IT was not a happy party that assembled in the old Count Takishima’s spacious dining-hall. Phil and Sydney were anxious and uncomfortable; Lieutenant Takishima was preoccupied, while an atmosphere of depression hung over every one else at the feast. The meal was served in the Japanese fashion, the guests seated upon soft cushions on the mat-covered floor.
Takishima’s father, an old Samurai and a count of the empire, received his guests with distinguished courtesy, bowing low and welcoming each arrival with the vaunted gallantry of Japan’s ancient chivalry. Takishima’s sister was wistfully silent. She had been told that Captain Inaba had gone away on duty for the Emperor, and was sad and disconsolate. O Chio-san and Helen Tillotson were the only ones who evinced a semblance of gaiety for the feast.
Phil found himself next to Helen, and the girl did her utmost to draw him out of his fit of despondency.
The old-fashioned Samurai, whose two children had been educated in America, made heroic efforts to induce his son and daughter to interpret for him his expressions of welcome, but he soon gave it up as an impossible task and lapsed into silence.
It was not until Takishima’s sister Hama-san had carried off the women guests to show Helen that part of the house reserved for women’s eyes alone, and the old count also withdrew, that the midshipmen found themselves alone with their classmate.
In Takishima’s bosom there rankled the thought placed there against his will by Captain Inaba’s words, that these two friends had contemptibly betrayed him. While professing their friendship they had secretly taken and read an official letter sealed with the sacred seal of the Emperor. Furthermore, they had been guilty of writing a sensational story calculated to stir up the Emperor’s subjects against Americans. And yet here they were his guests, under his father’s roof. The situation, to one brought up to cherish high ideals of honor, was intolerable. The sanctity of the home was his strongest heritage. An enemy was ever safe when under the family roof-tree. He decided that he would take them elsewhere. He could not be impolite in his own home. The laws of the host for centuries forbade an unkind word to be spoken to a guest.
“Miss Tillotson will be driven home by O Chio-san,” Takishima said awkwardly, as he led the way through the garden toward the gate. The midshipmen followed in silence, glad to leave the heavy atmosphere; to be free of the impressive and studied politeness of their classmate. Both lads felt keenly the accusing sting in Takishima’s manner.
“You must explain,” Sydney whispered as the three took waiting jinrikishas and were quickly in motion on the smooth boulevard.
The three had not gone a half mile before a fourth rikisha came trotting up and the self-satisfied face of Robert Impey smiled from its raised hood.
“I was afraid I had missed you,” he exclaimed. “Can I speak to you, lieutenant?” he asked, motioning his sturdy coolie to steer up alongside of the rikisha of the Japanese naval officer.
Takishima bent his head to listen. The midshipmen kept their eyes and ears to the front while the low murmur of Impey’s voice came to them indistinctly.
Shibu park was soon reached and the coolies having had their instructions entered the shady roadway leading to a tea house frequented by foreigners.
The four men were led into the garden by daintily gowned Japanese girl attendants and located under the foliage of a spreading oak at a table cunningly made from a clinging grape-vine. The two midshipmen were not, however, in the mood to notice the natural beauties of their surroundings.
Phil was inwardly annoyed at Impey’s presence. He blamed him for his present predicament, and before him how was he to explain the intolerable situation?
“The audience of the American captain with His Majesty has been postponed,” Impey said carelessly, noting with evident enjoyment the surprise and alarm in the faces of the Americans. Phil’s heart almost stopped beating. What Captain Rodgers had feared had taken place! Takishima’s lips trembled. With that power of restraint cultivated by the people of his race for centuries he succeeded in controlling his features. No other outward expression of the effect of Impey’s words was evident.
“On the ‘Shimbunshi’s’ bulletin-boards is a cable from America that the Chinese government has agreed to turn over its new navy to America.” Impey strove to show unconcern, giving the startling news in his every-day voice. “The bulletin says that the President at a cabinet meeting this morning decided to buy the ships and had sent orders to the United States fleet in Manila to receive and man them.”
Takishima trembled inwardly with rage against his former friends. Then Captain Inaba had failed to stop their cable to America. Now he looked upon them as his avowed enemies. Had they not spied upon his countrymen? Had they not stolen secret letters and divulged them? And that while protesting their love and friendship for him and his country. Phil sat next to him, his face pale and his eyes wide with excitement. Impey’s part in this international tragedy was clearing before his eyes. This two-faced scoundrel had stood in with both parties, warning each that the other was striving to obtain the ships. With consummate cunning he had covered up his tracks. Each side believed in his loyalty. How he had obtained the secret letter Phil could not fathom, but that letter contained the information which, upon its being known in Washington where the ambassador had cabled it, had decided the United States government to take a step which was unparalleled in its history; a step taken only as a necessary measure just before the outbreak of a war. Phil gazed into Takishima’s face. He was startled at the sudden gleam of hatred in the dark eyes of his friend.
“In Japan we cut open the carcasses of such traitors as you and feed them to the pigs,” the Japanese lieutenant cried in a voice scarcely recognizable.
Both midshipmen jumped to their feet. Greater consternation could not have been caused by the explosion of a shell in their midst. The slowly spoken direct words were too plain to be misunderstood. Impey sat by in silence, an outraged expression on his face. He raised his hand in the rôle of peacemaker. The two men of different races and traditions stood face to face; one self-controlled, disdainful, the pride of the old time Samurai, generations of them, looking out of unbending and unflinching eyes; the other angry, hurt, surprised into a stupid, stolid silence, stung to the quick by the vituperation in his erstwhile friend’s voice.
“I—— Why, what do you mean?” Phil gasped, his face livid. He towered head and shoulders above his unflinching accuser.
Phil took a step forward, putting out his right hand impetuously. No idea of menace entered his mind. His one idea was to stay the torrent of abuse that he knew was undeserved, no matter how black the case looked against him. It cut him to the quick to be so severely arraigned. Takishima, his mind embittered by the convincing chain of evidence, saw only a threat in the attitude of the young giant. So quickly that the eye could not follow, the Japanese stooped under the midshipman’s outstretched hand, seizing Phil’s wrist in an iron grip with his left hand, then catching the midshipman’s right leg back of the knee with his right hand, suddenly straightened his sapling-like body and threw the astonished lad with great force over his head. Phil fell with a crash to the stone pavement and lay there completely stunned.
Sydney made a step forward, his blood boiling at this unprovoked jiu-jitsu attack, but Impey interposed his bulk, and calmer judgment prevailed as he realized the difference in size between himself and his one time friend.
“You little coward,” he hissed angrily as he raised Phil to his feet. There was blood on the lad’s face from a cut on his head made by a sharp edge of a stone in the gravel walk. “You deserve a good thrashing for this.”
Takishima stood his ground. “I am prepared,” he said quietly. “I should think you’d both be ashamed to show your faces after your deceitful conduct.”
“YOU DESERVE A GOOD
THRASHING FOR THIS”
Phil steadied himself by the table, gazing stupidly at the small crowd of excited Japanese and foreigners that had collected about them. He had paid no attention to the words of Takishima’s defense. The midshipmen and Takishima were in uniform, and a great depression overcame Phil as he thought of the possible publicity of the affair. The attack had been so sudden and the blow on the head so stunning that for a second no thought of revenge came into his mind. Then his dazed eyes fell upon the unruffled little figure of his assailant, and a wild fury suddenly welled into his eyes. With a savage cry he shook off Sydney’s retaining hand and in one stride reached the object of his mad rage. No jiu-jitsu art was possible. The little naval man felt himself seized as if by two iron rods and raised above the ground. For the fraction of a second he was held poised, then as a great mastiff might chastise an obstreperous terrier, Phil shook him until every bone in his body rattled. The combined efforts of Sydney and Impey became necessary to save Takishima from serious injury.
Fortunately the affair was over before a large crowd could collect, and Impey managed to hurry them into their jinrikishas and drive quickly away.
A half hour later Phil and Sydney were back in their room at the hotel, while Impey had gone away with the Japanese naval man.
“Syd, I wouldn’t have had that happen for anything in the world.” Phil was nearly in tears as he threw himself on the bed.
“He’ll undoubtedly challenge you,” Sydney replied gravely. “I saw it in his face; it was so determined and quiet. If he does, what will you do? You can’t fight him!”
“I must!” Phil declared. “To these people the code of honor is the same as it was with us a hundred years ago.”
“But if you do, it means disgrace and dismissal from the navy,” Sydney protested.
“I laid myself open to it when I put my hands on him,” Phil insisted stubbornly. “We can’t fight in the American style, with fists. I am twice his size. It’s the only redress he has. His code of honor demands a duel.”
“That’s child’s talk, Phil, and you know it,” Sydney exclaimed heatedly. “I am not going to stand by and let you ruin your career on account of a foolish out-of-date code of honor. Our articles for the government of the navy forbid a duel, and the penalty is dismissal. I’ll go and see Taki.”
“You won’t do any such thing,” Phil replied sternly. “We’ll wait to hear from him. If he wants satisfaction I shall give it to him, and shall select small swords. I can shoot all around him with a revolver, but at the Academy we were equally matched with foils.
“I shall ask Impey to act as my second, much as I dislike and distrust him,” he added.
“Impey for second! What are you talking about?” Sydney demanded. “I am your second if you are really going to be foolish enough to fight.”
“Remember the articles of war, Syd.” Phil smiled a ghastly smile. “‘Who fights a duel or acts as a second in a duel.’ You don’t suppose I would let you jeopardize your career. Impey will do.”
“I think a straight-jacket is what you need instead of a second,” Sydney exclaimed in annoyance. “If I had you tightly strapped into one, I’d have you carried off to the ship and put in a cell until after she sailed.
“Come in,” he added in answer to a knock.
Captain Rodgers entered the room and closed the door behind him.
“I have just returned after a fruitless attempt to break down the stubborn resistance of that wall of officialdom around a throne,” he said sadly as he unloosed the buttons on his tightly fitted special dress coat. “I talked with both the prime minister and the Minister of Marine. ‘They were very sorry, but His Majesty was quite too ill to see anybody, but an audience would be arranged at a very early date.’ I knew that His Majesty was probably at that minute riding his favorite horse within the palace grounds and they saw that I knew it was only a diplomatic way of saying: ‘We do not desire that you should see His Majesty.’
“They believe we are here to spy on them,” he added, after a moment’s pause. “Did you make it straight with your Japanese classmate?”
Phil swallowed hard and shook his head sorrowfully while Sydney came to his friend’s aid.
“We didn’t get a chance, but we shall this evening. We expect to meet him soon, don’t we, Phil?” he asked grimly.
“It may clear the atmosphere,” the captain said. “I don’t like the aspect of it. Have you heard of the bulletin in front of the ‘Shimbunshi’ office? There were thousands of Japanese standing in front reading it when we drove past.”
The lads nodded in assent.
“That’s pretty quick work. The ambassador sent a cable this morning, and here we get action in the afternoon. If word went to Manila at the same time we may be getting our orders to sail at any moment. I’ve already cabled my failure to obtain an audience.” Captain Rodgers opened the door as he finished speaking.
“Come in, sir. What can we do for you?” he exclaimed in surprise as a dapper Japanese naval lieutenant stood at the threshold. Phil’s heart was beating wildly. Here was Takishima’s representative. The relations between the two countries would now be further strained when this unfortunate duel was made public.
“I desire to speak with Meester Perry and Meester Monroe,” the newcomer replied politely, bowing profusely.
“There they are,” Captain Rodgers returned, smiling and motioning him to enter. “Good-bye. Keep out of trouble,” he added banteringly as he bowed and left them with the Japanese lieutenant, no thought of the seriousness of the call entering his mind.
“I have come from Count Lieutenant Takishima with his card,” the newcomer said importantly and in carefully studied English.
Sydney made a move to step forward, but Phil interrupted.
“Tell him I am at his service. The weapons will be small swords, time as soon as possible. He may name the place,” he said quietly.
The lieutenant stood with puzzled face for a second translating and digesting the words.
“I will be here again, soon.” He spoke hesitatingly, not sure of his meaning. The lads bowed in response to his ceremonious farewell.