The Chinese Parrot quotes

But perhaps it was not entirely his unfamiliarity with the two-step that muddled him, for he knew that in his arms he held the darling of the islands.

Some few are favoured by fortune out of all reason, and Sally Phillimore was one of these.

Above and beyond her beauty, which would have been sufficient in itself, she seemed, in that simple Honolulu society, the heiress of all the ages.

“No—I suppose not. But I saw you. Oh, we’re well along in years now, and it does no harm to speak of these things. I want you to know it will be a great satisfaction to me to own that necklace.

A deep wound and an old one is healed this morning.

”

For a moment Eden stood in the doorway of the hotel, staring at the parade of bobbing umbrellas and at the lights along Geary Street, glowing a dim yellow in the dripping mist.

In San Francisco age does not matter⁠—much, and he felt like a boy again as he rode up in the elevator to Sally Jordan’s suite.

She was waiting for him in the doorway of her sitting-room, lovely as a girl in a soft, clinging dinner-gown of grey. Caste tells, particularly when one has reached the sixties, Eden thought as he took her hand.

Unexplored country to Charlie Chan, this mainland, and he was thrilled by the electric gaiety of the scene before him.

Old-timers would have told him that what he saw was only a dim imitation of the night life of other days, but he had no memories of the past, and hence nothing to mourn.

Seated on a stool at a lunch-counter, he ate his evening meal—a stool and a lunch-counter, but it was adventure enough for one who had never known Billy Bogan’s Louvre Café, on the site of which now stands the Bank of Italy—adventure enough for one …

Glancing at his watch, Chan decided to let his quarry escape, and turned in the direction of Union Square. His mind was troubled. “This much even a fool could grasp,” he thought. “

We move toward a trap. But with eyes open⁠—with eyes keenly open.

”

“Why, Mr. Chan here is a detective, isn’t he? A detective on a vacation.

If you’ve ever read a mystery story you know that a detective never works so hard as when he’s on vacation. He’s like the postman who goes for a long walk on his day off.

Here we are, all set. We’ve got our bright and shining mark, our millionaire—P. J. Madden, one of the most famous financiers in America. I tell you, poor P. J. is doomed. Ten to one Mr.

He glanced at his neighbours. Evidently plates were an affectation frowned upon in the Oasis. Taking up a tarnished knife and fork, he pushed aside the underbrush of onions and came face to face with his steak.

First impressions are important, and Bob Eden knew at once that this was no meek, complacent opponent that confronted him.

The steak looked back at him with an air of defiance that was amply justified by what followed. After a few moments of unsuccessful battling, he summoned the sheik. “How about a steel knife?” he inquired.

First impressions are important, and Bob Eden knew at once that this was no meek, complacent opponent that confronted him.

The steak looked back at him with an air of defiance that was amply justified by what followed.

After a few moments of unsuccessful battling, he summoned the sheik. “How about a steel knife?” he inquired.

“Yes, isn’t it?” she agreed. “What will you have for dessert?

There are two kinds of pie⁠—apple, and the other’s out.

Make your selection.”

“You’ll find us all about out here,” he said, “the exiles of the world. Of course, the desert is grand, and we love it—but once let a doctor say ‘You can go’ and you couldn’t see us for the dust.

I don’t mind the daytime so much⁠—the hot, friendly day⁠—but the nights⁠—the cold, lonely nights.

”

Holley nodded. “I know. It’s a feeling that’s spread over America these past few years like some dread epidemic. I must write an editorial about it. The French have a proverb that describes it: ‘

Wherever one is not, that is where the heart is.

’ ”

They reached the top of the grade, the rocky hills dropped behind them, and they were in a mammoth doorway leading to a strange new world.

Up amid the platinum stars a thin slice of moon rode high, and far below in that meagre light lay the great grey desert, lonely and mysterious.

Holley laughed. “Date City,” he announced. “

Here in California the subdivider, like the poor, is always with us.

Date City where, if you believe all you’re told, every dime is a baby dollar. No one lives there yet—but who knows? We’re a growing community—see my editorial in last week’s issue.”

The car ploughed on. It staggered a bit now, but Holley’s hands were firm on the wheel.

Here and there a Joshua-tree stretched out hungry black arms as though to seize these travellers by night, and over that grey waste a dismal wind moaned constantly, chill and keen and biting.

Bob Eden turned up the collar of his top coat.

Reluctantly, Charlie went. Bob Eden lighted a cigarette and sat down before the fire.

Silence had closed down like a curtain of fog over the house, over the desert, over the world.

An uncanny silence that nothing, seemingly, would ever break.

“Silly talk like that hard business for me,” he complained. “

Chinese without accustomed dignity is like man without clothes, naked and ashamed.

You enjoy long, restful sleep, I think.”

Chan was busy at the curtains. “Favour me by taking a look from windows,” he remarked. “

On every side desert stretches off like floor of eternity. Plenty acres of unlimitable sand.

”

Chan was silent for a moment. “If I might presume again, I would speak a few hearty words in praise of patience.

Youth, pardon me, is too hot around the head.

Take my advice, please, and wait.”

“Naturally,” said Eden. “

Everything in this world would be all right, if every man in it could only see you.

”

All the trees, all the bushes, were barbed and cruel and menacing—a biznaga, pointing like a finger of scorn toward the sky, an unkempt palo verde, the eternal Joshua-trees, like charred stumps that had stood in the path of a fire.

Over this vast waste played odd tricks of light and shade, and up above hung the sun, a living flame, merciless, ineffably pure, and somehow terrible.

“Well, what do you think of it?” asked the girl.

“Yes—after a while—well, there’s a sort of weird beauty in this sun-drenched country. You waken to it in the course of time. And in the spring, after the rains—I’d like to take you over round Palm Springs then.

The verbena is like a carpet of old rose, and the ugliest trees put forth the most delicate and lovely blossoms.

And at any time of the year there’s always the desert nights, with the pale stars overhead, and the air full of peace and calm and rest.”

“I’m sorry, too,” returned the salesman. “Sorry for you, when I think of what you’re passing up. However, you may see the light yet, and if you ever do, don’t forget me. I’m here Saturdays and Sundays, and we have an office in Eldorado.

Opportunity’s knocking, but of course if you’re from ’Frisco you’re doing the same.

Glad to have met you, anyhow.”

“As you wish,” agreed Eden. The car sped on. “Lady,” he said presently, “

I’ve known this desert country, man and boy, going on twenty-four hours.

And believe me when I tell you, miss, it’s a cruel land—a cruel land.”

“I will say so.

Hawaii lie like handful of Phillimore pearls on heaving breast of ocean.

Oahu little island with very wet neighbourhood all about. Moisture hangs in air all time, rain called liquid sunshine, breath of ocean pretty damp. Here I climb round to other side of picture. Air is dry like last year’s newspaper.”

“Natural you feel that way,” Chan agreed. “

Youth is in your heart like a song.

Because of you I am hoping we can soon leave Madden’s ranch.”

Most peculiar situation. At home I am called to look at crime, clear-cut like heathen idol’s face. Somebody killed, maybe. Clues are plenty, I push little car down one path, I sway about, seeking another. Not so here.

Starting forth to solve big mystery, I must first ask myself, just what are this big mystery I am starting forth to solve?

”

A knock sounded suddenly on the door, loud and clear. Bob Eden felt a strange sinking of the heart.

Out of the desert dark, out of the vast, uninhabited wastes of the world, someone spoke and demanded to come in.

“Who can that be?” Madden frowned.

Chan dropped the role of Ah Kim. “Mr. Thorn plenty busy man,” he said. “Maybe he get more busy as time goes by. One wrong deed leads on to other wrong deeds, like unending chain. Chinese have saying that applies: ‘

He who rides on tiger cannot dismount.

’ ”

“Of course he’s a good man, or you wouldn’t have picked him.” They ploughed along the sandy road. “But even so—look here, lady. Listen to a man of the world.

Marriage is the last resort of feeble minds.

”

“Why not?” shrugged Doctor Whitcomb. “

What’s life for, if not to help one another?

I’ve done my best—I only wish it had been more.”

“Nonsense,” cried the doctor. “I’ve just been friendly.

It’s a pretty hard world. Being friendly⁠—that works wonders.

”

“She’s a wonderful woman,” said the girl softly. “I ought to know. It was the light in her window I saw my first night on the desert. And the light in her eyes—I shall never forget.

All the great people are not in the cities.

”

Down the rocky road and on to the sandy floor of the desert they crept along; out of the dark beside the way gleamed little yellow eyes, flashing hatefully for a moment, then vanishing forever.

Like the ugly ghosts of trees that had died the Joshuas writhed in agony, casting deformed, appealing arms aloft.

And constantly as they rode on muttered the weird voice of the old Chinese in the back seat, mourning the passing of his friend, the death of Tony.

Life seemed very simple and pleasant there in Lonely Canyon, and Bob Eden felt suddenly close indeed to this lively girl with the eager eyes. All a lie that there were crowded cities.

The world was new, unsullied and unspoiled, and they were alone in it.

They descended by way of a rather treacherous path, and in the shelter of the palms that fringed the tiny stream dismounted for a lunch which Paula Wendell claimed to have concealed in her knapsack.

At that familiar sight, Bob Eden felt a keen pang of nostalgia. He reined in his horse and sat staring at this symbol of the desert’s triumph over the proud schemes of man.

Man had thought he could conquer, he had come with his engines and his dreams, and now an old battered tramcar stood alone as a warning and a threat.

“There’s your setting,” he said. “They drive out together and sit there on the steps, your lovers. What a background—a car that once trundled from Twin Peaks to the Ferry, standing lonely and forlorn amid the cactus-plants!”

“Oh, I don’t know, boy. I was filibusterin’ down along the South American continent for a while, an’ then I drifted into a Mexican campaign. Seems like there was somethin’ I wanted in Australia—anyhow, I got there. Jest the way I got here.

It was over yonder, an’ I went.

”

“Life’s funny,” he began. “Full o’ queer twists an’ turns.

I thought this was jest one more secret fer me an’ the desert together.

Nobody knows about you, I says. Nobody ain’t goin’ to question you. But I was wrong, I see, an’ I might as well speak up. It’s nothin’ to me, one way or t’other, though I would like to keep out o’ courtrooms—”

The sun set behind far peaks of snow; the desert purpled under a sprinkling of stars.

In the thermometer that hung on a patio wall the mercury began its quick, relentless fall, a sharp wind swept over the desolate waste, and loneliness settled on the world.

“Not bad feeling for the white man to experience,” Chan assured him. “Chinese has it all time.

Chinese knows he is one minute grain of sand on seashore of eternity.

With what result? He is calm and quiet and humble. No nerves, like hopping, skipping Caucasian. Life for him not so much ordeal.”

“Sure,” replied Chan. He produced a platter of canned salmon. “All time in San Francisco I behold white men hot and excited.

Life like a fever, always getting worse.

What for? Where does it end? Same place as Chinese life, I think.”

“That’s your kind heart,” she answered. They climbed a narrow, sandy road. Yellow lamplight in the front window of a bungalow was suddenly blotted out.

“Look at that moon,” said Eden. “Looks like a slice of honeydew melon just off the ice.”

“Fond of food, aren’t you?” remarked the girl. “I’ll always think of you wrestling with that steak.”

“Impressive sight for one born in thatched hut by side of muddy river,” he announced. “

Rich men here live like emperors. Does it bring content?

”

Chan shrugged. “Trifles, mostly. But trifles sometimes blossom big.

Detective business consist of one unsignificant detail placed beside other of the same. Then with sudden dazzle light begins to dawn.

”

In time they came to the outskirts of the film city, where gaily coloured mansions perched tipsily on miniature hills. Then down a long street that seemed to stretch off into eternity, into the maelstrom of Hollywood’s business district.

Expensive cars honked deliriously about the corner where they alighted, and on the pavement crowded a busy throng, most of them living examples of what the well-dressed man or woman will wear if not carefully watched.

They crossed the street.

The sequence being shot at the moment involved, evidently, the use of many extras, and a huge crowd stood about, waiting patiently. The faces of most of them were vital and alive, unforgettable.

Here were people who had known life⁠—and not too much happiness⁠—in many odd corners of the world.

Nearly all the men were in uniform—a war picture, no doubt. Bob Eden heard snatches of French, German, Spanish; he saw in the eyes about him a hundred stories more real and tragic than any these people would ever act on the silver screen.

“With what! Pardon that I interrupt.

But realize, please, that all our evidence is hazy, like flowers seen in a pool.

Madden is big man, his word law to many.” The train paused at a station. “We go to sheriff with queer talk—a dead parrot, tale of a desert rat, half-blind and maybe crazy, suitcase in attic filled with old clothes.

“

The prisoner hesitates. He’s frightened at the thought of leaving his nice quiet cell.

New York! Not the old New York I knew. Could I tackle it again, and win? I wonder.”

“Some simile,” replied Holley. “I don’t know that I ever heard a worse one.

Show me the woman who doesn’t know what she wants⁠—and, knowing, fails to go after it.

”

Bob Eden caught his breath. Under the friendly moon lay the remnants of a town, here a chimney and there a wall, street after street of houses crumbled now to dust.

Once the mine had boomed and the crowd had come, they had built their homes here where the shafts sank deep; silver had fallen in price, and the crowd had gone, leaving Petticoat Mine to the most deadly bombardment of all, the patient, silent bombardment of the empty years.

They rode down Main Street, weaving in and out among black, gaping holes that might have been made by bursting shells. Between the cracks of the pavements, thronged once on a Saturday night, grew patches of pale green basket-grass.

wherever possible they themselves were closely observed in every feature of height, build, carriage, dress. The way they brushed their hair, the kind of glasses they wore, their peculiar mannerisms—no detail was too insignificant to escape attention.

The intended dupe must be utterly taken in, so he might feel that he was among the best people, and that the game was honest.

”