Page:Weird Tales Volume 35 Issue 04 (1940-07).djvu/75

Rh crying. Chinatown, a vast rug wafted on the winds from the Orient to be cast down in the heart of the city. One of the most congested spots in all New York and one of the cleanest. No littered dirty streets, no piles of filth, not much dust. Immaculate cleanliness as though great brooms in the hands of genii had swept it clean.

Sam Wong led the way up two flights of winding stairs in a building on Pell Street. There was no light in the halls and he lighted a cigarette to show her the way.

"Be not afraid," said he. "The halls are in darkness because I believe that he who must walk through narrow places should be protected by shadows."

"I am not afraid," said Barby.

And now he unlocked a door and pressed an electric button. The next moment a glare of light shattered the blackness and Barby followed him into a room of such sheer beauty it might have belonged to a Mandarin when the Manchus were at their peak of glory. Here was wealth inestimable. Rich carpets and tapestries, priceless porcelains, teakwood tables and finely carved cabinets in one of. which reposed a hundred species of jewels, some rough, uncut, some that glowed eerily in the lantern light. Here were comfortable chairs, embroidered screens, written pictures, carved statues in jade, nephrite, agate and carnelian.

"The apartment has sundry rooms," said Sam Wong. "Consider yourself mistress of it. I sleep in a small room in the front. I suggest that you make your personal apartment in the rooms at the back."

Barby slipped into a chair. She knew that Sam Wong was trustworthy. He had no designs upon her person. To meet such a man was somewhat of a novelty.

Impulsively she turned to him. "I cannot understand," she said, "why you should be interested in my welfare."

"Have I not told you? It is my belief that no beautiful thing should be allowed to perish. One of earth's extreme tragedies is that flowers ever must fade. So much time is devoted to an effort to banish crime from the world, when to purge the world of sin it would only be necessary to banish ugliness. When I beheld you I was entranced. Even the stars must tremble to behold you. If flowers can know jealousy, they must be stirred when you pass. Then, too, for years I have had a canary. His name was Li Po. He was a sweet singer. He sang paeans to the dawn. He died as he had lived, worshipping beauty. And I was very lonesome when Li Po was gone. Something precious had been snatched from my life. In extreme melancholia I walked along the Bowery. Then my eyes beheld you. Beauty had been snatched from my life in the vanished songs of Li Po. Now beauty had come back again with the approach of an ivory girl. I am your slave for as long as you choose to share my dwelling. When you are gone my life will be eternally devastated. I make no effort to hold you. You are free, though I hope for a while at least you will remain to make up to me for the loss of my little comrade. You are perhaps unacquainted with grief; if so you cannot appreciate my anguish."

She placed her hand upon his arm. "I had a baby," she said. "A few weeks ago my boy died and nobody cared. Had you who worship beauty been near my room that night on Third Avenue he might be still alive. After all, perhaps it is better. How could he succeed with ever}'thing against him? I know how you must grieve over Li Po."

HE days flowed along like poetry, never distinct, never quite real. Stuff of dreams, dust of moonrise, breath of roses. Nothing beautiful is ever real.

Barby was being wooed back to health by silence, complete tranquillity. No music