CHAPTER IV
MOCK WOO OF PANAMA
TOD dipped his hands into the greasy, tepid water in the trough and ran a brush furiously round the sides of a frying pan. "By golly," he complained, "here we are at Panama—our first landfall—and I have to wash these blasted pans!" He wiped the sweat from his forehead, stopped a second, and gazed out the open port to the long line of breakwater that quivered in the morning sunlight on the placid surface of the bay.
Tom Jarvis laughed. "It's a great life, ain't it, Joe Macaroni?"
Tod slammed the brush into the water; and the hot greasy stuff splashed over his shirt. "Yes," he grunted; "now if we were only on the bridge "
He paused; he knew from past remarks that Jarvis recoiled from any mention of the navigation bridge.
"Oh, don't worry," Jarvis rejoined. "You'll see enough of the Big Ditch. It'll take us six hours to get through. Put on full speed ahead and you'll be finished by the time we tie up at the entrance."
By ten o'clock the Araby was moored to the concrete docks at Balboa and the inspecting doctor had departed. Tod was peeling potatoes when he was interrupted by Toppy's voice behind him.
"The mate wants ter see you, kid," he announced from the alleyway. "He's in the blarsted officers' saloon."
Without informing the cook, who had gone to the refrigerator room for beef, Tod crossed to the cabin aft. Mr. Hawkes awaited him there, seated on a swivel chair at the table. He pointed to an envelope on the green baize.
"The Old Man wants ye to take a message for him to Panama City. It'll be a good chance t' see the town."
"Yes, sir," Tod said, surprised at the sudden luck. For the last two days, the forecastle gossip with its pungent yarns of the old Spanish city had kindled his desire to go ashore at the Pacific terminal. Here, like a gift from Heaven, was his opportunity.
The mate dug his huge paw into his pocket and brought forth some coins. "Enough for your fare," he said. "You can take a jitney over the hill to this address. Give the letter to the Chink in the store, and he'll give ye some junk to bring back. The skipper wants t' take his old lady a souvenir from the Zone."
Elated, Tod took the sealed envelope and glanced at the address. The money was sufficient to hire a Ford, always cheap in Panama, and no doubt the driver would know the street well. He hurried forward to the starboard washroom, took a quick shower in the sticky salt water, and changed his clothes in the forecastle. The galley was empty when he put in his head at the door.
He turned and accosted the donkeyman, who stood beneath the derrick booms of the foremast. "Seen the cook?" Tod asked.
"Gone down to the market," the old man informed him.
Tod shrugged. Oh, well, he'd be back in an hour or so. Since the officers would be apt to eat on shore for a change, the cook could get along without him. He went down the gangway to the wharf. He glanced upstream to his left, but save for two West Coast steamers churning north for the Atlantic side, there were no signs of canal or lock. It looked like an ordinary river.
He crossed to the street near the official buildings with their red-tiled roofs. Men in white passed him; Zone police swung by in military stride; he overtook shuffling Negroes. The glare of the sun on the concrete buildings and pavements almost blinded him. A line of carriages and Fords stood waiting for chance travellers from the ships in dock. He showed the address to a sleepy Panamanian, who glanced at the envelope with soft brown eyes.
"What's it say, mister?"
"I want to get to this address," Tod answered. "Mock Woo, No. 224 Parita Street. Panama."
"Sure, mister, I know it. Jump in." He motioned toward his dilapidated touring car.
Tod had heard stories. "How much?" he asked, warily.
"Five dollars, mister; and we'll be back."
"Too much! I'll get another."
"Oh, senor, four dollars then—gold. Three. Wait! One dollar fifty."
"All right." Tod gave in. "Make it snappy; but let me see something of the place too."
"Si, senor."
The little car rattled down the clean paved street and turned to the right. Tod let his gaze pass swiftly over the new American buildings so like those of any town in the States. Soon they were climbing Balboa Heights, where he glimpsed Ancon Hill with its reservoir and official residences asleep in the midst of palms. Presently, the appearance of the houses began imperceptibly to change; they merged into an old-world city of mellow streets overhung with flowered balconies.
With mounting interest, Tod watched the passing faces. Though they ranged from white to deepest ebony, no two seemed of the same tint. He tried to pick out their countries: Americans and visiting Europeans; Panamanian gentlemen in fine white linen, and peons in overalls; Ecuadorians, Chileans, and Colombians; Japanese and Chinese merchants in the deep shade of open doorways. The car went down the crowded Central Avenue with its row of modern shops, passed Independence Plaza and its Cathedral, and soon turned to the right toward the Panama water front.
Here the streets were narrow; the sidewalks were only two feet wide and sometimes three feet above street level. The balconies overhead seemed to whisper together in the shadows. The shop to which Captain Ramsey had sent him was probably a place of rare curios. At a curving point the Ford drew up and the driver waved him within.
"Him in there no good," he said in derision. "A Chino shop, a Jamaican nigger, and the boy, a San Bias Indian. Shall I wait, senor?"
"Yes, I'll be right out," the boy replied, somewhat perplexed at the cosmopolitan atmosphere about him.
In two strides he crossed the pavement and entered the Oriental shop of Mock Woo, Curios—Very Rare. It was cool and quiet within, where jalousied windows excluded the noonday tight. Tod perceived large brass Hong Kong lanterns suspended from the ceiling, and beyond, dark walls lined with silks and embroideries. On the still air floated the faint, mysterious perfume of burning punks.
An old Chinese merchant in blue and gold suit and slippers rose to greet him. "Yes?" he questioned in a sibilant whisper.
"You read Melican?" Tod asked in his best pidgin English. "I gottee letter from cap'n on ship at Balboa. You sabbee?"
Not a flicker was visible on the narrow yellow eyelids. "You come, perhaps, from Captain Ramsey of the Araby?" rejoined the Chinese, in perfect English, with only a slight accent noticeable. "I was expecting you." He took the letter and, while he glanced down the page, spoke in a strange melodious tongue.
The tall ebony figure of a Negro rose from the shadows. He slouched across the little shop and jerked up a small Indian boy of uncertain age. "Yo-all sleep too much," he grunted. His teeth flashed in a wide grin, but his eyes, Tod noted, did not join in the merriment.
"Yo git, yuh Indian Jose," he drawled. He thrust the boy toward the rear door with such force that the little Indian crashed headlong into it.
The dark-skinned boy picked himself up in an instant and vanished noiselessly into a room at the rear.
This was a strange place, thought Tod. He gazed into a glass show case where curios were displayed.
"Perhaps you would like to buy," said the merchant. He opened a cabinet and brought forth long strings of jade beads, curious Chinese trinkets, carved elephants, monkeys sitting three in a row. The carved animals caught the boy's interest. He'd like to take some home. He picked up a Chinese Buddha who, fat and contented, sat cross-legged on a lacquer stand. There was something fascinating about the little fellow. Tod became oblivious of his dark, quiet surroundings.