The Carpet From Bagdad | Page 5

overcome this monster? Had he not waited
for the propitious moment (which you and I know never comes) to
throw off this species from Hades? It is all very well, when you are old
and dried up, to turn to ivories and metals and precious stones; but
when a fellow's young! You can't shake hands with an ivory replica of
the Taj Mahal, nor exchange pleasantries with a Mandarin's ring, nor
yet confide joys and ills into a casket of rare emeralds; indeed, they do
but emphasize one's loneliness. If only he had had a dog; but one can
not carry a dog half way round the world and back, at least not with
comfort. What with all these new-fangled quarantine laws, duties, and
fussy ships' officers who wouldn't let you keep the animal in your
state-room, traveling with a four-footed friend was almost an
impossibility. To be sure, women with poodles.... And then, there was
the bitter of acid in the knowledge that no one ever came up to him and
slapped him on the shoulder with a--"Hel-lo, Georgie, old sport; what's
the good word?" for the simple fact that his shoulder was always
bristling with spikes, born of the fear that some one was making fun of
him.

Perchance his mother's spirit, hovering over him this evening, might
have been inclined to tears. For they do say that the ghosts of the dear
ones are thus employed when we are near to committing some folly, or
to exploring some forgotten chamber of Pandora's box, or worse still,
when that lady intends emptying the whole contents down upon our
unfortunate heads. If so be, they were futile tears; Percival Algernon
had accomplished its deadly purpose.
Pandora? Well, then, for the benefit of the children. She was a lady
who was an intimate friend of the mythological gods. They liked her
appearance so well that they one day gave her a box, casket, chest, or
whatever it was, to guard. By some marvelous method, known only of
gods, they had got together all the trials and tribulations of mankind
(and some of the joys) and locked them up in this casket. It was the
Golden Age then, as you may surmise. You recall Eve and the Apple?
Well, Pandora was a forecast of Eve; she couldn't keep her eyes off the
latch, and at length her hands-- Fatal curiosity! Whirr! And everything
has been at sixes and at sevens since that time. Pandora is eternally
recurring, now here, now there; she is a blonde sometimes, and again
she is a brunette; and you may take it from George and me that there is
always something left in the casket.
George closed the book and consulted his sailing-list. In a short time he
would leave for Port Sa•d, thence to Naples, Christmas there, and home
in January. Business had been ripping. He would be jolly glad to get
home again, to renew his comradeship with his treasures. And, by Jove!
there was one man who slapped him on the shoulder, and he was no
less a person than the genial president of the firm, his father's partner,
at present his own. If the old chap had had a daughter now.... And here
one comes at last to the bottom of the sack. He had only one definite
longing, a healthy human longing, the only longing worth while in all
this deep, wide, round old top: to love a woman and by her be loved.
At exactly half after six the gentleman with the reversible cuffs arrived;
and George missed his boat.

CHAPTER II
AN AFFABLE ROGUE
The carriage containing the gentleman with the reversible cuffs drew
up at the side entrance. Instantly the Arab guides surged and eddied
round him; but their clamor broke against a composure as effective as
granite. The roar was almost directly succeeded by a low gurgle, as of
little waves receding. The proposed victim had not spoken a word; to
the Arabs it was not necessary; in some manner, subtle and
indescribable, they recognized a brother. He carried a long, cylindrical
bundle wrapped in heavy paper variously secured by windings of thick
twine. His regard for this bundle was one of tender solicitude, for he
tucked it under his arm, cumbersome though it was, and waved aside
the carriage-porter, who was, however, permitted to carry in the
kit-bag.
The manager appeared. When comes he not upon the scene? His quick,
calculating eye was not wholly assured. The stranger's homespun was
travel-worn and time-worn, and of a cut popular to the season gone the
year before. No fat letter of credit here, was the not unreasonable
conclusion reached by the manager. Still, with that caution acquired by
years of experience, which had culminated in what is known as Swiss