It was on the night that the King of Asia cleared Nagasaki for the short run across the Yellow Sea into the flow of the Yangtze-Kiang that Peter was sought out by that pleasant young man, Anthony Andover.
Ordinarily passengers were not allowed in the sacred quarters of the wireless house. However, those who possessed daring spirits came up anyway. Peggy Whipple came up there soon after that meeting on deck, with permission from nobody, and Peter gave her about fifteen minutes of his extremely important time on the average of nine times a day, permitting her to adorn the extra chair in the wireless shack, where she unconsciously revealed in her sudden and unexpected shiftings of posture, several inches of adorable silken ankle. I think Peggy was sadly in need of an elderly chaperone, and I am somehow under the impression that Peggy very badly wanted Peter to make love to her. How he resisted her speaks volumes for his quaint, mid-Victorian views regarding woman.
And at the end of the fifteen minutes, after regaling her with tales of the lands she was about to visit, he dismissed her, kindly but with great firmness, and she was as obedient as a lamb.
Anthony Andover, who knew more about plows perhaps than the Egyptians, gave him something else to think about. He looked up from his instruments that evening to see a young man of medium height, slim of build, and rather pale and sharp of mien.
"My name is Anthony Andover," he said in a brisk and business-like voice. "I wonder if I could have a talk with you."
Peter told him to sit down, and he removed the heavy nickeled head-pieces from his ears. He expected an important radio from the Shanghai Station; but that could wait. He wondered what Anthony Andover might have on his mind.
"Mr. Moore, I'm in something of a devil of a fix, and I think you're the man who can get me out of it."
"Shoot," said Peter, lighting a yellow cigarette and passing the box. "Chinks?" Trouble to Peter always meant Chinks; they were his symbol of danger.
"No, no! You see, all of my life I've been--well, a city man. The biggest adventure I ever had was a fist fight with my foreman. Now----"
"Did you lick him?" asked Peter with concern.
Anthony nodded reminiscently. "Blacked his eyes and busted his nose!"
"Good for you! Go ahead with your story."
"I've met a girl on the steamer, and according to her way of looking at things, I lack about five thousand different parts of being a hero. You know the girl. That's why I'm bothering you like this."
"Not bothering me a bit. Who's the girl?"
"Peggy." Anthony caressed the word as if it were honey. "Peggy Whipple. Of course, the first thing I want to make sure of is, am I stepping on anybody's toes? If I am, I'll just go ahead, and play my own game my own way. If it's to be a case of a fight----"
"Hold on a moment," interrupted Peter. "I don't quite follow you. Whose toes do you think you're stepping on?"
"Well, Peggy comes up here to the wireless shack so much, that I--I----"
"Oh, not a bit of it, old man. Peggy's a nice girl. I like her. That's all."
"I--I'm mighty glad," said Anthony earnestly. "You know, she's pretty mad about you, but as long as you're not interested the way I am, well----" He bit his lip nervously, and went on: "I think you'd agree with me that it would be rather foolish of her, and very disappointing and disillusioning later on for her to marry the kind of a man she thinks she wants to marry. She has a notion that the man she marries must be a cross between Adonis, and--and Diamond Dick! She wants a man who carries six-shooters in all his pockets, and who fears neither God, man, nor the devil!"
"A regular hell buster!"
"That's it! Down in her heart I think she cares for me a little bit. But I'm nothing but a plain, ordinary business man. I never did anything devilish in my life. There's nothing romantic about me. Look at this necktie! Did you ever see a hero wearing a plain black four-in-hand? Never! Did you ever see a hero wearing nice tan oxfords without a spot of mud on them? If I can somehow manage to make her think for a few minutes that I've got heroic stuff in me, she may listen to a little sense. She tells me--rather she threw it in my face--that you are going to take Helen and her on a sight-seeing trip into some of the darkest holes in Shanghai. You know the ropes, and there's no danger, of course."
"None at all," said Peter.
"Well, I want to know if you'll let me go along. I'll stand every expense; I've got money to burn! Let me in on it, and----"
"But there isn't going to be a chance for anybody to be a hero. I'm going to take those girls to the safest place in Shanghai. A New England church would be a cavern of iniquity alongside of it!"
Anthony laid his fingers along his knees.
"Well, couldn't you stir up something? That's my idea. I'll leave it to you to crack up some danger, not real danger, of course--we can't let those girls get near any real danger. But we can start a fake fight--or something--and give me a chance to play the hero, to rescue Peggy in my arms; that sort of stuff, you know." He looked at Peter foolishly.
Peter stroked his nose. "It might be done," he said. "I'll see what I can do."
Anthony arose, extended his hand, and said: "Of course, I'll need a revolver."
"Load it with blanks," advised Peter. "You know, some people think it's bad luck to kill a Chink."
Anthony was eyeing him curiously. "Do you?" he asked.
Peter nodded his head slowly. "Sometimes," he said.
