Newspaper Page Text
THE important thing to remember
about Mr. Bishop Van Reypan is
that he served his country. Some
men die for their native land,
others dance for it. Mr. Van Reypan
was of the latter contingent. In the
forefront of the most enervating cotil
lons he did valiant service for his flag.
Where the afternoon tea raged fiercest,
there one found him bravely bearing
an ice for some distinguished lady.
Through the dullest of dinners, the
lengthiest of receptions, his patriotism
stood the strain.
Because of his uncle's influence, Mr.
Van Reypan had become attached to
our consulate at a certain city in Japan.
The duties allotted to him were purely
social. He saw to it that his superiors
never had to waltz. He was but one of
an army of pleasant young men scat
tered over the globe in like service for
the flag—young men who dream, as
they change their pajamas for evening
clothes, of some day being transferred
Said Mr. "Sandy" Trotter, once Mr.
Van Reypan's classmate at Yale, on the
occasion of his only visit to Japan:
"I find you out here in this comic
opera country, dancing your heart out
for the stars and stripes, and I'm
touched. Van, touched. They'll all be
proud of you when the news travels
back home. Really, you are a hero.
George Cohan, ought to write a ver>
flaggy musical comedy around you."
"Please don't Jest on a sacred topic,"
returned Mr. Van Reypan, from the
window seat where he lay at rest. "I
suppose It will strike you as funny to
hear me say it, but, for a fact, all this
has become a very serious business to
me." He yawned with fervor. "There
really is an idea somewhere at the back
of my head that I'm doing something
for my country. They think out here
that we're all social barbarians—l'm
teaching them different. I can outstare
any Englishman in Japan, and while I
can't bow so gracefully as What's-his
name, at the French consulate, I'm
watching him closely; and some day
I'll bow him off the map. Seriously,
it's a—er —a» privilege to teach these
scornful aliens that Americans oan
twostep, as well as sell agricultural
implements. Sorry I couldn't play ten
nis with you today."
"What was it," inquired Mr. Trotter
- —"another afternoon with a very im
portant and equally homely dowager?"
"A tea," said Mr. Van Reypan. "A
tea with our British cousins, to meet
their distinguished, but fault finding,
brother from over seas. I'd rather
have the tennis—"
"I know," put in Sandy; "your coun
try called. Far be it from me. Don't
"Tonight," Mr. Van Reypan an
nounced, "is free. We'll take In a Jap
anese theater. You'll laugh yourself
Into a decline—probably over a trag
"If you will ppuse in your yawn
ing," said Mr. Trotter, "you might tell
me what all this is leading to. "It's
all rignt to indulge in a two stepping
contest with the foreign powers; but—
what do you get in the end? Where
are you when the last carnation has
faded? Tell me that?"
Mr. Van Reypan crossed his legs and
gazed at the ceiling.
"Well," he said, reflectively, "it has
been bruited about that from a
similar post many men have—er—
married well, I don't—er—l don't
exactly approve of the idea, but If
the girl were pretty I might be able
to marry her for love, and let the
money come as an afterthought. I
suppose I'm all sorts of % cad to say
"You are." retorted Mr. Trotter,
promptly. His honest face was grave
and troubled. Better come back with
me to the states. These pink teas
have gone to your brain. Let some
other handsome youth waltz your
Uncle Sam into a world power. You
could get a job—"
"Sandy," said Mr. Van Reypan,
"what you Suggest is madness. While
little old Japan holds her, it Is the
land for me. You know whom I mean.
The Jamieson girl—the one with the
big brown eyes. One look Into
"Yes," said Mr. Trotter, meaningly,
—"the maiden with" two million in her
own name. I know."
"That, my dear old friend," advised
Mr. Van Reypan. "is an afterthought.
Kindly consider it always—an after
Mr. Trotter heaved his exfootball
bulk out of his chair, and paced the
room. It was torture to behold a
friend in the state of mind in which
his patriotism had landed Mr. Van
TELEGRAPH- THE HILL OF THE ALIENS
Continued From First Page
Chinese quarter they were clad In silks
and satins and furs of great value.
They had a little finger nail as long
as a slice of a quill pen. They all made
perfect pictures of themselves."
Stoddard goes on to explain that
beyond the "snow line" the hill was
not inhabited save by flocks of goats
that browsed there all the year round.
The goat has. ever been the mascot of
the hill, and is still in proud possession
of the peak.
Right on the slope of the hill was the
North Beach cemetery, in which there
were more than 1,800 interments pre
vious to ISSO. This cemetery was laid
out, of course, before the hill was se
lected by prosperous pioneers a% a
probable aristocratic center.
But the old hill's aristocratic career
was painfully brief. In the early 50s
Lombard street between Kearny and
Powell was a fashionable district.
There was no beauty of architecture to
designate her as such. The shacks were
of a little bettor variety than those
farther down. The more pretentious
of the houses were of the imported va
riety—the kind that were shipped
around the horn in sections. But the
men who lived in these extremely pe
culiar dwellings were capitalists of the
first water, seeking investment. Still,
mere money was almost a drug on the
market in those early days. As one
man plaintively put it, "There was
plenty of money and little to buy. - '
Every man could make a good showing
in dust. "I reckon," drawled an old
miner, "that there's enough gold dust
on that thar**hill to change the color of
the bay if it was all dumped in."
Even the Chinese who were open
ing their shops along what was then
the outskirts of the downtown dis
trict were wealthy importers, and the
price t-srs on their gorgeous wares
would ins startling even in this day of
extravagant living. Lumber was al
most impossible to get, and labor was
at a premium: so bloated magnates
slung up their own shacks, utilising
any material at hand (corrugated iron
was quite popular), and then would
swfpp out their own offices afteV rising
from a bunk in the rear. Sing Lee and
Wun Lung did washing and ironing at
$5 a dozen, and a barber at $1 a shave
had a long waiting list.
Since pretentious homes were out of
the question, a man had to be original
Reypan. He paused at the side of
the window seat and, not wishing to
look into the eyes of the man who
lay there, stared at the quaint, papier
mache like gables that cluttered all
"Now see here," he said, "I don't
think you'd marry any girl for her
Mr. Van Reypan sat bolt upright.
"You're correct," he said, a bit an
grily. "And I wouldn't take that in
sinuation from any one but you. I'm
in love, you old plow horse, in love.
It's nice she has money—but it really
doesn't matter in the least. I'd be
just as fond, anyhow. She's a wonder.
Confound it. man, have you seen her?"
"I have," replied Mr. Trotter, "and
well you should know it. You steered
me into her company. Oh, she's all
right, though she does go in for ro ?
mance, and the moon-light-falling
softly-on-the-ruined-temple stuff, a
little too strong for me. She and I
sat on the Methodist veranda—l can't
remember all those missionary names
—the other night, and she pointed to
a sr->all white building across the bay
and had all sorts of thrills over it.
It was so romantic looking, and an
exiled poet might have dreamed there,
and all tHat rot. I hadn't the heart
to tell her it was the local office of
the Standard Oil company."
"I should say not," said Mr. Van
Reypan. "It would have spoiled her
entire evening. She is romantic. And
that's grod—it's my one precious ray
of hope. Money doesn't mean every
thing to her. You should see the way
she treats that rich little cad, Norris,
who came all the way out from the
States to see her. I tell you, she's the
right sort. By gad—say—" He leaped
from the window seat and ran to his
desk. There he rummaged among the
papers, and presently held up a note,
"Did I say the theater tonight, old
boy? Well, I'm dreadfully sorry—but
there's a dinner to a funny little Jap
doctor who's discovered a serum or
something, and of course the United
States has to be represented. If you'll
"Of course," said Mr. Trotter. He
watched with rather scornful eye, while
Mr. Van Reypan answered the old, old
call of his country. The jaw of the
latter was set; resolutely he turned
hiß thoughts from the possibilities of a
pleasant evening with Sandy, wander
ing through quaint streets, amid
quainter people. Resolutely he bathed;
resolutely he fixed studs in a gleaming
shirt; resolutely he climbed again into
the carefully pressed suit of black. Mr.
Trotter from time to time spoke words
from the doorway.
"You remind me, Van, of the books
in the prep school library. 'At the
first call of the bugls, Bish Van Rey
pan, the little drummer boy, leaped
cheerily from his hard cot and donned
his uniform. Soon we find him amid
the weary eyed soldiers of the social
set. and our little hero
fight all night in the front ranks of
the cotillon. Not until the retreat
Mr. Van Reypan cast a pair of
brushes at his friend and departed
with no other farewell.
And that friend, breathing heavily
above a slender writing desk, which
seemed likely at any moment to col
lapse beneath his weight, wrote later
In the evening to another man in far
I don't know how it will end—l
wish I could do something to make
it end right There always were
the two sides to Van, and we all
knew it was a gamble as to which
side would win out. Sometimes he's
a man all through—and then again
he wants to 101 lon a divan, with a
dusky little wizard to hand over
the long, cool glass—and let him
pay who will. This job out here—
dancing in competition with a lot
of gold lace puppets—has just
about finished him. He's on the
verge of marrying a girl with
money—and goodby to him if he
ever does that. I'd stop it if I
could; but, well, it isn't any of my
business, you know. And say, the
funny part of it all is he thinks
he's doing something for his native
heath when he trips the light fan
tastic on a foreign strand. Poor
old Van. That will show you how
far gone he is. »
Mr. Trotter finished his letter to the
man In New York and went over and
gazed out at the tile roofs of the city,
bright in the moonlight. Such a little,
low, ridiculous cluster of a town—he
felt that he could toss it into a heap
with a turn of his foot, as he had
tossed his sister's doll houses in the
nursery long ago. From a balcony
across the way came the gra+ing burr
of a phonograph. "Gee, I wisn I could
do something," muttered the faithful
Mr. Trotter. And at that moment the
servant of his country returned from
the fray, wilted and slow of step. He
to make a splurge Entertainment was
lavish and took the form of feasting.
Imported viands were common and
champagne, being more expensive than
any other beverage, was the popular
liquid refreshment. The high cost of
living so extensively deplored today
pales into insignificance beside the
piratical prices charged the early pion
eer. Manuel Ainsa, a Spanish merchant
prince, whose vessels plied between
Spain, the Philippines and Mexico,
sailed through the Golden gate in one
of his own ships, bearing a cargo of
$500,000 In gold. After fruitlessly
seeking quarters for himself and fam
ily, he was pleased to pay $500 a month
for a very inferior house on the cor
ner of Lombard and Dupont streets.
Later he purchased in open market a
house imported from Australia, which
he set up- on the same fashionable
street. For this house he paid enough
to have erected a brownstone man
sion in New York.
Counterbalancing the little coterie
of aristocrats who were endeavoring
to place their hall mark of guaranteed
refinement on Lombard street was a
great horde of unclassified foreigners,
flinging up their temporary shelters'
under the very noses of their purse
proud predecessors, and ty their un
pleasant proximity making a flat fail
ure of what might have been a tre
mendous boom in Lombard street prop
The motley crew of foreigners,
quickly sifting themselves into sepa
rate little groups, each bearing some
particular national stamp, had come to
stay. And they were destined to be
the real monarchs of the hill. But as
their number grew. Increasing with
every steamer, the downtown popula
tion, which was more truly American
in aspect, began to look about for
other quarters in which to hang its
hat at night. At first North Beach was
enthusiastically discussed as a desir
able fashionable center but this boom
though most zealously exploited by real
estate agents, petered out miserable,
to the intense chagrin of one Harry
Meiggs of Meiggs wharf fame, who
had gambled with some city funds in
order to make himself a mighty land
After the flattening of the North
Beach boom Harry Meiggs touk a
steamer for a South American port, and
part of the foreign horde that was
crowding Telegraph hill slid down the
sides and pre-empted the despised but
well surveyed lots on North Beach that
had been the ruination of more than
dropped wearily into the same window
seat that had held htm that afternoon.
"The war is over, mother," began Mr.
Trotter, but Mr. Van Reypan quickly
cut him off.
"Don't," he said simply, and there
was that in his tone which brought Mr.
Trotter's instant obedience.
"Sandy," he said, presently, "what
sort of fellow should you say this Nor
"Well," returned Mr. Trotter, reflect
ing, "he has wined. I get that from
the lovely crimson of his face. And he
has dined. I get that from his waist
line. Further than these things he
has not lived."
"Exactly," responded Mr. Van Rey
pan. "A cheap, contemptible little snob.
His companionship is an Insult."
"It is," said Mr. Trotter; "but I kept
looking at the waist line and was
comforted. Oh, avenging waist line!
It's going to keep on pushing him far
ther and farther away from the Fifth
avenue club window, out of which he
loves to gaze."
Mr. Van Reypan turned his eyes out
toward the glittering roofs. "She's
going to marry him," he remarked ab
"Who is?" Mr. Trotter's eyes
"Margaret Jamieson. She told me so
herself a half hour ago, when w«
parted at the Maxwells'."
Mr. Trotter whistled softly. Inwardly
he was elated; outwardly, sympathetic.
"It's too bad. Van," he said.
"She's marrying him—for hia
money," accused Van Reypan, bitterly.
one man's good name and fortune.
Henceforth Telegraph hill and the ad
jacent North Beach territory were
pointed out by Chinatown guides, who
plied their trade even in the
as "our famous foreign quarter."
"On the slopes of that hill, my dear
sirs, you will find represented every
nation on the face of the globe. The
last census proves, sirs, that San Fran
cisco is the most cosmopolitan city in
the world, boasting as it does a foreign
population of—" And the figures given
were always large enough to make the
tourists wonder whether real Americans
made it a practice to land on one
steamer and pull out on the next.
It is most patently true that the real
fascination of San Francisco has ever
centered around this same much dis
cussed, much deplored and thoroughly
well advertised and boasted of foreign
quarter. That mystic charm which has
been extolled by every itinerant writer
who stopped in the town long enough
to get his bearings exists somewhere
In the territory comprised by Telegraph
hill, thence on down through Chinatown
to Portsmouth square, which was the old
plaza, and then across lots to the water
front. The rest of the city is common
place compared to this. Market street
is in a class by itself. It is the parade
ground where the denizens of all the
odd quarters exhibit themselves to other
curious passersby. And it is in Market
street that the young eastern author
who may not have overmuch time in
which to get his bearings scoops up
ladles of local color for his next west
The true art lover who is ambitious
enough to make the ascent to the top
of Telegraph hill in order to feast his
eyes on one of the most magnificent
views in the world, invariably comes
down gesticulating and inquiring to
know why so much valuable space with
such a marvelous vista should be bar
ren of all improvement. He gets his
answer from a blue coated Irish
guardian of an Italian street, who is
probably the first English speaking
person he encounters. He is informed
that the top of the hill is realiv one of
the city parks. And thereby hangs a
tale. Time was when the park was
passing fair, and the walks and the
paths were new. And there was green
shrubbery to regale the eye, many rare
plants, and not a few flowers, for the
property was bequeathed to the city
fathers with the express proviso that
it must he made into a thing of beauty.
•'But you see," the big policeman
"Confound the fellow," said Mr.
Trotter, letting the nice satire of this
go unnoted; "he's not the sort I'd ex
pect to stay over here -and claim the
lovely maiden. It's done by a naval
ensign in musical comedy, and they
stand together in the spotlight and sing
about the beneficial effects of love."
"Were you ever serious?" queried Mr.
"I beg your pardon," said Mr. Trotter.
"I am frivolous; I'm sorry. We doped
her out wrong, Van. I see now I ought
to have told her that villa was the
Standard Oil office if I wanted to make
a hit. The romance stuff was a bluff.
We doped her out wrong. You never
can tell about a woman."
"Oblige me," broke in Mr. Van Rey
pan, "by not making a song about it."
He gased for a time out over the city,
while the squeak of the phonograph
filled their ears. "Sandy, you were
right " he said presently. "I'm not get
ting anywhere out here. I ought to go
back to the States with you."
"Rlght-o," cried Mr. Trotter. He tore
the letter to the man in New York into
bits and tossed them gleefully into a
wastebaeket. "Right you are. When do
"Well, as soon as I can fix it up to
have a successor appointed. Some other
youth will have to come out here and
show 'em, Sandy, in the name of Uncle
Sam. I'm going back to the lights of
the little town across from Brooklyn—
back to the bunch on Forty-fourth
street. And to some other things, al
most too sacred to mention—among
them a man's job."
goes on to explain, "the winds up there
In winter is something fierce, an* for
shure they blew away everything that
was planted except the trees —an' thin
they planted some more things, but the
trees was the only wans that they
stuck in deep enough to stay."
And it Is well that the trees were
planted deep, for they, being some
thing in the nature of an improvement,
are apparently the only "beautiflca
tion" that is holding down the city's
title to its heirloom.
Time was when a great wooden cas
tle crowned the peak of the hill. This
was criticised by one writer as being
built in about 1885, "by some con
scienceless party, who was enterpris
ing withal," as a rather doubtful orna
ment to Pioneer park, which was then
at the height of its glory. One Kend
erdlng, who wrote in 1897, gives a
"The building was an Immense affair,
seen for miles around from land and
sea. The main floor was used for a
barroom and variety performance. To
accommodate frequenters of the pleas
ure resorts on Telegraph hill, Million
aire Sutro extended his street cable
system to the summit, but an accident
on the steep incline and scant travel
caused its abandonment, and It 13 now
a ruin like the park above."
Later on the old castle was sold by
the sheriff and Sutro bought it in for
$20,000. He presented it to a family of
caretakers, rent free, whose business
It was to show visitors the marvelous
view from its glass lookout. So it
became notably one of the city's main
points of interest, even though sight
seers had to make the ascent on foot,
until one day when It caught fire and
was burned to the ground.
So It happens that after many val
iant attempts, including the drawing'of
graceful plans by Burnham, the voting
of bonds and what not for the improve
ment of Telegraph hill, it stands today
quite as sorry a spectacle as in 1849.
Flat failures of the past need cast no
slur on the future. Telegraph" hill, with
her Pioneer park denuded and neg
lected, still presents to Incoming ships
the proudest and most notable emi
nence in the city. She should prove an
inspiration to the artists of the Pan
ama Pacific exposition, whose magic
wand will no doubt make of her such
a marvel as was never dreamed of by
those city fathers who gave her up
as an impossible problem, because the
sportive elements played such havoc
with their little garden plats.
Mr. Trotter seized him and dragged
him forth for a walk under the stars.
They passed down the narrow streets;
the little shops receded, giving way to
temples set in ancient groves, and fi
nally they came to the open country. In
the heart of Mr. Trotter was exulta
tion; in that of Mr. Van Reypan was a
chaos of feeling, out of which emerged
clearly a longing for the great city of
palm rooms and derby hats.
Several weeks later Mr. Van Reypan
and Mr. Trotter stood on deck and
watched the water front of Yokohama
creep back to join the horizon. As they
turned away to the smoking room the
man who had served his country spoke:
"Well, it's all over. The raw young
graduate who's traveling toward the
rising sun will have to answer the call
of duty in my stead. «I hope" he an
swers it well. By gad, Sandy, I'm
glad you came: I'm glad I'm going
"Any gladness," Mr. Trotter assured
him, "is mutual."
In the smoking room Mr. Van Rey
pan took from his pocket a fat, soiled
letter and tearing it open read. Then
he looked up with a smile.
"An amusing epistle this," he said;
"but from the heart, Sandy. It's from
Yone Taisuke, a little Jap kid—l—cr —
helped. I tried to put him on to the
curves of English a bit, and then I
found out how horribly poor he was
and the hopeless home he came from.
So I got him a job with the Maxwell
company. His gratitude waB —cr —I want
to read you what he says. It isn't mod
est of me maybe, but it's too good to
miss. It seems he didn't get an ac
counting from his predecessor on the
job, and when he should have been pro
moted he wasn't. So he 'lost face.'
Listen to his peroration:
" 'I would like to see you leave and
take your hand, but in place I must
write. I would rather have been pro
moted and I am sad. So I please not to
come to you again until I am promoted,
and can come to you with vigorous and
triumphant mood of heart. Come to
Japan twice, oh my benefactor.' "
Mr. Trotter smiled. "By gad, you
served some one besides Uncle Sam,
didn't you?" he said.
"Oh, forget it," replied Mr. Van Rey
pan. "I only read it to you to give you
"I know," said Mr. Trotter; "but
what I am trying to get at is. when you
think of that little brown chap, better
off than he was before you came out
here, there's no reason why you
shouldn't go back to America with a
'vigorous and triumphant mood of
"Perhaps not," said Mr. Van Reypan.
"And if your highly moral reflections
are ended, I'll trouble you for a match."
Six weeks passed, and Mr. Van Rey
pan stood in a high paneled library
before Henry F. Meredith, head and
moving spirit of one of the greatest
department stores In New York. Mr.
Meredith was the heavy, shrewd,
financially engrossed brother of the
frail visionary little woman who had
brought Mr. Van Reypan into the
world. Through his uncle's money
Mr. Van Reypan had been educated;
through his uncle's influence he had
gone to Japan; and, now he desired
"a man's job," it was only natural
that he should stand waiting once
more in that gloomy room.
The old man ran his Angers through
his gray hair, and pondered. Then he
proffered a cigar.
"Well," he said.
J"I couldn't stand it any longer,"
explained Mr. Van Reypan. "I wanted
to be back here—er—doing something,
you know. I hope you're not angry."
Henry F. Meredith smiled—a rare
"Not exactly," he said. "I wondered
how long you could stand that pink tea
out yonder. For you've got Meredith
blood in you—l've been sure of that.
And I've been praying that some day
it would win out over the exquisite blue
variety your mother brought into the
family, when she married an excellent
"I beg your pardon," said Mr. Van
"I beg yours—r m sorry," replied the
older man. He bowed his head a mo
ment. "'Sometimes I've been afraid
you'd marry out there —one of these
• ■--'■. m '
colorless hothouse girls with money,
whose cash would o© tne end of a kid
like you. I'd rather see you married
to one of my own shop girls. But you—
didn't—and you're back. And it's up
to me once more, I suppose."
«It is—this far," said Mr. Van Rey
pan. "I want a job; I want a chance
to make good—and then it's up to me."
"Do you mean to tell me," inquired
Henry Meredith, "that you'll take a
place In the store?"
"I'll take any place," explained the
The old man's face lighted. He
looked at the boy and opened his Hps—
then closed them. Then he actually
smiled again, a pleasant smile.
"I'll fix it up with Mason tomorrow,"
Wherefore, a few mornings later, Mr.
Van Reypan, having answered the bla
tant summons of a 98 cent alarm clock,
appeared at the Meredith store, with
what Sandy Trotter would have called
his "shining morning face" aglow from
a brisk walk down town. Yes, amid
2,000 weary eyed little girls. In shirt
waists and ready made skirts, Bishop
Van Reypan, late exquisite of the
American consulate in a far Japanese
city, appeared for work, and took up
his duties as assistant manager of the
And in the rush and bustle of this
new world the gentler days in that pic
ture book land became as a tale that is
told. Into the mists of the past faded
dinners and balls and receptions—what
the beautiful Miss So-and-So said to
the bishop, and what the bishop 6aid
to the English consul. Instead. Mr.
Van Reypan hurried about weird new
duties—hurried amid girls who chat
tered constantly of last night, and to
night, and Jim and Joe—and forgot, as
he hurried, that of late it had been
upon him that his country called when
dress clothes were to be worn, and
repartee was to be exchanged, that the
world might respect America.
Days grew into weeks, days that
might be gray or gold without, but
were all the same within — days
through which maddened lady shop
pers rushed in never ending parade;
days through which Mr. Van Reypan
consulted, advised and set many hearts
aflutter under cheap waists.
And though he little guessed it then,
and would have laughed a well bred
laugh of scorn at the thought, she was
there, up in the optical department.
On the second day of his new life he
had met her. '
"I am Miss. Blake—l assist Mr. Mer
ton." Her eyes were big and gray and
frank, lighting a face that was well
"Ah. yes—l am Mr. Van Reypan—
the new assistant manager of the floor.
If any difficulties arise—"
"Yes." she said. And she watched
him as he moved away. "Don't make
a fool of yourself." It was her mind
that spoke, almost angrily, to her
heart. And the heart meekly obeyed.
Then, one day, a difficulty did arise,
and Mr. Van Reypan, recovered some
what from the confusion of the first
weeks, looked, and saw. Thereafter,
as was natural, perhaps, his eyes
turned often to the optical department.
And where his eyes turned, there his
feet led him.
One night they went to dinner and
the theater. And Miss Blake told him of
her home, up in. Maine—of the baby
lamb that they were raising on a bot
tle because of its orphaned state, and
of many other things simple and sweet.
And she told him of her first days in
the store, before she had risen to her
present proud position. Those were
sad days, when one had to live on $5
a week—day's when one did one's own
washing, and scrimped, and gased out
of one's small window over the city and
wondered if the end would make it all
Mr. Van Reypan, listening, realized
for the first time where the Meredith
millions came from, and recalled, with
a pang, that the flve-dollar-a-week year
was his junior year at Yale, when he
had bought the imported touring car.
Which led, easily, to the thought that
there was much he owed this wistful
eyed little girl—a thought that moved
him to invite her again—and then
As Mr. Van Reypan devoted more and
more time to paying this one small debt
that the Meredith millions owed, he was
startled to find himself taking a keen
pleasure in doing so. The girl's wit was
quick; her appreciation of Mr. Van Rey
pan's wit even quicker. And In her eyes,
which were very soft, and her face,
which was very fair, there shone the
light of an affection she could not con
ceal. Which light was all the more
pleasant to Mr. Van Reypan in that she
knew nothing of his connection with
the Meredith who owned the store.
So, subtly but surely. Bishop Van Rey
pan, late pet of far off drawing rooms,
fell under the spell of a fair little girl
who worked for her livelihood in a
store. Meetings with Sandy Trotter only
strengthened the chains. For Sandy
had married; he ferried in from Jersey
each morning and out each night, and
he painted in characteristically vivid
terms the Joys of the mated life. So Mr.
Van Reypan drifted on, and the broad
shouldered young man in the shipping
department, who used occasionally to
enjoy Miss Blake's favor, saw slipping
from him the desire of his life.
One evening Mr. Van Reypan said
good-by to Miss Blake at the door of
her boarding house, and, standing
there in the moonlight that had found
its way even into so mean a street, she
looked so little and fair, and alto
gether so desirable, that he was moved
to take her in his arms. At that mo
ment, however, she turned away, and
as Mr. Van Reypan stood looking up,
almost worshipful, he told himself that
this should be his mate in the new life
he had chosen. Here, he reflected,
walking back to his rooms, was a sweet
faith, and affection more than social |
glory. Both were his for the asking. I
"Tomorrow," he said to himself, "I \
But on the morrow came two let
ters, and their postmark was the post
mark of Japan. Closeted in his nar- <
row office, which was close beside the
optical department, Mr. Van Reypan
broke their seals. One was from the
little brown boy, his protege; and it
was a letter of joy. At last, that waif
of the orient wrote In "vigorous and
triumphant mood of heart." He had
been promoted. Glorious was the
news. "Come to Japan twice, my
benefactor," he begged.
And the plea in the second was much
the same. Mr. Van Reypan started as
he saw the familiar hand. He turned
hastily to the signature, "Margaret
Jamieson." She had not married Nor
ris. The engagement was broken. She
wrote golden words of blossom time in
that colorful country, and through
them all ran subtly the plea of Yone
Taisuke, this time unvoiced: "Come to
Lafe into the afternoon, and then
until long after dusk. Bishop Van Rey
pan sat and pondered. The letter from
the brown eyed girl in far Japan
brought it all back—the musical tinkle
of the temple bells, the narrow, picture
postcard streets, the life of luxury and
ease, the balls, the dinners, where he
had shone. What Mr. Meredith had
called the "blue exquisite blood" in
him ran faster at the thought. He
walked again with the dainty Margaret
Jamieson down make believe thorough
fares; he sat again with her on the
Maxwell balcony, while the moonlight
fell silver on the roof tjles. Land of
the lotus, where life was a dream of
The San Francisco Sunday Call
delight, and .where little people, wno
rightfully belonged only on fans, ap«
peared like genii to attend to every
want. Should he go back?
Here, the drab gray of life in this
great, monotonous store —the steady
round of homely duties. And here, too,
the wistful eyed little girl who looked
at him so wonderfully. Would it b',
fair to her? But was it her future, or
his own, that he must consider now?
She would be unhappy for a time, but
she would forget. And over there
should he go back?
Mr. Van Reypan fumbled the letters,
and gased out of his door at the great
store, now nearly deserted. He drew
note paper toward him, and wrote:
"My dear Margaret:" There he paused.
Was ever man so perplexed? The old
love of luxury, the fondness for things
he had not earned for himself—but was
that a man's game? And here was the
clever little gtrl to whom he had so
surely allowed himself to become all In
all. Still, across seas was the life of
pleasure and gayety, the life he was
made for, as surely—
A voice rose from the other sidw of
the partition—a voice from the optical
department It was the voice of the
young man from the shipping room,
and It was strong and booming, for he
was in no mood to make it soft and
"It's him or me. You got to decide
between us—now. I told you how I
love you, but if you prefer him, why—
ail right. Only, I want to know. If its
him—then I'm going away—l'm
away to be a sailor. I couldn't stand
it here any longer. I'd go away an' see
the world—a sailor."
The voice paused. There was no re
"It's him or me," persisted the rather
tactless young man from the shipping
department. "You got to decide right
away. I want you—l love you. You
know that. But I won't play second
fiddle any longer. If It's him—l'm going
off to be a sailor."
And thus, sharp and clear, Mr. Van
Reypan heard again the call—-the old
call—the call he had answered so often
in distant Japan—the call of his coun
try. The resolute look of days forgot
lit in his eyes. He stood up. This
time there was no need to don a dress
suit—no need to dine—to waltz—even
to pass a tea cup. He recalled a gray
haired admiral, and certain words
spoken on a balcony in Japan: "Yes
sir, the navy has need of strong, decent
young men. It has sore need of them
—of good Americans, sir."
So Mr. Van Reypan threw into a
basket a scrap of note paper and
stepped outside, whither again his
country called him.
"I beg your pardon," he said. In his
customary well bred voice. "Are you
ready. Katherine? You're going to
walk home with me tonight, you know."
"See here," said the prospective
sailor, "I won't have you butting in—"
"Perhaps," remarked Mr. Van Rey
pan, "it would be just as well to let
the world know, dear." He turned tc
the red faced youth. "Miss Blake has
promised to become my wife, you
"Oh," said the young man from the
shipping department. Only that. And
he moved away. Mr. Van Reypan hur
ried to the side of the girl, who sat
blushing at her desk.
And now let us be quite fair to Mr.
Van Reypan. He stood for an instant
looking down at the blushing girl, and
the thing in his eyes was not al
together patriotism. There was
thing else there—a something hard
express. Yone Taisuke can best supply '
the words. There was a light In his
eyes that reflected, beyond any doubt,
a "vigorous and triumphant mood of
"Was I right?" whispered Mr. Van
Reypan. "Oh, my dearest—was I
And the little girl at the desk, look
ing up, saw and recognized the light;
and smiled happily out of her own
startled eyes. "I—l guess you were, '
Far away they could see the broad
shoulders of the young man from the
shipping department, who was moving
on—moving on into the great world
beyond the store —moving on to be a
sailor. Thus Mr. Bishop Van Reypan
served his country, even in matters of
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