Saram's Kill-or-Cure Hair

Charley Story

Saram's Kill-or-Cure Hair Restorer Did Neither

By Bill Gill

\HE sun slid one eye over the ■ horizon and sent a beam [ straight through the wonderful ts&ifire which separates the two Wring islands. Round the head id. at that moment, swept the l all steamer “Trepang,” to go Hoping and bucking along the Iden beam. By the time the sun d hauled himself clear of the ter she was standing off Sebulu kinsula, which juts boldly from I northern island half-way across I Passage.

Dn the bridge of the Trepang s Captain Ohlsson with a hand I the engineroom telegraph. He ld him stood the boy at the eel. At the starboard end Charley tiged, his elbows resting on the Ivas dodger. kren’t you going in to the wharf, bpy?” asked Charley. l Not me,” replied Captain Ohlsson, prison ships his copra by special irter —besides, he’s too hard to get ay from.” The Old Man chuckled

piniscently.

Tn that case,” said Charley, “I’ll ig my swag aboard the dinghy igo ashore. Morrison would cut throat if I passed without call on him. He’s waiting at the Iding now.”

ERCHED, with his luggage, atop [ a stack of yams from Kitava, [ which left the dinghy with )ut an inch and a half of free ird, Charley was rowed ashore 1 greeted by Ernie Morrison. They re old cronies, these two, and ired countless happy memories.

What’s wrong with that old sllback that he didn’t step off and i me for a minute?” demanded rrison indignantly as they walked ’ough the coconuts towards his ise.

Well, you know the reputation ir parties have, Ernie,” answered arley, “and the Old Man has to his ship back to port sometime s week.” dorrison snorted wrathfully, but I not pursue the subject. >oon the couple were swapping ■ns over a glass of beer and wax ■ hilarious.

Suddenly the houseboy appeared, nibada and new Taubada ’e ne along Mission launch,” he an mced and, even as he spoke, a man’s voice hailed them from leath the front verandah.

Come in, come in!” cried Morri

son hospitably, springing to his feet.

“I’ve brought you a visitor,” said the young lady, entering the huge lounge. “I’m afraid he’s finding our Mission rather dull. I’ve got to cross the Passage, but I’ll call in for him on my way back. Mr. Morrison, meet Mr. Kane.”

Kane bowed. Then, “If Mr.

Morrison will have me for a day or two I won’t trouble you to call in for me,” he said, heavily.

“Why, surely, stay as long as you like,” said Morrison.

Sebula was well known through out the Group as “open house,” and so it was arranged.

As soon as the men were alone, Morrison turned to introduce Kane to Charley but the latter forestalled him. “Kane and I are old ship mates, aren’t we?” he said, meet ing Kane’s hostile glower with a sardonic grin.

“In that case,” said their host,

reaching for another bottle, “let’s waste no more time.’’ * * * SOME hours (and bottles of beer) later, the tension had eased.

Kane, the unaccustomed, was approaching the maudlin stage; the others showed no ill-effects and listened to him indulgently. ‘All my adult life,” Kane said, “I’ve been cursed with this infernal baldness.” He passed his hand rue fully over his white, naked head.

“Tush!” said Morrison, “Baldness is nothing—nearly everybody’s bald to some extent—men, anyhow. Why, plenty fellows like being bald!

Listen to this—”

He crossed to his desk and, after rummaging, produced a large scrap book. Opening it, he quoted: “ ‘For the third year in succession, Shunji Kida, a bean-curd seller, won the prize for the most handsome, naked and shining bald head at the ancient competition conducted during the honourable plum-blossom season at the Johoji Temple.

“ ‘He beat an impressive field of 40 billiard-ball-headed contestants.

“‘The modest Kida-san attributes his success to the polishing pro perties of bean curd with which he regularly anoints and massages his glistening scalp.’—You see?” con cluded Morrison. (Over)

"I've brought you a visitor.. ."

“Some Kida all right!” Charley commented.

Kane glanced up sharply, but de cided to let it pass.

“I’d gladly go to Japan and bury my head in a bucket of bean curd, whatever that is, for a month if it would make my head hairy, but only a fool would want to polish his head,” he said, and added: “I’ve noticed that the natives hereabouts don’t seem to go bald, and both you fellows are well thatched. I’ve been wondering if there’s any native remedy for the disease?”

“Can’t say I ever heard of any,” said Morrison, looking hard at Charley, “but I’ll ask my old cook.

He had a bit of a reputation as a witch-doctor before he took to con cocting lethal brews in my kitchen.

I’ll go ask him if you like.”

“Would you?” said Kane eagerly, “I’d be no end obliged if you would —l’ll pay him well.”

MORRISON went to the kitchen.

Returning, he said; “Yes, old Saram says he’ll try a magic brew when he goes home to his village to-night. The old fellow says he uses it himself and claims it will grow hair on a bird’s egg. He’ll bring it in the morning.”

Dawn found the three men sip ping tea on the verandah. Kane, despite a severe hangover, was im patiently awaiting the arrival of the old cook-boy.

“I wouldn’t bank too much on this remedy,” cautioned Morrison, feeling, perhaps, some twinge of re morse. “Most of these native con coctions are worse than useless.”

“I’ll try anything once,” said Kane, “anything."

But even he blanched when he saw the noisome mess that the grin ning houseboy presently brought in a large wooden bowl. It was a black, oleaginous, treacle-like mix ture from which a foetid, shimmer ing vapour arose.

“Is that the remedy?” he faltered, while Charley guffawed heartlessly.

Morrison spoke rapidly in the local dialect to the houseboy, who nodded, smiled and answered at some length and with great en thusiasm.

“That’s it,” said Morrison finally.

“Saram claims it is the stuff he uses on himself on his off-duty days. It takes from sun-up till sundown to work.”

“All right,” said Kane, “I’ll give it a go! How does one apply the stuff?”

“You’ve heard the old song?”

Charley interjected, and in a rusty bass he carolled: “Oh, the elephant is a peculiar bird, Buries his beak in the sand ”

He completed the bright little ditty. Then: “That’s what you’ve got to do: plunge your head into the bowl and keep it there till sun down.”

“Very well,” said Kane after some hesitation, “I’ll do it if it kills me.”

He took hold of the basin rim, bent over it and was about to dip his shining skull in the revolting mixture when a thought occurred to him.

“By the way,” he said, “where is this cookboy? Let’s have a look at him.”

“Certainly,” said Morrison briskly.

Then, raising his voice, “Saram,” he called, “come in here.”

SARAM must have been awaiting the summons, for he appeared in the doorway as if by magic, a smile splitting his head in two.

Kane glanced up and his eyes seemed to start from his head. With a shout of fury he sprang to his feet and hurled the bowl, remedy and all, at the cook’s head —but Saram wasn’t there.

Saram was as bald as a condor — the only bald native in the Passage! * ❖ * It took the best part of the day and a lot more beer to restore some semblance of tranquility to the scene but at last this was accom plished and the three white men sat watching the sunset over a whisky and water.

“It comes to me” said Charley presently “that last time I was in Sydney, I heard a man describe an infallible cure for baldness.”

Kane eyed him suspiciously but said nothing.

“I remember the fellah called it ‘the salt remedy,’ ” continued Charley.

“Ah!” said Kane, interested de spite himself, “the only remedy I haven’t tried.”

“It seems that all you’ve got to do is grab a handful of common salt and rub that into the hairless scalp for half an hour before re tiring at night.

“You’ve got to persevere, of course, and rub the salt in every night for three weeks during which you are on no account to wash the head or let any moisture near it.”

Kane was all ears now.

“At the end of three weeks,”

Charley resumed, “you take a dish of clean, cold water. Bend over it, hold your head as close to it as you can without actually touching it.

You must not dip your head in— just wait ”

“Wait?” said Kane; “wait for what?”

“Wait for the hairs to come out for a drink,” replied Charles, “on account of they’ll be thirsty after all that salt.”

Kane sat rigid.

“That’s ri g h t,” supplemented Morrison, “but you forgot to men tion that he must have a mat* handy so that, as each hair creeps out for a sip, the mate can tie a. knot in it to keep it from ducking back into the skull.”

Like a man possessed, Kane leaped across the room, plucked a leg from the dining table and turned to slay

his tormentors, but they, agility truly amazing in mes their age and girth, were disapp ing among the coconuts.

Saram wasn't there.