Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 59: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

BORROWED PLUMES. tions to fulfill the ancient custom. Every student of Japan knows this, and what is implied. And so when Ugichi made ready his home letter, it was an indication that he was about to subject himself to the calamity of intrusting his body to an alien soil, and that he was sending to Nippon some morsel of himself, which would in due time be buried with all the pomp of the Shinto ritual. Having done this, Ugichi lighted three little tapers of incense and placed them upon a low stool, before which he bowed pro- foundly, and then, squatting down, began a long chant, which was half. prayer, and half eulogy. It was directed to his honor- able ancestors; and in its bare simplicity it was a rather terrible harangue. For, stripped of its Oriental imagery, it began by praising the manifest virtues and adorn- ments of his ancestors, and ended by beg- | ging them, if he failed in the enterprise he was about to undertake, and still lived, to abjure his spirit when in the course of time it should appear before them; to reject it as unworthy, and to condemn it to dwell for- ever among aliens and among those benight- ed souls who never had any honorable an- cestors of their own! Finally, he dressed for the street, first putting on a stout canvas shirt, and a silk sash, into which he thrust a beautiful and deadly knife, whose handle was of shark- skin and the steel whereof was broad and thick and of a temper as perfect as any- thing that Damascus ever produced, the product of untold centuries of Japanese ar- tisanship. Its gold lacquer sheath contained several little knives, each about four or five inches long, thrust into slots. These were the “ throwing knives ” used before the ad- versaries should come to close grips with one another; and in the old Samurai days the number of these knives indicated the rank of the nobleman. Ugichi was of Samurai blood. He great- ly despised foreigners, as races, though he was capable of profound affection for them as individuals. Even Count Vaudreuil he regarded as an amiable upstart; for his fam- ily was practically unknown a thousand years ago. Ugichi’s honorable ancestors had possessed an elaborate system of eti- 685 quette, philosophy, and art, at a time when European gentlemen roosted in trees at night, cracked bones with their teeth to get at the succulent marrow within, and on very special occasions when they could not avoid the trouble, smeared themselves with the blue clay which was the claw hammer, the soup-and-fish garment of their age. Because George Strong had treated him, not as a servant, but as an equal, had drunk tea with him, had virtually made him his guest, and because furthermore Ugichi beheld him for what he was, a wholesome, sunny, big hearted and courageous boy, he gave him his unswerving devotion. Noth- ing of this had shone in his inscrutable eyes, his stolid and impenetrable Oriental fea- tures; but it was in his heart. So he was going to bring George out of that sinister house in which he had been swallowed up. He was to call on his way for Mme. Volontiers, who knew his intention. His final act ere setting forth was to take a large paper box, about the size of a square hat box, and wrap it up carefully in brown paper, tied with tape. This he addressed to the number of the street whither he was going. And imstead of wearing his usual hat, he clapped on his head a sort of leather visored cap such as messenger boys wear; a cap he had used when in the employ of_ Count Vaudreuil he bore boxes of bonbons and bouquets of fldwers or urgent invita- tions to the pretty ladies of the Left Bank. He found madame waiting for him, dressed with unusual care, and looking, Ugichi privately admitted, almost as pretty as one of the Geisha girls of his own Na- gasaki. Directly he appeared, she gave a final pat to her smart hat, and closed and locked her door. ‘* All ready?” she asked. Ugichi smiled blandly. “Yess. I go get Meester George now.” Mme. Volontiers wrinkled her forehead. “They are bad men, Ugichi; dangerous ones. And you are but one against so many —how many I do not know!” Ugichi smiled again. “ TI get him,” he repeated. ~ This time a fiacre was engaged; one of those historical affairs that have catered to the bohemian element for so long a period com Elo 00k (E(0) -* ae = — a ee ha is