Away back in the middle ages, a bold, bad, blood-thirsty 131 brigand chief kidnapped the only daughter of the Empress, because of that young lady’s irresistible beauty and charm and because of his own unquenchable love for her. He, in turn, was trapped and captured by the Royal Body Guard, who brought him––manacled in chains with cannon balls at the ends of them––before the haughty Empress. He was sentenced to death by nibbling––a little piece to be skewered out of him every two hours, Chinese time.
The Brigand Chief, on the side, was a hand-cuff expert. One day he managed to slip out of his chains and away from his tiresome cannon balls. He made a daring dash for liberty, disarming and killing a sentry. Boldly, he sought out the Captain of the Royal Guard and fought a very realistic duel with him before the Empress and all the members of her retinue who came out from the wings specially to witness the sight.
The rank and file of the Royal Bodyguard––with emphasis on the rank––also stood idly by enjoying the spectacle.
At last, the Brigand Chief slew the Captain of the Guard, and the latter, as soon as he had finished dying, rose to his feet and walked calmly off the stage. Then, amid the rattle of drums and empty cocoanut shells, accompanied by fiddle squeaks, the Royal Guard rushed upon the Brigand Chief, overpowering him and loading him up afresh with his lately lamented chains and cannon balls.
A number of influential people––Princes, Mandarins and things, including the recently kidnapped only daughter of the Empress––pleaded for the gallant fighter’s life.
But,––up to closing time that night––the Empress remained obdurate; this being absolutely necessary, as the play continued for six successive evenings.
Throughout the most intensely dramatic incidents, Phil 132 failed to hear a hand-clap or an ejaculation of admiration or pleasure from the sphinx-faced yellow men about him. Yet they seemed intensely interested in the performance.
Cabbages and bad eggs, so dear to the heart of the white actor, would have been preferable to that funereal silence.
Phil was just thinking how discouraging it must be to be a Chinese actor, when, by some signal, unintelligible to him, the play ended for the night. He rose with the audience, made quickly for the only exit and took up his position on the inside, there to await Jim’s arrival. When the greater portion of the audience had passed out, Jim rose from his seat in front, picked up a white sheet from a corner of the stage and whirled it about him, throwing an end of it over his left shoulder in the manner of the ancient Grecian sporting gentlemen.
From his looks, he had about three days’ growth of whiskers on his face. His eyes, big and dark-rimmed, glowed with an intense inner fire that would have singled him out from among his fellows anywhere.