THE SUNDAY FICTION MAljAZlNK; SElTI-.MIiEK 10, 1916
9
Ng
A f . Vl.k'UlM'Pl uhc
Vr" ' was rnlied. Sloe-eyed
was she. with a skin
of ivory tinged wiih
olive, cheeks redder
thr.n the peppy, r.ncl
ful!, sensuous hps
t ti r o g li which
gleamed teeth more perfect than the fair
est pearls with which the sultan ever
docked her swunlike jhrout am! raven
1 i esses.
When slip wrlked it v.-as with that
gliding, serpentine, nmtir-n typical f
Eastern beauties, and in lur lui i.u-jj eras
train she left Uie drowsy fragrance of
frankincense nr.il myrrh, hyss' and the
attar of roses.
To view her out cmr Wii. to uC re
her unto death, and but to
ijili rp her meant death to him
who dared.' Was not the Bt-s-porus
choked witti the bodies
of those who had perished for
her love-maddened youths
who, intoxicated by a single
-.lunpae of those tempting
vies above her yashmak, had
staled the harem walla, oiW.
to fall at her sandaled feet by
the blades of giant eunuchs
and be cast. Hewn in gunny
sacks, into the dark and si
lent stream?
Yen, indeed, Nada Kl
Khouri, "the little lotus
bloom," was some pomegran
ate; yet her birthplace wa
not, as you might fancy, a
garden in the shadow of the
Sphinx, but a pile of rum
casks, oozing their sticky lees
out upon the pickled . Umbo s
of old Tudor wharf, which is
nearer to being in the shadow
of the sacred codfish than that
of the Sphinx; and her moth
er, far from being a daugh
ter of the Pharaohs or an efiendi's dar
ling, was none other than that maternal
ancestor of so many other exotic chil
dren Madame Necessity.
t As to her paternity, if there be any
i.ngering doubt as to who Kada's father
was, I at least know who her godfathers
vere!
Of these she boasted twain, and their
i.ames were Yussuf Tien Ali and Hagob
Bagoorian Hey, and though they might
land probably would) swear by the vol
planing casket of Mahomet that they, had
never heard of Nada El-Khouri, I know
that if they had not come slithering
along Atlantic avenue just when they
did, that blistering August afternoon,
Queever and I would never have seen
them, and the most ravishing hour! who
ever turned a sultan's head would never
l ave come into existence.
It was a Friday, and, being the day
before pay day, Queever and I were
'.ell. financially lacking.
There was nothing unusual about that,
r. r reporters have never been an over
i aid lot, especially reporters twenty
: er.rs ago, more especially kid reporters;
!'ost especially kid reporters on the
Chronicle, for which I gathered live and
:rappy news aloDg the water front, and
;'io Inquirer, for which Qiwcver per-i-.rmed
a similar important service.
But thi-s tin c the situation was ex-
i aordlnarily desperate." because, a week
i.cfoTe, both ci us, CeFpaii ins of pring a
aise Tti wafee out of our respective man
ifcing editors, had asked to be "put on
Npaee," un arrangement by which a re
, ortor is paid not a fixed stipend but so
amch a column for whatever he has
printed.
"Of course." Queever had admitted
when he proposed that we take the des
perate plunge, "we're neither of us go
ing to be swamped with fat assignments,
though wouldn't you think old Underbill,
knowing I'm aces with his daughter and
she fairly foolish over me, would want to
plug my name along so as to get me into
y Paul West
IHdit, nU d by Mac 11 u.tsli y
AT ECESSITY sometimes calls on imagination as & ri
means to an end. In this instance the end was 9
lather startling. i.
H ..ir!;".":'':i W'i:.,i!il ': f f. ll'l- Mr "mri .f, u .! li:!.,.:;:' .Ji.illl ., ...i t .1
' . ' 'i, ! "'' : :t : r!' H I. . Ml , i til -tt j.
3' '
thr family all the quicker? IiiX we've
j?ot good territory, and if by buckling'
down and working it hard 'we can't
squeeze cut more than the twelve per
they've been paying us, we ot:fht t0
walk up to the next crimp that comes
a!f ng the docks and beg him to Shanghai
us. So come on, Scotty, let's show 'em!"
Well, we had tried; but for a week
the pickings had been discouragingly
poor. From the south cove to north
wharf even the 'longshoremen had spent
the time in pcaudalous peace. Not a
stoker had run amuck; the fishing fleet
generally a source of news had come in
on Thursday with only an ordinary catch
and not a single man lost in the fog off
the Banks.
And though we had waylaid the skip
per and mate of every blue water vessel
reaching port from Saturday to? Friday,
we had not been able to drag from any
of them a yarn of stowaways, whales,
the Flying Dutchman, or mutiny on the
high seas.
So here it was, Friday afternoon, with
the prospect of our receiving, on tbemor-
Sloe-eyed was she,
with a skin of ivory
tinged with olive.
row, envelopes with scarce sufficient
j-tufflng to keep their sides from sticking
together! Small wonder we were dis
couraged! We had not sought that pile of rum
casks near the head of Tudor in the hope
of drawing solace or inspiration from
their contents, for they were e:npty.
1 am quite positive we were neither
of us thinking of Oriental houris. The
only member of the fair sex in my mind
just then was my landlady, and Queever,
as his first words proved, was thinking
of his boss daughter, who was anything
but Oriental in type, being a pretty littl
thing with golden hair and big blue eyes
"Gosh!" exclaimed Queever suddenly,
taking off his hat and brushing back
from his perspiring brow the thick red
hair which needed cutting badly. "Gosh!
and tomorrow I've invited Bessie Under
bill down to the beach for a clam bake-t
and If coming to me! It doesn't seem,
possible, the way yon and I've hustled,
Scotty! Why, ifs been the dullest week
along these docks since the Boston tea
partyt We've absolutely, positively got
to dig up a story somewhere this after
Toon'"
"Well," I said, nulling my grouch,
" don't let Ine stop you. Go get it!"
Queever was looking up the wharf
toward the broiling avenue, and just
then he gave a little start, as if he had
seen something. Kistleisly raised my
eye.s and followed the direction of his
e ze.
4
II.
NOW. it was no uncommon rhing in
ihos:1 days to meet the men of far
ouuitiifs down nlong the docks. La
ear.s.. Swedes, Dutchmen. Portuguese
with K'ild r:ngs in their ears and their
r. iir in tarry queues we encountered all
huirts. jnn sine the two red-frzzed,
baggy tiouseted. gren;;y frock
coated slippered Turks we
now oosci'ved (omii'g along
the sine l v-re l,y -,. meajis
the first of their race we had
ever seen. y t somehow they
I" !! a y attention as they had
QlK-C Vi'l's.
w. a ..ay Shey looked di
: iiigiiishod. their luxuriant
aidn- one ict black, the ith
er nearly snow whito beinp
well trimmed tmd their fezzes -klariiiKly
st ui id. Kac h car
ried a hiifce black valise, and
as it was frightfully hot they
were stopping to rest ot a
point ne;,r the pier head, the
younger resting his burden on
the railing along the sidewalk
and looking down into the cool
waters that lapped the pile
below, the old man dropping
his bag and sitting on it, as be
leinoved his fez and wiped his
forehead with it.
"Wonder who those lads
. u. v" siiid Queever.
"Turks," raid I. "probably
rT that Greek steamer."
"Yes," said Queever. "but they look
mysterious to me."
"Oh, all right, ' 1 said resignedly;
"any port in a storm. Jxfs go ask nj
how they like America," and 1 starte.l
slowly toward them.
To my surprise. Queever did not Join
me, hut remained Razing steadfastly in
the direction of the Turks.
"Well," 1 said, "aren't you coming? I
don't suppose they speak a word or Eng
lish, but at this stage of the game "
I paused, for there whs a strange look
in Queever's eyes as he reached out and
caught me tightly by the sleeve, saying-
"Scotty, I've pot it!"
"Got what"
"I know who. those two Turks ore;"
He glanced about, as if suspecting some
me were listening behind the rum casks,
and drew me close to him, as, in a hoarse
whisper, he said: "They are secret emix
SJiries of the Sultan!"
"They're'what?" 1 demanded. "They're
a couple of rugmakers, and you "
Again I paused in the middle of my
sentence, for Queever's eyes were turned
uirectly upon me, and as I looked won
deringly at him he winked slowly.
'"Don't you see?" he whispered. I
taw, but
"Ye-es." I faltered, "butbut would It
be safe?"
"Safe!" cried Queever. "Why not?
Who's ever going to know?"
"Why, nobody only "
"Only what? Look here, Scotty, you
and I've got to have a story, and this is
an Inspiration. All we've got to do M
work it up, and if we can, and can get
it by our bosses, there's no chance of a
comeback."
"Yes," I objected, "but the story!
What kind of a story? What would the
- sultan be sending secret emissaries ever
here for?"
'That's what we've got to figure out
What do you know about Turkey?