Evening Star Newspaper, August 5, 1923, Page 65

» Part 5—8 Pages Some Strange P The author, reduced to the state of a hobo and having tramped with numer- ous adventures through the swamps of Indo-China in the direction of Slam, is still on his way to Bangkok, where his friend, the Italian poet, is due to await him with his luggage and funds. BY HARRY L. FOSTER. N Pallin, when eventually I arriv- ed there with Henri, I learned that there was a trail to Siam. 1t zigzagged through the moun- tains to the Siamese port of Chanta- boun, not from Bangkok. There wers occasional native dwellings aloag the way, and I could live chaeaply upon rice, but 1 must have a guide of some sort. The Irench resident summoned Moung Ba, a young Burmese man- ager of the gem mines, who fre- frequently sent his caravans over the road. Moung Ba was very tall and thin, and wore a flowing robe that enhanced his natural dignity. He had been educated in a British school at Rangoon and spoke good English.| None his men was making the | trip at present, he vxplained, but hel would be only too glad to a date a friend of the resident, and he forthwith provided me with an aged, deerepit-looking pack-horse and still more aged, decrepit-looking guide—a Burmese coolie in a long coat and a breechcloth, with so much tattooing upon his match-sticks of Jegs that trousers would have been superfluous. 1 found myself wondering what dis- position should be made of his re- mains in case he died en route; but, Jesitating to question such a kindly proffered gift, I hastened to a Chinese shop, purchased a moth-eaten blanket and two cans of preserves to supple- nent the rice upon which I must live for days, and, with only a few small coins still jingling in pocket, 1 took my final leave of my kindly French hosts. They accompanied me to the edge ©f the village, where a tiny trail led away through the jungle, and left me alone with old Gungha Dhin. e DID not remain alone. I had not plodded for more than half a mile through the woods when I &cross aw Annamite girl. She sat beside the trail, a dainty little brown maiden in black pajamas, evidently waiting for some one, and| as we reached her she arose, held a| conference with the guide, calmly placed her bundle of possessions upon his pack-horse, raised her parasol and fell into line. I wondered what her destination might be, but neither she nor Gungha Dhin spoke French or English, and it seemed ungentlemanly to throw her out of the party. Off we went, a strange procession. 7 led the way in a white linen suit, looking rather dignified in a pair of brown goggles which I had purchased in Saigon during my affluence. She followed in her bare feet with the parasol over her head. The aged, spindle-legged guide brought up the rear with Moung Ba's equally aged and spindle-legged horse. We arrived in that order at nightfall at a thatch- ed cottage in the jungle, supped upon rice and slept in a row upon the teak- wood floor with the half dozen other natives who lived there. These natives were generous and kindly, bringing me a piece of straw matting to soften the boards, and in the morning refusing the coin which 1 offered in payment for their hospi- tality. It was an experience which one en- counters only in the far interior of Asia. Where the tourist is a familiar sight every native, from baby to grandpa, recognizes him as an “easy mark” and treats him accordingly But here upon this lonely trail through the wilderness, where the people kept open house for all travel- ers who cared to stop, even a white man found kindness and courte: They discussed me and laughed at me, yet their attitude was friendly, and 1 thanked the Lord that I had at last discovered some likable Asiatics. And just then I met the Christian. | Whence he came ai.d how he reach- ed this remote hole in the mountains at 5 o'clock in the morning I could not ascertain. But there he was—a life-sized specimen of John Chinaman, a barefooted youth jn European clothing, with his hair not clipped ghort as the Chinese usually clip it, but long and parted in the middle in college-boy fashion. Instead of approaching me with the | humility of the Cambodians or An-| namites, he swaggered up to me as man approaches man and delivered himself of the following: Me good Chlistian. Me spik Eng- lish alle-same you, oh, yves, oh yes. You go Chantaboun, me go Chanta- boun, oh yes, oh yes, oh yes." In consummation of this proposal he presented me with a cigarette, a box of matches and a hard-boiled egg and then tried to borrow $5. There wa’s something about him which I did not quite like, but I couldn’t figure a ymmo- a my came ent of my shoes, or my camera, or my brown goggles? We stopped at noon upon the trail, what I had thought to contain pre- served fruit. It was put up by some Japanese firm, with Japanese inscrip- tions, but with a picture of luscious strawberries upon the wrapper. One chop of Gungha Dhin's knife opened the can, and revealed not straw- onions floating in a fluid which tasted not unlike kerosene. As my com- panions had brought no provisions, { opened the second can, which was decorated with a picture of appetiz- ing slices of pineapple, and which contained two or three small carrots, also floating in the same vile-tasting liquid. The Chinaman, forgetting the man- ners for which the Chinese are famous, promptly helped himself to the greater part of the contents. I had been growing more and more ir- ritable since he joined me, and when at the conclusion of his very satis- factory luncheon he produced the harmonica again, 1 snapped a curt order to him to stop his racket. He surveyed me appraisingly from keen slanted eyes. 'You give five dollars, can stop.” 1 did not have the five dollars, and I took the only means of stopping it. 1 seized him gently by the neck and administered a slight push with my foot to indicate that he should betake himself from the vicinity. He was ow in absorbing the idea, but finally after the push had been repeated more vigorously he seized his bundle of possessions from the pack horse hi. and vanished into the jungle ahead at a coolie-like trot. He was not easily snubbed, however. Two hours later I found him waiting for me upon the road, as friendly as though nothing had happened. He had something interesting to show us, and he led the party aside to the bank of a stream to point out the remains of a dead buffalo, half devoured by some wild animal. It was filling the atmos- phere with a stench which only an oriental could have tolerated, and when upon the strength of this ex- hibit he repeated his request for my brown goggles I was about to make & rush at him, when from a nearby cane thicket soundeq a low snarl, and a big striped body leaped out and fled into the forest. The girl screamed. frew “his trusty sword. The China- man leaped to shelter behind the rest of us and began to blow frantically Gungha Dhin out just what it was. I was tempted to bid him go to some place even warmer than Chantaboun, vet, hoping that he might prove an interesting and helpful member of the party, 1 gave him permission to join, but with- out the $5. He promgtly from his pocket. “Me savvy Tipperary,” nounced. And, blowing lustily at the old war song, with no sense of rhythm and hitting a false note at the end of each measure, that Chinaman took his place at the head of the column, asl though he were the leader of it, and Aaway we went again through the jun- gles toward Siam. * k ok X HE Chinaman, however, was a nui- sance. When not blowing furi- ously upon his harmonica he insisted either upon singing in a shrill falsetto Voice or talking to me in his abomi- nable English, following each phrase With his thrice repeated “Oh ves, oh Yes, oh yes.” His people in Bangkok ‘were the wealthiest in town, he said. ‘When we reached the Siamese capital he would entertain me as his guest. Like himself, his entire family had been educated and were all good Christians,. Now would I lend him # I wouldn't do that, drew a harmonica he an- upon his harmonica. Undoubtedly the tiger was not a man eater, yet even an ordinary tiger objects to having its feast interrupted. It must have been the harmonica which frightened it, and instead of repeating my kick, I welcomed the Chinaman back into the fold. We continued for another day. It was a hard, uphill climb, par- ticularly for the girl, but she padded along on her bare feet, smiling when the frail was hardest. * kK ok LY one incident broke the mo- notony of the hike. As we were lunching again beside the road—upon bananas and rice which I purchased at the cottage where we spent the second night—four Chinamen rode out of the jungle on horseback. They were big rangy fellows, and/appeared even taller in contrast to the shaggy little horses they bestrode. Each wore a knife at his belt, and each car- ried a riffie. If any Chinamen ever looked like pirates, they did, and T could see that my three companions were worried. I perched myself with my back to a tree, and rediched os- tentatiously toward my hip pocket as thought it contained a revolver. But the four horsemen, after a brief talk with my own Chinaman, rode upon their way, and we continued upom and I brought out one of my cans of berries, but four or five sickly little e WASHINGTON, D. C, Sty Star, SUNDAY MORNING, AUGUST 5, 1923. eople Join in March Through an Asiatic Juhg’le' Their Resources. We arrived at sunset in the first village in Stam. It was merely a colleétion of thatched huts, but it included a large open shed built by the Siamese gov- ernment for the convenience of trav- elers, and directly across from it were the barracks of the Siamese garrison. The soldiers, dressed in-red or green pantaloons, were kicking a foot ball across the parade ground with their bare feet, but upon seeing me, they hastened to their quarters, arrayed themselves in khaki uniforms, and came marching over to the shed with rifles loaded and #ayonets fixed, led by a civilian official in purple trousers and a white coal They looked warlike but their mis- sion seemed to be one of peace. The object of their mission was not clear to me, and it seemed to be equally hazy in their own minds. Evidently the passing of a white man was an unusual event, and one which called for some sort of ceremony. Just what sort of ceremony no one seemed to know, for they halted in a line be- fore mo, and each looked at the other doubtfally, wondering what they ought to do next. I solved the problem by opening a flask of wine given my by a French friend on starting. The civilian official thereupon made a speech. It must have been a good one, for my Chinaman's English vo- cabulary was not sufficient to inter- pret it. It lasted for twenty minutes, all in Siamese; and not wishing to be outdone in politeness, I responded for the same length of time in English. They were vastly impressed. They could not understand a word of it, of course, but they listened eagerly to the strange sounds, and were par- ticularly fascinated by the rhythmic cadence of the multiplication tables, which I recited with eloquent ges- tures. Never in my life haq 1 talked to such an earnest, delighted audience, and, beginning to feel like William Jennings Bryan, I paid a compliment to their soldierly appearance, I dwelt upon the friendly relations existing between the United States and Siam, I expressed the high admiration which we of America entertained toward the Siamese people and the de- light with which our circus patrons hag viewed the Siamese twins, and in a final burst of eloquence I voiced the hope that we might always be as one, bound by inseparable ties of love and friendship, even as the twins them- selves. It was the best speech I've ever made, and when 1 closed by shaking hands with each soldier in person, they all marched home, entirely satis- fled. * % * * T NIGHT in the government shed, it was cold. We were at the top of the mountain ridge, and although the ‘climate by day was sufficiently tropical, by night it was.genuinely chilly. The Chinaman, unable to sleep, sat up beside me .and com- menced to sing in several languages. He was an accomplished linguist and was demonstrating the fact. “Bur- mese,” he would annou and his shrill falsetto voice Would repeat about three discordant notes. Then, “Chinese,” and he'q givée.the same three notes in the other language. Then, “Siamese,” and he'd give them again. ¢ 1 sat up myself and told him several things, He Was-a—=——=and Tl 3 o o e o and it he did not shut up his noise and go to sleep, I would further in- form him that he was a —— ——. He understood the substance of it, and stopped singing. I had been advised against drinking the water along the trail, and I ac- cordingly boiled some of it, and filled the thermos bottle which Henri had given me. In the morning the China- man, as an indication of repentance, offered to carry it for me. But when the rest of us were preparing to set out, I discovered him at his barracks, proudly drinking its contents. He had no idea of the hyglenic value of boiled water, since he habitually drank from mud puddles along the road, but he did enjoy sitting before the admiring soldiers and drinking from a bright, shiny nickel-plated receptacle. I took it away from him, kicked him out of the party again, and we marched off without him. But he was first cousin to the proverbial cat, for we had not been traveling for more than an hour when he came tearing along on a horse which he had somehow obtained at the village, and galloped grandly past as though he never recognized us. When we halted finally -at a thatched cottage for lunch, there he sat upon its teak- wood porch. In spite of his professed poverty, he was buying a chicken, which a native woman cooked. The Chinaman offered me half of it as though we were the best of friends. He was irrepressible, that feliow. But I was permanently and definitely through with him, and I bought my own chicken, for about 20 cents, which was probably more than the Chinaman bad paid for his. Both Gungha Dhin and the Annamite maiden seemed to share 'my dislike for him, for while he took his after- noon siesta on the native's best piece. of matting, they signaled for me to sneak away quietly. Our trail was now descending steep- ly toward the coast. We were again approaching civilization. Groups of half-wild buffalo stood along the path, their.long ears wagging to drive away the flies; at our passing, they would lower their heads and form back to back as though pre- pared to face an assault. Natives were burning down a fleld of wild cane somewhere ahead, clearing the jungle in this simple fashion prepara- tory to planting rice, and the cane crackled as though millions of fire- crackers were being exploded. And finally we reached the open fields, where the sun blazed down upon us, and the parched sand gleamed white beneath the rice stubble. Here at last the Chinaman overtook us. We had stopped beneath a palm tree to drink cocoanut juice. The idiot promptly dismounted, seized the nut. from which Gungha Dhin was drinking, and drained it at one gulp. it was the crowning piece of impu- dence, and I immediately punched him in the nose. Instead of retaliating, he reached into his pocket and offered me a cigarette. I ordered him to move on, and when he hesitated, I punched.him again. This time he of- fered me his horse. Thereupon I seized a stick. And this time, finally convinced: that I was offended about something, 1é leaped upon his horse Educated Chinaman, Annamite Maid, “Gungha Dhin” and White Traveler, Plus a Pack Horse, Helped Along by the Unspoiled Natives of the Interior, During the Journey to Bangkok—Warding Off Tigers With a Harmonica—Pursuit of the Honeymooners Who Stole WE followed, slowly trudging through the dried rice paddles. As night approached we drew into a village. Gungha Dhin led the way through the street to an open struc- ture that looked as though it might be a lodging house. Several coolies were sleeping upon the floor, but above them, about four feet from the ground, was a wide shelf reserved for gentlemen. And upon the shelf, big as life, sat the Chinaman. He had opened his bag of possessions, and was exhibiting silk shirts, which put ! L AAAAAR, A% Decrepit z was about to meet a tramp steamer lower down the river and the steamer was bound for Bangkok. Out we shot into the brown cur- rent, past floating houses of cane and thatch and banks covered with palms. To Bangkok? I hadn't a cent in my pocket, but if I could only make suade the captain to trust me. wrapping my long-neglected safety razor, I dipped my hand into the stream and wet my beard. Jt was a painful shave, but 1 ripped those ¥ PUerkERSON 7 - Hachauery “A BIG STRIPED BODY LEAPED OUT.” my dirty apparel to shame, while several other natives of all races and | descriptions were admiring his | clothes and listening to the fluent poetry of his polylinguistic tongue. | So this was the man who had begged for the brown goggies. I slept upon the aforesaid raised | platform and when I awoke in the morning the Chinaman had disappear- ed. So also had disappeared my brown goggles. The road descended through wide| rice fields and brought us to a cluster of thatched huts surrounding a big Catholic mission. There was hope in that mission. And if the mission failed, there was said to be an American in town, a Standard Oil man. 1 would get to Bangkok somehow. But just beyond the mission was a river, and at the end of the street lay a motorboat. ngha Dhin bundled me into it and waved me a farewelll. Where was it going? He could not tell me, and I applied to a pricst be- side me. He was Siamese. but he had learned French from the other priests. Did I not know whére I was going? Why, monsieur, this launch 111 i L1 whiskers off. 1 found a matchstick and cleaned my nails. I turned my one soft collar inside out and made it look like a clean one. 1 hair with my fingers. The river widened, and upon a dirty little steamer. I climbed up the ladder and follow- ed the company’'s native agent to the bridge. The captain was an English- speaking Dane. He wore a pair of Annamite pajamas, but the white uniform coat above gave him an air of authority. ‘aptain, I want to go to Bangkok. I haven't a cent to pay you, but when- 3 He did not smile “So you're another of these bums, are you?" “Temporarily, get—" “I've heard all that before. You're under arrest. Stand over there until I'm ready to talk to you.” Under arrest? What right did he have to arrest me? But perhaps, if he'd carry me as a prisoner to Bang- kok, I could see the consul. I could wave the flag and make the eagle screech! And just then’the com- parted my we came ves. But when 1 i 1 =3 “THEY WERE PARTICULARLY FASCINATED BY THE RHYTHMIC " CADENCE OF THE MULTIPLICATION TABLES, WHICH I RE- pany’s agent retired over the side and| the anchor began to rattle on board. The captain’s face broke into a grin. “Pst!” he exciaimed. “I couldn't give you a free passage in front of| that fellow, but I'll be damned if I'd leave a white man stranded in that hole. We've just got time for a cock- | tail before lunch.” * ok ok % HE vagrant steamer plowed lazily across the Gulf of Siam, and, Ccrossing the shallows the river's mouth, began to a: the sixty miles of the palm-bordered Menam to- ward the Siamese capital. It was a quaint river, this gateway to Bang- kok. Yellow-robed monks passed us in tiny dugout canoes and chattering Siamese women were rowing to mar- ket in sampans laden to the waters edge with fruit or betelnut. Junk- like lighters filled with jabbering Chinese coolies swept past us on their way to the larger steamers anchored outside the bar, and fishermen in all sorts of strange craft hovered about | their nets. The company’s launch carried me shoreward, in my newly washed suit, which I had been obliged simply to hang out in the rigging to dry, to land me at the water-front garden of a big modern hotel. 1t was the hotel at which the poet had planned to stop. A uniformed Hindu gateman, after staring at the unpressed suit, gave me a reluctant salute, and several Eng- lish guests upon the wide-arched veranda, sitting one at each table and sipping whisky-and-soda, looked at me and raised their eyebrows. In another ten minutes I, too, would have clothes and money and could sit at a table, complacently ignoring other people. And then “No,” said a Swiss clerk, “there is no Italian poet of that description stopping here.” For the first time since the poet and I parted company I began to enter- tain a suspicion. He could not be so contemptible as to run away with my things after I had shared my money with “him in Saigon, but he was a careless, improvident specimen of artistic genius and it was possible. I tried the other hotels, but he was nowhere in Bangkok. And finally, wringing wet with perspiration and covered with @ust, I made my way to the American consulate to inquire whether the consul had an unoccupled desk on which 1 might spend the night. “Foster?” inquired “Here's a letter for you.” It was from Singapore. “My Friend: 3 “I have meet one very nice woman, She is fine big woman. I come not to Bangkok because I am very busy. I am busy because I marry the fine big woman. I come when I have finish one honeymoon. Wait in Bang- kok. Be good boy and do thee noth- ing that I would wot do. You under- stand, Foster, that a gentleman will need much clothes upon the honey- moon, and I hope you do not mind that I r yours. Goodbye, Foster. “ENRICO." the clerk, It read: PAWNED my proceeds 1 ward my suitea camera. With the cabled Enrico to for- travelers' checks from my Adjourning to the cheapest | European lodging place I could find. I persuaded the Russian landlady to trust me for my board, and I waited, . s . . . . . After an interminable interval T re- ceived a second letter from the poet, 1t read: “Dear Friend: “I send you one check. You know, Foster, the bridegroom need alwass the money. I have signed your name to the other checks and have spend them. When I get money from my publisher in Italy, I pay you back, but I go now for one honeymoon. Wait in Bangkok, Foster. Good-bye, Foster. ENRICO.’ From the check which he inclosed, when T had settled for three weeks’ board, redeemed my camera and paid my former steamship passage from Chantaboun, 1 had barely enough left to chase him. I did hate to interrupt a perfectly good honeymoon, but I started hotfoot for Singapore. (Continued at a date in the near fu- ture.) (Copyright, 1923.) All Kinds of Omelets InF rer_lfll_l_lgsitaurants PARIS, July 2 OW many different kinds of omelet can you make asked of the American lady, who, unasked, had just salted all the little pats of sweet, fresh unsalted butter provided for the whole table. I had wished to ask her if she salted the cream for her straw- | berries, but tried an indirect attack. | It failed. She answered | “Why, any one can make a nl.‘l?n‘ omelet and a sweet omelet and you | can mess up omelet with tomato | sauce—and I see other recipes some- times in the Sunday vspapers. Have you some new recipe “Madam,” 1 replied, “I am no cook and know not recipes—but in the cheap popular restaurants of Paris | where poor people like myself often eat 1 can order dozens of different kinds of omelets. She was interested but held her ground: “Well, in my opinion an egg's an egg and an omelet's an omelet the world round.” “Madam,” 1 persisted. “did you never hear of the French cook who wrote out more than 400 different ways of cooking eggs? These pop- ular cooks do not try to rival that chet for royalty, but only serve up dozens of simple dishes, such as their great-grandmothers invented all over France. May 1 tell you few only of the many omelets I have caten at the hands of French woman cooks without indigestion—and without prejudice?” “I am not prejudiced” she said, *but L do not like messes.” 1 was silent on the salted butter and proceeded to dissert. Since trav- eling Americans have begun eating in these popular restaurants, which are so much cheaper than the high- priced hotels and cafes, the plain French omelet has had to undouble itself, as naturalists of species that split into varieties. Most Amer- icans insist on having their omelets dry—"Don't let it ‘bave’,” said one to his waiter. He knew some French since “bave” in French means “drul- ing.” “What he wants is a ‘crepe’ (pan- cake),” the waiter girl, white-sleeved, white-bonneted and white-aproned, whispered. He got it and I am afraid flour got into it. which, of course, should never enter an unadulterated omelet. Mother Poulard, whose shin- ing generous omelets drew almost as many tourists to Mont Saint-Michel (13 ne as the romantic Abbey itself, ex- plained her secret to me many vears ago: “I use plenty of butter.” In fact, they came on the table all a-tremble, like a jelly varnished golden and resplendent. As the French say— “They let themselves be eaten So here, from the start, are two sorts of omelet—the wet and the dry —the latter of which is not par- ticularly French. There is also the plain sweet omelet, which itself is a starting point for any number of other further developed sweet om- elets. One at a time. In France all omelets are luncheon dishes—the plain, taking their place at the beginning of the meal as a first substantial dish quite like fish or meat and the sweet at the end like puddings. Any omelet begins round like the pan it is cooked in, as Napo- leon found when he tried to show off to Marie Louise and tossed up the omelet to turn it—on the floor. If ybu want a raw tomato omelet, you dump the cooked round on a platter and spread on one-half of it small pllpy chunks of ripe tomato, such as you would put into a salad—and you whop the other half over on top. The resulting oval shape is common | Trufles, which is spread on the other and which is not egg. The next kind of omelet will be made with cooked tomatoes, and thi 1 hope, is what my American neigh- bor meant by “omelet with tomato sauce.” But I have the dreadful sus- picion she would pour the sauce from a bottle instead of going to the trou- ble to cook fresh tomatoes and spread the hat pulps—and whopping again. Any painstaking cook can follow up this line of the science with all the other vegetables that are capa- ble of incorporation into an omelet are a great Franch delicacy not always appreciatea by Americans and in any case too e¢x- pensive for popular feeding, are used with scrambled eggs—but not for the ingides of omelets, just as the animal delicacy “pate de foie gras" does not 80 into omelets. Thus you have potato omelets (cooked naturally, sliced and cut in small pieces which are browned in butter, lard or oil—and whopped); onion omelets (slivered after thor- ough cooking and browned—and whooped); mushroom omelets, either the big ones chopped or the little round ones, all cooked beforehand— and whopped; cucumber omelets, raw or, for your peace of mind, pas- teurized, but pulpy and with the nat- ural aroma. Then there is the series of meat omelets—ham, for example, or bacon boiled, chopped—and whopped. Apply the same proceeding to your plain sweet omelet and you will turn out all its actual and potential va- rieties. The plain is really a sugar omelet, not simply powdered outside, but with granulated spread over the inside and whipped. whereupon it promptly half melts and makes a hot icing through the whole mass. You may choo: in succe on the jams and preserves of all the fruits of the unive if they can be spread or chopped and make om- elets with them—properly whopped —currant jelly; apricots; plain apple sauce like that in Solon Shingle's bar- rel—all the way to Guava from Cuba. And all such omelets, plain, sweet, vegetable, meat and preserves, have a French name that looks romantic on a bill ‘of fare I tried to say all this to the American lady, and, like a duck in the rain, she asked: “What is whopping?" Ay, that is the would make more miserable one or two STERLING HEILIG. an question omelets if you than a Tortured for Beauty. PARISIENNES are going to such lengths to achieve beauty as quite to put in the snade the painful operation of “dimpling” (making a hole in the chin by means of a drug- ged needle). Many women think nothing of have ing their noses broken and reset in a different shape, says a Paris cor- respondent. Others actually have the eyebrows moved upward or aown- ward, as the fancy dictates. This nece: ates a complete removal of the hair and either a false and forced growth in a different position or makeup. One beauty expert, who undertak to change the form of a woman's lips, has performed many operations. His latest experiment is to make the up- per lip turn up, giving it an alluring pout. To do this, he stretches a thin hair from the upper lip to the tip of the nose. This ‘effect, naturally, is lim- lited to actresses, who use it on the stage only. to all omelets that have got beyond the plain stage—for one side has al- ways to be whopped over that which Some fashionable women are being laughed at for their insistence on having their cosmetics flavored. One has her lip rouge tasting of banana.