CHAPTER VIII
IN THE ARMENIAN QUARTER
Willie was determined that that light should not fail. He meant to keep it burning brightly. He determined never to forget that the point was not where he started in the race, but where he ended. The main thing was to get into the race. And now he was in. He remembered that somebody had said there were three secrets of success: first, work; second, more work; third, still more work. That made Willie happy, because he knew he could work as hard as anybody, and he believed he could learn to work as effectively as anybody. At any rate, he meant to try. He was going to think of nothing but his work—that is, after he got to work. To-day, he was going to celebrate with Roy. And so, after parting with his big friend, Sheridan, he made haste to reach the Lycoming.
“Talk of angels and they are sure to appear,” laughed Roy, as Willie came bustling into the Lycoming’s wireless cabin. “We were just talking about you and hoping we should see you soon. Mr. Robbins was good enough to come up to chat with me. His big rush is over now.”
“Mighty glad to see you both again,” said Willie, shaking hands with Roy and the purser. “I’ve got the best news in the world. I’ve got a job, Roy. And what do you think it is? I’m an office boy.” And Willie laughed so heartily and good-naturedly that both his friends laughed with him.
“Congratulations!” returned Roy. “I’m glad you got a job, and better pleased still that you like it. What changed your mind about being an office boy?”
“I guess you did. Mr. Sheridan helped, too. You both told me the same thing: that the point was not so much where I started as it was to get started. I see that this is true. I’m under way now. Watch me go.” And Willie laughed happily.
“We’ll do more than watch,” said the purser. “We’ll boost. Let’s start off with a little feed to celebrate. It’s about dinner-time. I’m deucedly tired of ship’s grub. Let’s go get a bite of some landsman’s cooking—something we don’t get every day in the week. Now let me see. There’s Chinatown. Roy and I have been there. And we’ve been to Little Italy. And we’ve eaten in the Ghetto. Where can we find something that is new to both of you?”
The purser paused in thought. Then, “I know,” he said. “We’ll step into an Armenian restaurant. That will be new to you both, I’m sure. And it is the handiest place we can find. The Armenians and Syrians have located close by, in this end of New York, and we can get a first-class meal. Come on. Let’s go.”
“That will be bully!” cried Willie, with enthusiasm. “I’d like that.”
“What about you, Roy?” asked the purser.
“I’m willing to try anything once. And after my experiences with you, I know it will be worth while. You certainly have all the places spotted where they make good things to eat.”
The purser laughed. “Come on, then. Let’s go.”
The three put on their hats and left the Lycoming. They passed through the long pier shed to West Street and turned down that thoroughfare. Willie felt very proud to be walking with his two friends, for they looked really distinguished in their well-fitting, neatly kept uniforms. The street was jammed with people, and thousands more were pouring out of the great office-buildings to get their noonday meal. More than one passer-by turned to look at Willie’s nautical friends.
“We picked out a pretty poor time to get anything to eat,” said the purser. “This is the very height of the luncheon hour. If you aren’t real hungry, I suggest we knock about a bit and let the jam ease up. Then we’ll feel free to eat as slowly as we like and stay as long as we like. And we’ll get better service, too. What do you say?”
“Suits me,” said Willie, who was so happy that he didn’t care what happened.
“I’m agreed,” said Roy.
“Good,” replied the purser. “The only question is how we shall put in the time.”
“I suspect Willie would like to see some of the sights,” remarked Roy. “He’s been in New York before, but there are lots of things neither of us have seen.”
“All right. We’ll just keep going until we strike something he wants to see.”
They continued on down West Street, along the water-front. The movement of traffic proved a continual fascination to Willie. He never tired of watching the endless procession of trucks, drays, express wagons, motor-cars, and other vehicles, with their unbelievable loads of merchandise. From time to time they sauntered out on a pier, their uniforms gaining them admission without question.
“See that odd little boat over there?” said the purser, as they walked out on one of the piers.
“Sure,” replied Willie. “I can’t help seeing her. She’s the only boat in the dock.”
“Do you notice anything unusual about her?” said the purser.
“Sure. It’s the way she’s decked over. She looks like a trim little steam-yacht boarded up for the winter. It looks as though her owner had built a sort of second story on her deck. She has hardly any windows, either. I notice she flies the United States flag.”
“Have you any idea what she is?”
“Not the slightest,” said Willie.
“Well, that’s a mail-boat. She conveys the mails from incoming steamers. The mail-boat rushes down to Quarantine, comes up alongside of a liner, and opens her hatches. The steamer shoots the mail-sacks down into the little boat, which rushes them to land.”
“That’s something else I didn’t know,” remarked Willie. “I’m obliged to you for pointing her out.”
They left the pier and continued on down West Street. As they crossed that thoroughfare to the sidewalk, a truck passed them, loaded with bananas. But the bananas were far different in appearance from the bunches of rich yellow fruit seen so commonly in the windows of grocery stores. Each bunch was green—fruit as well as stem. And there were dozens and dozens of bunches. Willie noticed the truck, but thought little of it. He had seen green bananas before, though perhaps never so many at one time. Before they had gone half a block, another truck passed them, also loaded high with green bananas. Soon another came past and then another.
“Well,” cried Willie, “would you look at all the bananas? Got enough there to feed the nation.”
“If you knew how many it takes to feed the nation,” said the purser, “you would know that those few wagon loads are hardly a drop in the bucket. Why, the banana ships are going all the time, rushing right back to Central America as soon as they get rid of their cargo, and then rushing home again as fast as they can, so that their fruit won’t get baked on the way.”
“Baked bananas!” exclaimed Willie, his eyes open wide with astonishment. “You’re stringing me.”
“Not a bit of it,” smiled the purser.
“Tell me what you mean, then.”
“Just what I said. If they don’t hustle home with their fruit as fast as steam will carry them, the bananas are likely to cook. Then they are a dead loss, for the Board of Health will not allow the sale of bananas like that. Why, I stood on one of these banana piers one night and watched the handlers throw half a million bananas overboard.”
“A half million bananas!” cried Willie. “How many bananas does one ship carry, anyway?”
“I can’t tell you exactly, but it runs in my head that a ship carries somewhere in the neighborhood of 5,000 bunches.”
“How many bananas are there in a bunch?”
“I can’t tell you that exactly, either. But if you will recall how a bunch of bananas looks, you will remember that the bananas come in little clusters, like hands. I often buy one of those clusters, and I know they have a dozen or more good bananas to the hand. A good bunch of bananas will probably have twelve to eighteen or twenty of these hands. So I would say that a small bunch contains 150 bananas and a big bunch 300. If we split the difference, and say 200 bananas to a bunch and multiply that by 5,000, we’ll be within gunshot of the number of bananas in a boat load. That makes 1,000,000 bananas.”
“Whew!” whistled Willie. “Think of that. A million bananas in one boat load. But tell me. How can they get baked?”
“Did you ever sit on a tin roof in the middle of a hot July day?” demanded the purser.
Willie chuckled. “I have sat down on one,” he said, “but I didn’t stay long.”
His companions laughed, and Mr. Robbins continued, “A steel steamer in the tropics heats up just about the way a tin roof does in July. Of course an effort is made to ventilate the fruit, but if the ship does not get out of that intense tropic heat in pretty quick time, you can imagine what happens to the bananas inside. Perhaps they do not literally bake, but they are so affected by the heat that they are unfit to eat.”
“That must have been a sight—to watch them throw half a million bananas overboard,” said Willie. “How do they handle bananas, anyway? They can’t handle them as they do bales and boxes.”
“Would you like to see them unloading a banana boat?” asked the purser.
“I sure would.”
“Well, there’s evidently a boat unloading now, or these wagon loads of fresh fruit would not be passing. The fruit pier is near at hand and we’ll drop in and watch them unload, while we are waiting to get our dinner.”
“Thank you,” said Willie. “That will be bully!”
Presently they came to a banana pier. Empty wagons were streaming into it and trucks laden with green bananas were issuing from it. The visitors entered the pier and walked along it until they came to where the unloading was in progress. Then, standing to one side, out of the way, they watched the process.
The empty wagons formed a line on the far side of the pier. On the near side of the pier, beside the steamer, several wagons were being loaded. The banana handlers were apparently mostly foreigners. They had neither trucks nor baskets, however, but carried the great bunches of bananas in their arms as carefully as they might convey so many infants. Down one side of the gangplank walked a line of empty-handed carriers, while up the other side came the men bearing the big bunches of fruit. They moved in a steady stream—into the ship and out, into the ship and out; and one man walked close on another’s heels. The bananas were passed by the carriers to waiting hands in the trucks, and the great bunches were piled carefully and skilfully, sometimes with layers of salt hay between to save them from being bruised in the trucks.
As fast as a wagon was loaded, the driver drove away, and a wagon from the waiting line turned and pulled into its place. Thus the fruit moved in a ceaseless stream from vessel to wagon, and from pier shed to store or freight-house. For many of these bananas would be sent inland by train, to supply folks in interior towns.
The steady movement of fruit fascinated Willie. It made him think of the constant flow of a stream of water. For a long time he watched in silence. Then the purser caught his eye.
“What do you think of it?” he asked.
“I can’t tell you,” said Willie. “It’s wonderful. It gives me a feeling I can’t express. But I know one thing. I shall never forget this scene. And I am a thousand times obliged to you for showing it to me.”
“I’m glad we happened to think of it,” said the purser. “It’s as good as a movie.”
“It’s a heap sight better,” commented Willie. “This is real.”
“I thought the movie was reel, too,” said Roy. “If it weren’t for the possibility of spoiling your fine uniform, Roy,” laughed Willie, “I’d soak you with one of those green bananas.” And he pointed to the pieces of unripe fruit on the pier that had dropped from the bunches while they were being handled.
“Do you know,” said the purser, after consulting his watch, “that it has been more than an hour since we left the Lycoming? It’s half-past one. I think we can safely get under way.”
They left the fruit pier, and striking directly away from the water-front, at once found themselves in a maze of small streets. Curious, indeed, was the transformation. All about them stood sky-scrapers, towering aloft hundreds of feet. Yet the little thoroughfares they were now penetrating were lined with low, old, brick buildings, mostly dwellings or dwelling-houses that had been converted into shops. They were small, low, dingy, ill-kept buildings of three or four stories with sloping roofs and dormer-windows. Their lines were good. Some of the doorways were still beautiful, despite the rough treatment they had had. It required little imagination to picture the time when these were the homes of well-to-do people.
They passed what had been a saloon, and probably still was, which bore on its window the name of Casey.
“Just look at that name,” said the purser. “That’s a relic of antiquity.”
“What do you mean?” asked Willie.
“Why, that is a reminder of a lost people,” laughed the purser.
“A lost people!” cried Roy. “With Tammany Hall full of Murphys, and Caseys, and Hennesseys, and O’Haras! What are you giving us?”
“It’s a fact, though,” said the purser. “Of course, there are plenty of Irishmen in New York, but not around here. Yet some years ago, this was a solid Irish settlement. And before the Irish, it was a region of fine American homes. Now nobody lives here except Armenians, Syrians, and a few Turks. We have migrations from location to location in a city, as well as from country to country.”
“So these folks are Syrians and Armenians, are they?” said Willie, quietly. “I’m mighty glad to have a chance to see them.”
All about them were Armenian shops. Swarthy, black-haired women sat in dark doorways, singly and in groups, chatting and industriously doing needlework as they talked. Mostly their features were regular and pleasing. Their olive complexions were strikingly beautiful. Their teeth, exposed when they laughed, seemed to be as fine as pearls. Generally they wore shawls about their shoulders, or thrown over their heads. These were of fine, thin material, gay and even gaudy, but very beautiful for all that. They formed splendid settings for the dark faces they framed. There were men of the same races about, too. Not large, also swarthy, with piercing, black eyes, the men attracted far less attention than the women. Their dress appeared quite similar to that of most Europeans or Americans, though a close observer would have noticed many small differences, in shoes, neckwear, ornaments, and so on.
All these foreigners talked for the most part in their native tongues. They seemed to chatter interminably. The men from the Lycoming could understand nothing of what was said. But they gathered, from the tones and the glances that were bestowed upon them, that they themselves were the subject of some of the talk. Indeed, on several occasions Willie noticed that as they came along women jumped from the shop steps on which they were sitting and darted into the stores behind them or called excitedly to persons within. Then the women sat down on the steps again and went on with their lace making or knitting. But always the women seemed to be watching them. At first Willie thought nothing of this. But after two or three of the women had gone through same performance, Willie saw that it was more than a coincidence. Something about their appearance attracted undue attention to them.
Presently Willie fell behind his comrades, in passing a group of pedestrians, and he purposely remained behind, even dropping back several yards, as though he had no connection with Roy and the purser. They were deep in an argument and for some time did not notice that Willie was not abreast of them.
Willie took advantage of this opportunity to observe what was passing. He saw that he himself attracted no attention whatever, but that at shop after shop, on the approach of Roy and the purser, there was a flutter of skirts and a woman scurried into the shop. But Willie could see nothing in the shops that explained it. After a while he came to the conclusion that it must be his friends’ uniforms that caused the commotion. He was a bit puzzled about that, but when he recalled that he had heard how badly some of these foreigners had fared at the hands of American immigration officials, he thought he understood it. The women, he thought, must have some fear of ship’s officers.
Willie was just stepping forward to speak to his friends about it, when he heard the purser say, “Here we are. Where’s Willie?”
“Right here,” called Willie.
“This is the place where we eat,” said the purser, and the three entered a dingy old house that had become an Armenian restaurant. Willie entirely forgot about the incident he had observed, for the restaurant was unlike any place in which he had ever been.
It was on the second floor of one of the old houses with which the street was filled. The brick wall on the street side had largely been removed, and great glass windows put in, making the place light and pleasant. The room was not large. It was furnished with small, round tables. On the walls were various printed cards and placques, but Willie could read none of them. He judged that they were printed in Turkish characters. There were a few tapestries hung about, but otherwise little attempt had been made at ornamentation.
Willie’s attention was instantly riveted by the men in the place. Slight of build, dressed in dark clothes, and displaying considerable jewelry, with swarthy skins, black hair, and piercing eyes, they sat indolently in groups, conversing in their native tongue. All of them were smoking, mostly cigarettes; but two of the groups were gathered about Turkish hookahs, from which all of those in the groups were smoking.
Willie had never before seen hookahs, but he had read about them, and he knew instantly that the strange things he was looking at were hubble-bubbles or water-pipes, so extensively used in the Orient. The thing made him think of a large water carafe with a gaudy, handleless teacup set atop of it. The teacup was a highly ornate tobacco-bowl. From it a tube descended into the carafe-like water container, which was of glass, also ornamented. Leading from this water bowl were several pliant tubes of some length, that terminated in mouthpieces like pipes. Each of the smokers held one of these tubes in his hand. From time to time each smoker raised his mouthpiece to his lips and drew smoke through the tube. At each inhalation the smoke was sucked down from the glowing tobacco-bowl through the water, which bubbled and bubbled.
At the entrance of the three Americans a sudden hush fell on the place. Every eye in the room was directed toward them. But when the purser and his companions returned the gaze, eyes were turned away again. Yet Willie saw well enough, that though no one was staring at them, not a move of theirs escaped observation. The observation was sly, furtive. It made Willie think of a cat watching for a mouse, apparently half asleep, with eyes all but closed, yet intensely alert and ready to spring at the appearance of so much as a whisker. In the same way Willie felt that the purser, Roy, and he were being watched. The various groups in the place resumed their talk. The men lounged in their chairs in an indolent, indescribably lazy way, not unlike a cat stretched out by a kitchen fire. And indolently they puffed at their cigarettes and hookah tubes.
Soon the feeling of uneasiness wore off. The purser seemed to feel perfectly at home, and Roy likewise paid small attention to those about him. He was continuing his discussion with the purser.
The latter picked up a bill of fare and shoved it across the table to his companions. “What shall it be?” he inquired.
“You might as well ask me what the people of Mars look like,” laughed Roy, examining the card. “I could answer just as intelligently. These names don’t mean a thing to me.”
“How would it be if I order?” inquired the purser. “We can have several large orders, from which we can all be helped. We’ll find some things that way that we shall all like, I’m sure.”
“That suits us,” said Roy and Willie together.
The purser consulted his card and then talked to the waiter, who presently returned with a huge tray full of curious foods. He brought rice with cooked tomatoes and meat and spice in it, called pilau; and meat rolled into a hollow cylinder and filled with unnamable but delectable vegetables and savory spices and raisins; and cucumbers, hollowed out and stuffed, then baked; and curious forms of bread; and pastries; and dishes composed of baked fruits with raisins; and other strange delicacies, so that the little table was filled to overflowing. But the party did not object to that. Each was hungry by this time and they attacked the food vigorously. After a single mouthful they needed no urging. “Yum! Yum!” said Roy, sampling the stuffed meat roll. “This sure is great!” Then he fell to with a will. The purser smiled with pleasure. For a few moments there was little conversation among the three. They were too busy to talk. When they had ended, the platters were bare. Turkish coffee was served in tiny cups. When they were entirely through with their meal, the purser paid the bill, and the three went out.
Every eye followed them. Willie was the last one out of the door. He paused a moment in the hallway. And in that moment he heard a perfect babel of voices within the restaurant. Apparently every man in the place was talking at full speed.
“They’re discussing us,” thought Willie. Then he followed his companions down-stairs.
It took the party but a few minutes to get back to the Lycoming. As they climbed up to the wireless cabin, they met a young man coming down. He wore the uniform of a wireless operator.
“Hello, Reynolds,” cried Roy, springing forward and holding out his hand to the visitor. “I’m mighty glad to see you. Can’t you come back and stay a while?”
“Sure,” said the visitor. “That’s what I came for. I had a little time off and thought I’d come over for a chat.”
The purser stepped forward and shook hands warmly with the visitor. Then Roy presented Willie.
“Mr. Reynolds,” he said, “I am glad to make you acquainted with my old friend, Willie Brown. Willie belongs to the Wireless Patrol you have heard me tell about. He’s a fine wireless man, so we have much in common.”
Then turning to Willie, Roy continued, “Willie, Mr. Reynolds is the wireless man on the Ward liner Morro Castle. We got acquainted down in Galveston, and we’ve become pretty good friends. You see our boats run up and down the coast. Usually we are within talking distance of each other, and when our work is out of the way, we often chat at long range. We keep each other posted as to what is happening along the route.”
Willie and Mr. Reynolds shook hands warmly. “I’m mighty glad to know you, Mr. Reynolds,” said Willie. “I’m glad to know any of Roy’s friends, for he and Mr. Robbins are almost the only people I know in New York. And I’m especially glad you are a wireless man. I’ve got my own wireless set here, but, besides Roy, I have no one near that I can talk to. Maybe I can talk to you when you’re near port.”
“I’d be delighted,” said Reynolds. “And when I’m not near port, too, if we can reach each other. How far can your set carry?”
“I don’t know,” said Willie. “I made my outfit myself. I run it now with dry cells, so it won’t carry very far. But when I’m able to, I’m going to get a battery powerful enough to carry as far as Central City, Pennsylvania. I want to be able to talk to the fellows back home.”
“Then we can talk at considerable distances,” said Mr. Reynolds. “Where is your set installed?”
“It’s in that old suit case under Roy’s bunk,” laughed Willie. “I don’t know where I’ll set it up. I just landed in New York and have no boarding-house yet. I’m going to work in the Custom-house. If it is possible, I should like to live near by. That will save time and be interesting, too. There are so many fascinating things to see down here. Then, too, I’d be near Roy’s pier, so he and I can see each other easily when he gets into port.”
“That sounds like sense. I have no doubt you will find just what you are looking for. Suppose we exchange call signals. Then we can talk as soon as you get your outfit rigged up. The Morro Castle’s call is KWC.”
“And my call,” said Willie, “will be the same that I had back home. I am regularly licensed, but I suppose I may have to have my license transferred. At any rate, my old call is CBM. Our club call is CBWC. It’s a bit irregular, perhaps, but it is the call we chose when we formed the wireless club. The initials stand for Camp Brady Wireless Club.”
“I see,” said Mr. Reynolds. “And how do you come to have the call CBM?”
“It’s this way. The CB stands for Camp Brady and the M is my letter.”
“I should think your letter would be B for Brown.”
“You would naturally think so, but we couldn’t choose our calls that way. We had more than one fellow with the same initial. So we just picked our letters in our regular firing order. You know we had a pistol squad, and we used to shoot in turn. The letter M fell to me.”
“I see,” said Mr. Reynolds. “As Shakespeare says, ‘What’s in a name,’ anyway? So I know your call, that is sufficient.”
“Well, any time you hear the call CBWC, you’ll know that somebody is trying to get the fellows at home. And it would almost certainly be either Roy or myself. And if you hear the call CBM, you’ll know that somebody wants me. That would most likely be Roy. At any rate, I hope you will be sounding the call CBM before very long. I’ll let you know when I get my outfit set up.”
In a few minutes the purser went back to his office. Mr. Reynolds chatted a while and returned to his steamer. Roy and Willie were alone.
“Roy,” said Willie, his face suddenly sober, “I don’t feel exactly right about this business. I was so happy over getting my job that I didn’t think about you at first. I came here as your guest. Now I’ve accepted a job and engaged to go to work to-morrow. That means I can’t make the trip to Galveston with you. I didn’t think before how that looks. I’ve half a notion to go back and throw up the job. I’m not treating you fair, Roy.”
“You blooming old chump,” cried Roy. “You’ll do nothing of the sort. Of course, I am sorry that you are not going to make the trip with me. But that is only a pleasure deferred. You can go the first time you have a vacation. And besides, having you permanently in New York means a hundred times as much to me as having you on shipboard with me for a few days. Why, now you’ll always be here when I get back from the South. We can have several nights together after each trip. And we can talk to each other for some hours after I leave port or before I reach it on the return. I’ll say it’s bully. So don’t you worry one bit longer about me. We’ll have to-day together, anyway. Then I want you to jump in and make a reputation for yourself. And I know you’re going to do it. You’ve got it in you, and I expect soon to hear that you are having wonderful adventures.”
“Yes, sharpening lead-pencils and filling the boss’s ink-well,” laughed Willie.
Alas for Willie! Life was not to be so placid for him as he fancied.