Parrot Co.

Parrot & Co.

The Project Gutenberg eBook, Parrot & Co., by Harold MacGrath,
Illustrated by Andre Castaigne
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Title: Parrot & Co.
Author: Harold MacGrath

Release Date: May 24, 2006 [eBook #18443]
Language: English
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PARROT & CO.
by
HAROLD MacGRATH
Author of "The Best Man," "The Carpet from Bagdad," "The Place of
Honeymoons"
With Four Illustrations in Color
By André Castaigne

[Frontispiece: The Game of Gossip.]

A. L. Burt Company Publishers -------- New York Copyright 1913 The
Bobbs-Merrill Company

CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I
EAST IS EAST II A MAN WITH A PAST III THE WEAK LINK IV
TWO DAYS OF PARADISE V BACK TO LIFE VI IN THE NEXT
ROOM VII CONFIDENCES VIII A WOMAN'S REASON IX TWO
SHORT WEEKS X THE CUT DIRECT XI THE BLUE FEATHER
XII THE GAME OF GOSSIP XIII AFTER TEN YEARS XIV
ACCORDING TO THE RULES XV A BIT OF A LARK XVI WHO

IS PAUL ELLISON? XVII THE ANSWERING CABLE XVIII THE
BATTLE XIX TWO LETTERS XX THE TWO BROTHERS XXI HE
THAT WAS DEAD

ILLUSTRATIONS
The Game of Gossip . . . . . . Frontispiece
A Bit of a Lark
The Battle
He That Was Dead

TO
J. J. CURTIS

PARROT & CO.
I
EAST IS EAST
It began somewhere in the middle of the world, between London which
is the beginning and New York which is the end, where all things are
east of the one and west of the other. To be precise, a forlorn landing on
the west bank of the muddy turbulent Irrawaddy, remembered by man
only so often as it was necessary for the flotilla boat to call for paddy, a
visiting commissioner anxious to get away, or a family
homeward-bound. Somewhere in the northeast was Mandalay, but
lately known in romance, verse and song; somewhere in the southeast
lay Prome, known only in guide-books and time-tables; and farther
south, Rangoon, sister to Singapore, the half-way house of the derelicts

of the world. On the east side of the river, over there, was a semblance
of civilization. That is to say, men wore white linen, avoided murder,
and frequently paid their gambling debts. But on this west side stood
wilderness, not the kind one reads about as being eventually conquered
by white men; no, the real grim desolation, where the ax cuts but leaves
no blaze, where the pioneer disappears and few or none follow. The
pioneer has always been a successful pugilist, but in this part of Burma
fate, out of pure admiration for the pygmy's gameness, decided to call
the battle a draw. It was not the wilderness of the desert, of the jungle;
rather the tragic hopeless state of a settlement that neither progressed,
retarded, nor stood still.
Between the landing and the settlement itself there stretched a winding
road, arid and treeless, perhaps two miles in length. It announced
definitely that its end was futility. All this day long heavy bullock-carts
had rumbled over it, rumbled toward the landing and rattled emptily
back to the settlement. The dust hung like a fog above the road, not
only for this day, but for all days between the big rains. Each night,
however, the cold heavy dews drew it down, cooling but never
congealing it. From under the first footfall the next day it rose again.
When the gods, or the elements, or Providence, arranged the world as a
fit habitation for man, India and Burma were made the dust-bins. And
as water finds its levels, so will dust, earthly and human, the quick and
the dead.
It was after five in the afternoon. The sun was sinking, hazily but
swiftly; ribbons of scarlet, ribbons of rose, ribbons of violet, lay one
upon the other. The sun possessed no definite circle; a great blinding
radiance like metal pouring from the mouth of a blast-furnace. Along
the road walked two men, phantom-like. One saw their heads dimly
and still more dimly their bodies to the knees; of legs, there was
nothing visible. Occasionally they stepped aside to permit some
bullock-cart to pass. One of them swore, not with any evidence of
temper, not viciously, but in a kind of mechanical protest, which, from
long usage, had become a habit. He directed these epithets