  “You said two men,” Biff repeated. “I’ll just bet you that one of them was the joker who paid me a visit this morning!” “You had a visitor? Early this morning?” Ling Tang asked. “I’ll say I did. Not a visitor, though. A spy, maybe—sneaking around the yard and—” “Hold it, Biff,” his father interrupted. “Why don’t you show Mr. Ling what the intruder brought you?” “Brought me,” Biff muttered to himself as he opened the safety catch of his key chain. “Some way to bring anything to someone!” He removed the ring from a tangle of keys—to his foot-locker, his suitcase, a “secret” box, and to several things he had long since forgotten about. Taking the ring by the thick circle of gold, he held it out to the Chinese gentleman. Ling took the ring in his thin hands. He looked at it carefully. “A beautiful piece of jade,” he murmured. Bringing the ring closer to his eyes, he took a loupe—a jeweler’s magnifying glass—from his pocket to inspect the ring more minutely. While he did this, Biff filled him in on how the ring had been “delivered.” “Exquisitely carved,” Tang said, removing the loupe from his eye. “What’s carved on it?” Biff asked. “It’s the Chinese character which, roughly, would stand for the capital letter ‘K.’” “Does that have any significance for you, Tang?” Mr. Brewster asked. “Indeed it does. This is the ring of the great House of Kwang. Before the Communists took over, it was one of the richest and strongest houses in all China. This ring was worn by the Great Lord of the house, and by his sons, the young lords.” “It’s funny I should get one of them,” Biff said, laughing. “I’m no young lord.” Ling Tang smiled. “Most mysterious, true,” he agreed. “And if they wanted to give me a ring, why didn’t they just send it to me, instead of throwing it through my window and ruining the screen?” “You did receive it in a most dramatic fashion.” “You can bet all the tea in China I did,” Biff said. “Perhaps, young man,” Ling said, “you received it as you did, so that he who presented it to you could keep his identity a secret. Even more important”—Ling paused to drive home his point—“he did it to keep you from seeing what he looked like.” Biff and his father exchanged concerned glances. “Were you acquainted with the House of Kwang? Did you know its master?” Mr. Brewster asked. “It is an old, old family, once strong, once rich.” An expression of sadness passed fleetingly across Tang’s face. “Until the Reds moved in and made ruthless changes, the House of Kwang lived in the same age-old feudal manner as had the founder of the family generations ago. They had rich farm lands and houses of many courts. In the Old Lord’s house, he who was called the Ancient One, there were more than a hundred courts. In America you would call them apartments or suites. Each court had its sleeping room. A room for eating. And a room, beautifully decorated with a small fish pond in its center, where the lords of the house would go to think and meditate and honor the memories of their fathers and their fathers’ fathers.” “And this no longer exists?” Mr. Brewster asked his friend. “Gone. All gone. The farm lands divided up into small communes; the mines, the grain-storage house snatched away. But the family still clings together. They still resist. Many of them are in hiding from local Red officials. The earthly possessions of the House of Kwang have been torn from them. But the family is still a proud one. They aid one another, even to helping the older members escape into the free world.” Thomas Brewster had been doing some heavy thinking. “Tang,” he said. “Tell me this. In what part of China was the House of Kwang located?” “In the province of Yunnan, south and somewhat west of Kunming, the capital of the province.” Mr. Brewster was creating the map of China in his mind’s eye. “That would be near the border of Burma.” Ling Tang nodded his head gravely. “Not far from Unhao, on the Irrawaddy River?” Biff’s father inquired. “Your memory of China is excellent, my friend. Once the Old Lord, Tao Kwang, made annual pilgrimages to Rangoon to visit the shrine of the Gautama Buddha, the magnificent pagoda of Shwe Dagon.” Biff was beginning to put the pieces together. “I still don’t get it loud and clear, but Uncle Charlie’s located at Unhao. That’s where I’m going. And Uncle Charlie’s in Rangoon a lot, isn’t he?” “Yes, Biff. He is.” “But the ring—why would someone want me to have it? Do you suppose they want me to take it with me?” “That, my boy, is the question we’d all like to have the answer to,” Mr. Brewster replied. “Gosh. Maybe I shouldn’t take the ring with me.” Tang spoke up quickly. “Oh, but I think you should. Its manner of delivery hints of peril. But its message speaks of fortune and safety.” Biff took the ring back. As he did so, a young, smiling Chinese entered the store hurriedly. “So sorry, revered elder cousin, so sorry to be late. I change quickly and take over my duties.” Tang smiled as the young Chinese hurried to the rear of the store. Biff had noticed the young man was wearing jeans and a sweat shirt. On the front of the shirt was the letter “K!” Biff turned and looked sharply after him. “Who was that, sir?” Biff inquired of Ling Tang. “My young cousin—one of them,” Tang said. “He works afternoons for the Kirby Ice Cream Co. He is much enthused about your game of soft ball. He is of the team called the Kirby Koolers.” “Well, thanks for your information, Tang. Guess we’d better be going,” Mr. Brewster said. “I’ll say hello to Uncle Charlie for you, Mr. Ling,” Biff said. “That will be most kind of you,” the Chinese replied. Both bowed to Ling Tang, and he returned their gesture with a deep bow of his own. Biff and his father were thoughtful as they walked to their parked car. Something was building. No doubt about that. But what? What was the answer to, or the connection between, the spying stranger, the ring, and Biff’s coming visit to his Uncle Charlie? The answers to those questions were not to be found that day. At home, Mrs. Brewster’s first question was, “Biff, who ruined the screen in your room?” Biff looked helplessly at his father, who merely shrugged his shoulders. “A rock, Mother. This morning, early. Fooling around....” “I thought, young man, you were old enough to know better than to toss rocks around carelessly.” Biff heaved a sigh of relief. He was going to get out of this easily. Neither he nor his father wanted to tell Mrs. Brewster the real reason for the hole in the screen. They didn’t want to worry her. “Now,” Mrs. Brewster said briskly, “we’ve lots to do today. We’ll have no time in the morning. We’ll have to leave for the airport early. Now here’s what I want you to do, Biff....” On the morning of his departure, Biff again woke early. He could hear noises throughout the house and sniffed at the friendly smells of breakfast being prepared. Everybody was up. They were all going with him to the airport. Biff looked at his watch. It was nearly seven by the time he was dressed. In one hour and fifteen minutes he would be air-borne, on his way to Chicago, the first leg in a journey that would take him halfway around the world. Breakfast was a funny kind of a meal that morning—not the food, but the way the whole family acted. The twins, of course, kept up a steady, excited chatter. Any trip to the airport made them bubble like a bottle of pop. But Biff and his mother and father either all tried to talk at the same time, or suddenly remained silent at the same time. “Biff gets all the breaks,” Ted complained. “Don’t see why I can’t go, too.” “Because you’re too young, that’s why,” retorted his twin sister, Monica. “You’re just eleven.” “You are, too,” the younger boy shot back. “Way you act, anybody’d think you were older’n me.” “Your time will come, Ted,” Mr. Brewster said, acting as a peacemaker between his youngest children. “When you’re five years older, like Biff, the world will still be here. There’ll be plenty of chances for you to spread your wings and fly.” “Right,” said Ted emphatically. “And I’ll go by rocket.” “But what about me? I’m a girl,” Monica wailed. “Yes, Tom. Answer that one,” Martha Brewster said with a laugh. “Don’t worry, Monica,” she continued, “we women will show these men a thing or two.” “Like what?” the girl said, pouting. “Like how fast you can get ready. Right now. We have to leave for the airport.” As they drove into the busy terminal, Biff felt a lump in the pit of his stomach. First signs of homesickness, he thought. It had happened before. Biff always felt homesick at these last moments. But once he was under way, the feeling left him. Except sometimes late at night, just before he fell asleep. This time, though, it was different. This was the first time Biff was going to be all on his own. Before, his adventures had been shared with his father. True, he’d be with his Uncle Charlie, but as nice a guy as Uncle Charlie was, uncles weren’t the same as fathers. Biff checked in and had his ticket cleared. At the gate, he ruffled his brother’s hair, gave him a quick hug, and turned to Monica. He lifted her off her feet and planted a big “smack” on her plump cheek. Unashamedly, he embraced his mother in front of the crowded gate, then turned to his father. The two shook hands, and Mr. Brewster placed a hand on Biff’s shoulder. “You have the ring in a safe place?” he asked softly. Biff nodded his head and touched his side trouser pocket. He had fastened the key chain to a longer, stronger chain which was attached to his belt loop. “I wouldn’t display it, Biff.” Biff nodded. He felt tears coming to his eyes, but he was through the gate and up the plane’s loading platform before anyone could see them. Moments later, the plane was taxiing out to the runway for the take-off. Biff, looking through the window, could see his family waving. After the plane’s four engines had been warmed up and tested, the giant airliner lurched forward, and in seconds was air-borne. First stop Chicago. Change to a jetliner for San Francisco. Next stop Hawaii. Then Tokyo, Hong Kong, and finally Rangoon. Biff unfastened his seat belt when the lighted sign snapped off, and looked about him. The plane was only half filled. He glanced to the rear, and his heart started pounding. Seated in the last seat on the plane’s starboard side were two Chinese. They returned Biff’s stare without expression. One of them, Biff noticed, seemed to have but one good eye. The other eye was nothing but a thin slit. |
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