Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1914-05-05
By HAROLD MACGRATH

was also one Of those men who never
held misfortune in contempt, whose
outlook wherever it roamed was toll
Grant. He had patience for the weak,
resolution for the strong, and fear
less amiability toward ALL He was
like the st. Bernard dog, very diff
cult to arouse. 1t is rather the way
with all men who are strong mentally
and physically. He was tall and
broad and deep. Under the battered
pith-helmet his face was as dark as
the Eurasian's; but the eyes were
blue, bright and small-pupiled. as they
are with men who live out-of-doors,
who are compelled Of necessity to note
things moving in the distances. The
nose was large and well-defined. All
framed in a tangle Of blond beard
and mustache, which if anything, add
ed to the general manliness of his
appearance. He, too, wore khaki,
but with the addition of tan riding
leggings, which had seen anything but
rocking horse service. The man was
yellow from the top of his helmet to
the soles of his shoes-outside. For
the rest, he was a mystery to James.
to all who thought they knew him,
and most Of all to himself A pariah,
an outcast, a fugitive from the blood
&c ha 10
born, once upon a time a clubman.
college bred: a contradiction, puzzle
for which there was not any solution
not even in the hidden corners or the
mans heart. His name wasn't War
rington; and he had rubbed elbows
with the dregs of humanity, and still
looked you straight in the eyes be-
cause he had come through inferno
without bringing any of the defiling
pitch.
From time to time he paused to
relight his crumpling cheroot. The
tobacco was strong and bitter. and
stung his parched lips; but the crav-
ing for the tang of the smoke on his
tongue was not to be denied.
Under his arm he carried a small
iron cage, patterned something like
a rat-trap. 1t contained Rajputana
parrakeet, not much larger than
robin, but possessor Of a soul as fierce
as that Of Palladin, minus, however
the smoothing influence of chivalry.
He had been born under the caves of
the scarlet palace in Jaipur ESQ MS
history RAM; but the proximity or
Indian princes had left him un-
touched; he had neither chivalry, po-
liteness, nor diplomacy. He was, in
fact, thoroughly and consistently bad.
Round and round he went, over and
over, top-side, down-side, restlessly.
For at this moment he was hearing
those familiar evening sounds which
no human car can discern; the NUT
terings of the day-birds about to seek
cover for the night. In the field at
the right of the road stood lonely
tree. 1t was covered with brilliant
scarlet leaves and blossoms, and justly
the natives call it the Flame of the
Jungle. A flock of small birds were
gyrating above it.
"Jah, jah! Jah-jah-ja-- -a-h!"
cried the parrot, initiating the
Burmese bell?gong that calls to
prayer. Instantly he followed the call
with a Shrek so piercing as to sting
the ear of the man who was carrying
him.
You little sun-of-a-gun," he laugh
ed. where do you pack away all that
noise?"
There was a strong bond between
the big yellow man and this little
green bird The bird did not suspect
it. but the man knew. The pluck,
the pugnacity and the individuality
Of the feathered comrade had been
an object lesson to the man, at time
when he had been on the point of
throwing up the fight.
"Jah. jah! Jah-jah-ja-a-h"' The
bird began it's interminable somer-
saults, pausing only to reach for the
tantalizing finger Of the man, who
laughed again as he withdrew the
digit in time.
For six years he had carried the
bird with him. through India and
Burma and Malacca, and not yet had
he won a sign of surrender. There
were many scars on his forefingerS.
1t was amazing. With one pressure
of his hand he could have crushed
out the life of the bird, but over its
brave unconquerable spirit he had no
power. And that is why he loved it.
Far away in the past they had met.
He remembered the day distinctly
and bitterly. He had been on the
brink of self-destruction. Fever and
poverty and terrible loneliness had
battered and beaten him fiat into the
dust from which this time he had
had no wish to rise. He had walked
out to the railway station at Jaipur
to witness the arrival Of the tourist
train from Ahmadabad. He wanted
to see white men and white women
from his own country. though up to
this day he had carefully avoided
them. (How he hated the English
with their cOld-blOoded suspicion of
all who were not island bornD The
natives surged about the train, with
brass ware, antique articles of war
fare. tiger-hunting knives (accom-
panied by perennial fairy tales),
skins and silks. There were beggars,
holy men. guides and fakirs.
Squatted in the dust before the
door of a frst-class carriage was a
solemn brown man. in turban and
clout, exhibiting performing parrots.
1t was Rajahs turn. He fired can
non, turned somersaults through a
tyt. oh