The Lamar register. [volume] (Lamar, Colo.) 1889-1952, 1916-02-16
The lie
BY cLARIssA MAcKIE.

The long studio was dim with the
grayness of a wet afternoon. Outside
the windows the November rain fell
steadily. The man paced the room
restlessly, lighting one cigarette after
another. only to toss each one un.
smoked into the crate. He was tall
and gaunt, with prematurely gray hair
and a haggard face in which burned
deep-set blue eyes.
The woman sitting beside the fire
watched him with grave, injurious
eyes. The freight shone on her fold.
ed white hands and touched brilliant
ring into hot flame. Sometimes the
same flame burned in her eyes.
The man, accustomed to her quiet
presence. had forgotten her
Once he passed beside the great oak
table and looked at large package
stamped with many foreign labels and
sealed with curious splash of green
wax.
1T is Temples private seal, and
yet" His mutter died into silence.
And yet-Jim Temple had been dead
for ten years and the seal with its
owner was lying in the muddy depths
of the Yangtze river.
Why should this package come to
me out of Chinatown" he questioned
himself as he resumed his restless
tramping to and fro
What a horrible night that had been!
Black and storm driven. and the wind
had whined around the Tapping sails
OF the junk
Suddenly he went to the table,
switched on the electrolier and sat
down before the package His Jaw
was set grimly and bitter smile edged
his lips.
For a while there was no sound
within the room save the twanging
of several strings and the rustic OF
papers.
At last box and wrappings were cast
aside and there was revealed before
him the perfect model of Chinese
pleasure junk-the replica Of that 9th
er craft on the Yangtse river.
How perfect it was in every detail
What cunning artisan had contrived
the miniature craft with its hull of
fine bamboo. its awnings of gauze, its
sails of silk, and in its tiny cabin were
carved and inlaid tables and lockers.
And in the stern. behind carved doors.
was a little shrine containing an idol
before which stood four ivory votive
candles. There WAS a pervading smell
OF incense and there was an acrid
tang Of opium.
As one watches a dim shadow pic
ture. the man crouched in his chair
and stared with Mortified eyes at the
junk
The length of the table appeared to
be the turgld yellow stream which is
China's greatest waterway. The junk
seemed to rock on its bosom and
was not the wind whining? And
there was the beat of rain-and in the
shadows beyond the circle OF light lay
those dim Asiatic shores.
The helmsman was a tall, wicked
looking Chinaman, and the group OF
sailors huddled in the bow; how their
shrill, staccato voices pierced the
storm, That was the captain, that
ieshly scoundrel with the inscrutable
face and the heart of devil. He re-
mombered the captain.
And the two other men were for
oigners He noted without surprise
ludl one was jim tmplts the OlueI
was himself
The two white men on the mats
were quarreling over woman's pic
ture. Without looking now he knew
II was the portrait of the girl he after
ward married. They were quarreling,
and finally the shorter OF the two. clad
in gray. leaped at the throat Of the
other and they fought viciously until
at last the little man went over the
side and the beat of rain on the sky
light drowned his cries.
The Yangtze was roaring delight
over another victim.
The tall man in white (himself) re-
turned to the mats and threw himself
upon his face and lay quiet.
The captain smiled evilly at the
helmsman and shrugged his fat shout
ders
How the river roared!
Suddenly the storm paused. The
wind stilled and the rain ceased its
drumming on the skylight.
The man lifted his head and brushed
his nand across mis- eyes.
He sighed brokenly and for the first
time he looked beyond the shadows