over his shoulders and flapping in the breeze.

He was a thin old man, clad in duck, turning yellow with age. When he
threw the helmet back it exposed a wrinkled brow and a baldish head,
except for a few wisps of hair at the temples. He appeared to be of great
age--a fossil, an animated mummy, a relic from an ancient graveyard;
and the stoop of his lean shoulders accentuated these impressions. It was
plain that the tropics were fast making an end of him.

He was whining querulously as I stepped ashore, and the first words I
heard him say were:

"An organ! An organ! An organ in a cedarwood box! An organ in a cedarwood
box, and the sign of the cross on the ends! Oh, why do you try my soul?
Such stupidity! Such awful stupidity!"

The native porters were grinning at him as they simulated a frantic
search for his organ in a cedarwood box, but they probably knew all the
time where it was. He was surrounded by baskets and chests; and, if the
crucifix were not enough to indicate his profession, black lettering on
his possessions advertised him as "The Rev. Luther Meeker, London
Evangelical Society." The multiplicity of labels proclaimed him a
traveller known from Colombo to Vladivostok, and he must have been
wandering over Asia for years, as his luggage was as ancient as himself.

Fighting my way out of the multitude on the river-bank, I gained the
cable office near the customhouse and reported myself in Manila, bought
all the newspapers I could to learn how the war was going in Manchuria,
and to anticipate if possible where I might be ordered next.