CHAPTER II

It was on the night that the _King of Asia_ cleared Nagasaki for the

short run across the Yellow Sea into the flow of the Yangtze-Kiang that

Peter was sought out by that pleasant young man, Anthony Andover.

Ordinarily passengers were not allowed in the sacred quarters of the

wireless house. However, those who possessed daring spirits came up

anyway. Peggy Whipple came up there soon after that meeting on deck,

with permission from nobody, and Peter gave her about fifteen minutes

of his extremely important time on the average of nine times a day,

permitting her to adorn the extra chair in the wireless shack, where

she unconsciously revealed in her sudden and unexpected shiftings of

posture, several inches of adorable silken ankle. I think Peggy was

sadly in need of an elderly chaperone, and I am somehow under the

impression that Peggy very badly wanted Peter to make love to her. How

he resisted her speaks volumes for his quaint, mid-Victorian views

regarding woman.

And at the end of the fifteen minutes, after regaling her with tales of

the lands she was about to visit, he dismissed her, kindly but with

great firmness, and she was as obedient as a lamb.

Anthony Andover, who knew more about plows perhaps than the Egyptians,

gave him something else to think about. He looked up from his

instruments that evening to see a young man of medium height, slim of

build, and rather pale and sharp of mien.

"My name is Anthony Andover," he said in a brisk and business-like

voice. "I wonder if I could have a talk with you."

Peter told him to sit down, and he removed the heavy nickeled

head-pieces from his ears. He expected an important radio from the

Shanghai Station; but that could wait. He wondered what Anthony

Andover might have on his mind.

"Mr. Moore, I'm in something of a devil of a fix, and I think you're

the man who can get me out of it."

"Shoot," said Peter, lighting a yellow cigarette and passing the box.

"Chinks?" Trouble to Peter always meant Chinks; they were his symbol

of danger.

"No, no! You see, all of my life I've been--well, a city man. The

biggest adventure I ever had was a fist fight with my foreman. Now----"

"Did you lick him?" asked Peter with concern.

Anthony nodded reminiscently. "Blacked his eyes and busted his nose!"

"Good for you! Go ahead with your story."

"I've met a girl on the steamer, and according to her way of looking at

things, I lack about five thousand different parts of being a hero.

You know the girl. That's why I'm bothering you like this."

"Not bothering me a bit. Who's the girl?"

"Peggy." Anthony caressed the word as if it were honey. "Peggy

Whipple. Of course, the first thing I want to make sure of is, am I

stepping on anybody's toes? If I am, I'll just go ahead, and play my

own game my own way. If it's to be a case of a fight----"

"Hold on a moment," interrupted Peter. "I don't quite follow you.

Whose toes do you think you're stepping on?"

"Well, Peggy comes up here to the wireless shack so much, that I--I----"

"Oh, not a bit of it, old man. Peggy's a nice girl. I like her.

That's all."

"I--I'm mighty glad," said Anthony earnestly. "You know, she's pretty

mad about you, but as long as you're not interested the way I am,

well----" He bit his lip nervously, and went on: "I think you'd agree

with me that it would be rather foolish of her, and very disappointing

and disillusioning later on for her to marry the kind of a man she

thinks she wants to marry. She has a notion that the man she marries

must be a cross between Adonis, and--and Diamond Dick! She wants a man

who carries six-shooters in all his pockets, and who fears neither God,

man, nor the devil!"

"A regular hell buster!"

"That's it! Down in her heart I think she cares for me a little bit.

But I'm nothing but a plain, ordinary business man. I never did

anything devilish in my life. There's nothing romantic about me. Look

at this necktie! Did you ever see a hero wearing a plain black

four-in-hand? Never! Did you ever see a hero wearing nice tan oxfords

without a spot of mud on them? If I can somehow manage to make her

think for a few minutes that I've got heroic stuff in me, she may

listen to a little sense. She tells me--rather she threw it in my

face--that you are going to take Helen and her on a sight-seeing trip

into some of the darkest holes in Shanghai. You know the ropes, and

there's no danger, of course."

"None at all," said Peter.

"Well, I want to know if you'll let me go along. I'll stand every

expense; I've got money to burn! Let me in on it, and----"

"But there isn't going to be a chance for anybody to be a hero. I'm

going to take those girls to the safest place in Shanghai. A New

England church would be a cavern of iniquity alongside of it!"

Anthony laid his fingers along his knees.

"Well, couldn't you stir up something? That's my idea. I'll leave it

to you to crack up some danger, not real danger, of course--we can't

let those girls get near any real danger. But we can start a fake

fight--or something--and give me a chance to play the hero, to rescue

Peggy in my arms; that sort of stuff, you know." He looked at Peter

foolishly.

Peter stroked his nose. "It might be done," he said. "I'll see what I

can do."

Anthony arose, extended his hand, and said: "Of course, I'll need a

revolver."

"Load it with blanks," advised Peter. "You know, some people think

it's bad luck to kill a Chink."

Anthony was eyeing him curiously. "Do you?" he asked.

Peter nodded his head slowly. "Sometimes," he said.