Harrie Hancock - Dave Darrin on the Asiatic Station. Or, Winning Lieutenants' Commissions on the Admiral's Flagship

“I am delighted to have had the privilege of meeting you, Miss Chapin,” said Ensign Dave Darrin, lifting his uniform cap and bowing low at the end of the brief conversation. “And my thanks to you, Captain Chapin, for having afforded us the great pleasure.”

Ensign Dan Dalzell, U. S. Navy, delivered himself in similar fashion.

The two young naval officers turned and were about to resume their stroll over the Punta de España , or Spanish bridge, which, crossing the Pasig River, separates Old Manila from New.

Just as suddenly, however, the pair checked their progress, to stare across the bridge.

On the opposite side, leaning against the rail, stood a Chinaman in rather rich apparel, with a decidedly sinister cast of countenance.

“Why is Old ‘Burnt-face’ staring so hard after Miss Chapin and her brother?” muttered Dalzell.

“I’m blessed if I know,” returned Dave Darrin. “I’ve a good mind to cross over and put your question to the Chinaman.”

“I’ve a greater mind to throw him into the Pasig,” growled Dalzell. “I’m not strong on race lines or color, but I don’t believe that any yellow man has a right to glare like that at an American girl.”

Dalzell took a step forward, as though to cross the bridge, but Darrin promptly caught his wrist.

“Don’t do anything rash, Danny Grin,” urged Dave. “Throwing a Chinaman into a river isn’t approved by the American government that has been set up in these islands.”

“Then perhaps I’d better not hoist him over the bridge rail and let him drop into the water,” Dan conceded. “But I believe that I will cross over and have a look at him.”

“Not a bad idea, and certainly not against the law,” nodded Ensign Darrin. “Let us follow the Chapins a little way, cross the road, and then come down on the other side so as to meet Mr. Burnt-face face to face.”

The nickname that the American pair had given the yellow man was due to a patch of purple skin, of considerable area, under the yellow man’s right eye. Had that patch been absent, undoubtedly the Chinaman would not have appeared so sinister.

“Odd that a fine girl like Miss Chapin should want to waste her life serving as a missionary in China, isn’t it?” asked Dan.

“I wouldn’t call it wasting her life,” Darrin returned. “Neither, you may be sure, does Miss Chapin herself so consider it. To her way of thinking, she is devoting her life to one of the noblest ideals that can animate the human mind.”

“I wouldn’t mind so much if she were like the average girl,” Dan rambled on, rather vaguely. “But for a stunner like Miss Chapin – such a dainty little piece of exquisite womanhood – ”

“Oh,” laughed Dave. “Then it isn’t her services that you begrudge the natives of China, but her good looks.”

“Well, anyway,” Danny Grin continued rather testily, “I’ll wager that Chapin doesn’t fully approve of what his sister is doing.”

Captain Chapin was serving in one of the infantry regiments of the Army line at Manila. Being stationed in the city, Chapin had the good fortune to have his family, consisting of his mother, wife and two young children, located in a cottage over in Ermita, just beyond the massive stone walls of Old Manila. Miss Lucy Chapin was visiting her brother on her way to China, where a missionary post awaited her. Knowing Captain Chapin from the stirring days of service in Mexico, the two young naval officers, on meeting him here in Manila, the “Paris of the East,” had been presented to that charming young woman.

Crossing the roadway near the Old Manila end of the bridge, Dave and Dan strolled back. In the meantime “Burnt-face,” as Dan had named him, had turned and was heading toward the Escolta, the Broadway of New Manila.

Both young officers wore the white service uniform of the tropics. Here and there a soldier or sailor, in passing, brought his hand to his cap in smart salute, a courtesy which both officers, in every instance, returned.

“That’s our fellow,” whispered Darrin, slowing down his step.

“Burnt-face,” a man of somewhere near forty, if it be possible to judge a Chinaman’s age, kept on his way at a pace neither hurried nor slow. Three different times parties of Chinese coolies passed him. On perceiving “Burnt-face” they lowered their eyes to the ground in passing.

Near the end of the bridge two much better dressed Chinamen passed the yellow man whom the young naval officers were now following. This pair made deferential bows, then moved slightly aside in order not to compel “Burnt-face” to step out of his own course.

“Our man is a chap of some importance,” murmured Darrin.

“He may be – to a Chinaman!” grunted Danny Grin.

Reaching the end of the bridge, the Chinaman paused, then started to cross the street as if to go to the famous Café de Paris.

Honk! honk! A touring car, going at about twelve miles an hour, rolled down out of the nearby Escolta, heading for the bridge. With an agile bound “Burnt-face” leaped back to the sidewalk.

“Look at the scowl he’s sending after that car,” whispered Dalzell.

“His lips are moving, too,” returned Darrin, quietly observant. “If it weren’t for the look on his face I should say that our chap was praying.”

“In his case,” muttered Dalzell, “he’s more likely cursing.”

“But say,” Dave went on. “Just observe how ‘Burnt-face’ continues to glare after that car.”

“Can he have anything against the people in the car?” Dan wondered.

“It is more likely that his hatred is directed against the car itself,” Darrin replied.

“But why should he hate a mere assemblage of mechanical units?” Dan demanded.

“I suppose that, being a Chinaman, he regards an automobile as the work of the Evil One,” Dave smiled. “Your real, old-fashioned Chinaman isn’t strong for new-fangled ideas. In some parts of China the appearance of an automobile, even to-day, would rouse a mob to wild fury.”

“Queer old place, China!” uttered Dalzell.

“Since we’re waiting orders to go to China, you’ll soon know,” Dave rejoined.

“I don’t believe I shall like China,” Dan declared prophetically.

Now that the road was clear, “Burnt-face” crossed the street. He did not go to the Café de Paris, but stepped up in front of a drug store, where he halted and turned around.

In passing, Dave and Dan managed, without staring, to get a good look at the yellow face. In addition to the purple mark under the right eye, “Burnt-face,” with his lips parted, displayed one incisor tooth, the lower end of which had been broken off. At the left side of his chin was a mark such as might have been made by a knife or a bullet.

“He’s an ugly-looking customer,” Dan muttered, when he and his chum had passed a few yards beyond the drug store.

“That face carries a history,” guessed Darrin. “Nor do I believe that it is a very savory history.”

“I believe that the only real pirates left in the world,” observed Dan, “are the Black Flags that every now and then infest Chinese waters. I wonder if ‘Burnt-face’ were ever apprenticed to the Black Flags.”

“Don’t talk about him any more,” murmured Dave, after a backward glance. “The Chinaman is now returning our late courtesies by following us .”

Attracted by the window display of a shop that dealt in Hindu curios, the two young naval officers went inside.

“I want to buy something pretty with which to surprise Belle,” Dave explained, as the chums roamed through the shop, inspecting the hundreds of quaint and artistic articles offered for sale.