Evening star., 1923-09-02

my remaining pride by taking seat
In the first-class section near the
rail. But the ticket collector, a tall
Hindu-promptly sent me back
where 1 belonged, apologizing with
oriental politeness on the grounds
that one of the railway officials was
on board and he could not slight his
! duty, and | retired in confusion be-
fore the scornfulIy raised eyebrows
of the Europeans and the laguhter of
the Asiatics.
A runner from Chinese lodging
| house passed out handbilIs in mixed
Chinese and English advertising
'Yom Kee Good Hotel" and / fol-
lowed him.
The only recommendation that ]
could give to Yom Kee Good Hotel
was that it was cheap. l spread nv
blanket upon the wooden coucn .:--
1 could not sleep.
And then to add to my increasing
ly grouchy state OF mind, on the fol-
living day as another express carried
me southwark on the last twenty
four hours of my journey. my ma
laria returned. / had but So left. but
smuggle me into second class
sleeping coach that night. 1t was an
Improvement upon the crowded third
class hovel, but by no means com
Portable.
/ landed in Singapore in the morn
ing, prepared 10 commit murder
when l found the poet. I felt like a
wreck. and certainly j looked like
one. ] needed shave. / was yell
low with fever. My clothess were
stained and wrinkled from sleeping
in the sooty car. Even my sun
helmet and my camera failed to give
me any semblance of respectability.
A native policeman directed me 10
the leading hotel, the Raffles, from
which the poet had written, and ]
made my way through Chinese sec
tion to a watrfront lined with broad
driveways and parks and big Euro
pean buildings. IL ] had had few
coins 10 jingle in my pocket ] might
have retained some slight feeling of
self-assurance; as it was, / felt like
sinking through the streets. but ]
had to find that poet, and l forced
myself toward the big hotel, an un-
ISempt figure with pack on my
back.
The Raff1es was not difficult to find
"a big building facing the harbor.
Its veranda was filled with English
people, girls in summery creations
of silk, men in spotless white linen.
grouped about wicker tables, laugh
ing. chatting, playing cards, smoking
gold-tipped cigarettes. slipping whis-
ky-stengahs. j had never felt quite
as insignificant in my life as / did
when j walked up the driveway to-
ward that veranda.
THE Sikh gateman-a brown man in
i white uniform, with a sash across
his shoulders, stationed there TO f1atter
the guests by salutins them as they
entered. did not salute me- but barred
my passage.
What do YOU wish?' he demanded.
His tone was irritating. l named
the poet. What right l found myself
asking. had he to stop the guest of a
guest in this manner? The question
| came unconsciously-a survival. sup
pose, of the pride of the white race
! and coming from one so unkempt it
must have sounded ridiculous.
\ lady on the veranda surveyed me
| amusedly through her lorgnette. An
other lady siggled. a young man
| stepped TO the veranda rail to obtain
a better view of me. and said. "Ha"--
just one brief "Ha." delivered as the
| English comedian might deliver it in
| Broadway musical comedy, as though
] were not quite deserving of a COM
plete "Ha. Ha" l recognized him as
the plump-jowled young man in the
railway cars several days before.
| l Redeemed through my sallow coat
/ of tan. l could feel my ears burning
My blosd boiled. So this was where
| the poet had enjoyed luxury at my ex-
pense. leaving me to stand at the gate
| like a ragamuffin. the recipient of
brief "Ha," In two minutes now l
would have that poet by the throat!
Then the Sikh returned from the desk.
"The gentleman is no longer here"
he said. He left with his wife yester-
| day for Java"
Copyright 1929