Evening star., 1923-09-02


friend, the italian poet. had de-
camped on a honeymoon, with the au
thor's clothes and funds. Therefore,
he sWore great oath to pursus that
overtake him-honeymoon or no honey
moon.
BY HARRY l.. FOSTER.
r SET out in the early morning
while Bangkok was asleep.
4 rickety trolley car-the first
car of the day, operated by a
rawning motorman and doing
I'conductor-carried me through the
darkened streets to the river bank.
where fleet of sampans waited to
conduct passengers across the river
to the station of the Southern rail-
ways.
And then. reaching the railway sta
tion. I made an interesting discovery.
My funds were just six ticals short
of the price of a third class ticket to
Singapore. l tried to argue with the
ticket agent. Anywhere else in Asia
merchant always asked more than
he expected to be paid. but railway
fare. it seemed, was the one COM
modify that had a fixed price. The
agent would not argue the point
There was only one thing to do
become tramp and ride the bumpers.
L walked around and around the train,
looking at the cars, and trying to fig
ure out just what the bumpers were.
| had always heard the term used in
tramp literature, but the writers had
never accompanied the term with a
diagram. My strange behavior ex-
cited the usual curiosity among the
natives. and small crowd began to
follow me. including two Siamese po-
1cemen. To steal ride was an i'm
possibility.
| stood there and watched the train
Dull out: then. shoulde ring my blanket
and camera. | set out myself--on foot,
walking the ties. At least. 7 knew
what ties were And it was only 1.1SS
miles to Singapore. down the long
peninsula that curved southward be-
tween the Bay of Bengal and the Gulf
"f Siam. five days by train, and
heaven knew how many days by foot.
x !; x x
THE track led across the fiat rice
l. fields dotted with occasional
clumps Of bamboo or little patches of
wood
The natives streaming into Bang
kok to the market, the men empty
handed. the women carrying baskets
OF produce upon their heads, were
vastly amused at the sight of pros
rerous-looking European marching
along with pack upon his back
They paused to stare at me with open
mouths; sometimes they grinned, the
grin fading at my approach to reap
pear as soon as l had passed.
The sun was hot-far hotter than
any sun upon my previous hike from
ndo-China. l was closer to the
equator, and would be heading to-
ward it for many days to come,
through one of the hottest countries
in the world. The very thought of it
made me thirsty. but the pools of
water along the way, from which the
indiscriminate natives drank, were
mere mud-puddles, and ] slipped with
forced moderation from the diminish
ing contents of my thermos bottle
The villages became less frequent,
and the long, straight expanse of
shining track ahead. with nothing to
break the monotony of the rice fields
or scrubby brown jungle Of bamboo,
seemed to blaze in two endless
pa rallel lines of steel
7 began to burn inside.
A dull feeling filled my head, and
1t seemed as though the upper por-
tion of my Uranium had dropped off
somewhere along the road. My pack,
| light enough at the start, began to
weigh heavily. And then, suddenly.
the burning sensation was succeeded
by a chill, so that 1 shivered
violently.
I understood at once. I had seen
enough malaria victims in the tropics
to realize that had the fever. Mos
quitoes had been thick in the canal
|intersected Bangkok, and 1 had been
infected at this most inconvenient of
moments. The thing to do was to
find a resting-place and lie quiet for
the remainder of the day. There was
not a village or dwelling in sight at
the moment, so I selected a shady
spot beneath a clump of bamboo.
Just then it commenced to rain. Or
rather, it did not commence. 1t Just
rained. The black clouds covered the
entire sky almost as though by
magic, and the water fell in a tor
rent. The water was soft and tepid,
but there was lots of il, and 1t SEEM
ed to heighten my alternate fever and
chills.
There must be a village somewhere
ahead / stumbled along the uneven
ties, mile after mile, moving without
conscious effort. and wondering
whether the ptyfeeling spot at
the back of my head was real or
imaginary. The afternoon wore itself
slowly to close. l found myself in
dulging in that delightful mental
pastime of self-pity in which fever
victims so often indulge-picturing
my funeral and wondering whether
the news of my death would ever
reach the people at home. 1t was
rather enjoyable to speculate about
the nice things that would probably
be said of me by people who had
never said anything nice before.
*"x X y
A Nd then, as darkness was gather
n ing, 1 saw far ahead a faint
light.
1t came from the open doorway of
4 tiny hut beside the track, and I
auickened my pace. staggering to-
ward it through the pouring rain.
But as 1 reached the door, a woman
rushed out. jabbering excitedly and
motioning to me to go away. 1 was
distinctly surprised. Along the pre-
vious trail the Siamese had been hos
pitable and kindly. Her zeal, as she
tried to drive me off, was almost
frantic. She chartered in her incom-
prehensible jargon, and barred my
nassara with her arm. But I was