picturesQueness;
due in large part to its covering of
dark English Ivy
l had anticipated my appointment
with Evelyn by full hour; for /
wished to question old Romney, the
lodge keeper; and the questions were
not for milady's ear.
He opened to me promptly, In per
son, this odd, rugged old man, with
his scanned brow and great shock of
iron-gray hair and beard. He was In
his shirt sleeves, but on seeing me
he reached for his coat, which hung
on peg beside the door.
Never mind the coat, Romney," |
said, don't make yourself uncom-
Portable on my account. It's a warm
afternoon"
at is warmish, sir" he assented;
but despite my protest he was thrust
ing his arm into the coat sleeves.
Its been an uncommon hot Septem.
Der. Won't you step inside, sir?"
He knew his place too we'll to indi-
cate any surprise at my visit; yet l
felt he must be curious over an event
so unusual.
II have an inquiry or two to make,
Romney," | told him, as, accepting
his suggestion, l stepped into his
cosy, old-fashioned sitting room. 81
heard some shooting over this way
this morning. and I've been wonder
ing whether the game laws weren't
being broken"
He placed q cushioned rocking
chair for me, and l sat down.
"Now did you hear that, too, Mr.
Clyde?" he asked. Frightening, az he
leaned against the low sill of one of
the dainily curtained windows.
"'Twas about ten o'clock, sir; little
after, maybe. / was doin' a bit Of
trimmin' on the hedge outside, sir,
when them same shots set me
a-thinkin' that very thing. An right
away, sir, l says to myself, says |,
It's that Chink what just went up to
the house to borrow a rife"
THAT Chink?" l repeated, puzzled.
Eyes, sir. Yellow Chinese boy, sir.
He works for Mr.. Murphy. the artist,
what has the bungalow, down on the
shore near Cos Cob. About half an
hour before that he comes by here on
his way up to the house. What's
Wantin'? l asks. Mistle Mulfy,' he
says, 'wantee hollow life, shootee
weasel, stealee chickee.' All right !
tells him, and away he goes. SO,
you see, sir, when hears the shots |
thinks right away that Mr.. Murphy's
Chink is tryin' his beloved life on
some of Mr.. Cameron's pheasants.
maybe. But Is minutes later, along
comes John again, with an innocent
grin on his face, the rife over his
shoulder, and his hands empty as air.
Well. to be sure. stops him, SIR.
You been shootin' In the woods? l
asks. No shootee,' he grins back.
Me no shootee.' Then, sir, swears
at him, good and hearty. and calls
him what he is. But all he can say
is, No lie; me no shootee' Then
asks him If he didn't hear a gun go
of. 'Gun?' he says. as II he didn't
know what gun meant. Life ex-
plains. Yes, yes says he, me hear
life shootee. Not my life Whose
lihe? l asks him. Man with life,
up load he says, pointing back. An
that was all / could get out Of him,
sir"
should have been amused, sup
pose. BY. old Romney's recital vi