Evening star., 1923-07-15
DRIFTED westward not long ago
-drifted until the west became
the east-until my tramp steam


the east-until my tramp steam
= er dropped me one day at the
waterfront of .Hongkong.
/ was a tramp, so far as occupa-
tion and destination were concerned,
but in my own estimation decidedly
aristocratic. respectable sort OF
tramp, for had money in my pocket
a suit case full of decent clothing
and a typewriter wherewith to JUS
tify my vagrancy by writing about It.
I struck farther into. the east, far
ther away from home, buying pas
sage on another steamer to Singa-
pore, choosing the destination for no
particular reason save that 1t was
situated near the equator and its
name sounded romantic. And while
this second steamer carried me south
ward across the blue waters of the
China sea, with the hazy outline OF
Indo-China just visible in greenish
blur upon the horizon, 1 sat upon
the deck beneath an awning that
tapped lazily in the soft breezes OF
the tropics, talking to myself about
the future.
You've always been a lucky sort
of tramp" I told myself. You'll
never be up against II like beach
combers you have seen."
I31HEREUPON the Goddess of For
w, tune. CHANGING to overhear me
summoned her servant, the Fool
Killer, who selected his largest and
hardest club, girded up his loins. lim-
bered up his muscles and prepared to
tap me gently but firmly upon my
overconfdent young head.
Upon the steamer / met a poet.
At least, IL he were not a poet, he
should have been. for he was an
Italian, he had pair of soulful dark
eyes, he was slender of body and
temperamental of soul. he needed a
haircut. and he had just been dis
appointed in love.
He sat at the stern, gazing sadly
at the foaming wake that trailed be-
hind us toward the rim of the sea
drinking French cognac and telling
me his troubles. All, but she had
been a wondrous creature, that girl
Not only beautiful but talented!
She danced in an American cabaret
in Shanghai. and no other dancer In
all the cabarets of the east could
kick so high or so gracefully.
Mon Dieu!' he exclaimed. mixing
French with his English. How
have make the love at that girl! ]
have tell to her that I love her like
the wind love the mountain. like the
sea low he seashore. like the every
thing love the everything Senti-
mental fool that 1 am. I have make
the love at her like the true artiste"'
But the girl lacked appreciation of
real art. and having spent the poets
money, had run away with another
man.
He was young, that poet-as young
as myself-and even more foolish.
He, too, was vagabond author,
without employment or destination.
He, too, had just broken into the
MAGAZINES with his first writings.
and his check should be awaiting
him in Singapore. He called for
more cognac, and his imagination
scared skyward toward the silvery
stars that were beginning to dot the
heavens. II I would join him we
would wander up through the Malay
States, perhaps to Siam, and live like
a pair of kings in the jungle. with
turbaned attendants to kowtow to
US, and dancing girls to jingle their
brass anklets at our command. We
would forget that cabaret dancer in
Shanghai. We would
xx y
THERE we sat upon the deck, two
vagabonds in white linen, two
prospective adventurers with a COM
bined height of eleven feet and a
combined weight of 240 pounds. with
the capital of young authors and the
ambitions Of millionaires. planning
our kingdom. We worked out every
detail. When we reached Singa-
pore
And we didn't even reach Singa-
pore.
Our steamer. French mail packet,
called on the way at the French
Indo- Chinese port of Saigon. At mid
night it crept up winding river be-
tween swampy, jungle-grown banks.
The heat was intense, and neither
the poet nor 1 could sleep. A drowsy
steward slouched from the bridge to
the gangway to post a notice that we
would sail at daybreak for Singa-
pore. We read the notice with dis
appointment. Somewhere beyond the
wharf and the motionless palms lay
the city of Saigon, the little French
capital of Cochin China, which pre-
vious writer's had described as a
Paris" hidden In the jungle. The
very name of Paris attracted us as
would a magnet.
We glanced cautiously. about.
There was not an immigration official
In sight. ....
Come on" I exclaimed.
AS we reached the dock. a thunder
of bare feet sounded upon the boards,
and a swarm of rikisha runners
dashed toward us, shouldering one
another aside, bowling to US In the
oriental fashion and rubbing their
hands together. beseeching US in
mixedAnnamite and pidgin- French
for our patronage.
"Where do. we go?" demanded the
poet.
wherever they take u.s.
We climbed into two Of the car
riages and away we went. There
was q delightful fascination about
sAlioping through a strange city in