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| author | www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org> | 2026-07-09 13:58:52 -0700 |
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| committer | www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org> | 2026-07-09 13:58:52 -0700 |
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| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 1 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9f57f44 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,13 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text +*.htm text +*.html text +*.png binary +*.jpg binary +*.svg text +*.pdf binary +*.bmp binary +*.zip binary +*.midi binary +*.mp3 binary diff --git a/79064-0.txt b/79064-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4facd30 --- /dev/null +++ b/79064-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11561 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79064 *** + + + + +THOSE ABOUT TRENCH + + + [Illustration] + + THE MACMILLAN COMPANY + NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO · DALLAS + ATLANTA · SAN FRANCISCO + + MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED + LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA + MELBOURNE + + THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD. + TORONTO + + + + + THOSE ABOUT TRENCH + + BY + EDWIN HERBERT LEWIS + + New York + THE MACMILLAN COMPANY + 1916 + + _All rights reserved_ + + COPYRIGHT, 1916, + BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. + + Set up and electrotyped. Published February, 1916. Reprinted + February, 1916. + + Norwood Press: + Berwick & Smith Co., Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. + + + + + To + GEORGE NOBLE CARMAN + AFTER TWENTY YEARS + + + + +THOSE ABOUT TRENCH + + + + +PROLOGUE + + +Trench had been fishing above Dixon’s mill. Dixon was gone from that +shadowy deep wild of granite and cedar, having left the key of his cabin +for Trench. But, after all, this is not the way to begin. I tell a tale +of the twenty-eighth of June. June—but the proper start is neither Dixon +nor brides nor the odour of roses; the proper start is a leaf of history. + +On June 28, 323 B.C., Alexander of Macedon died, having quieted all the +world except Macedon, which is not quiet yet. On June 28, 1389 A.D., the +Serbian nation was crushed by the Turks at Kosovo. On June 28, 1891, the +alliance of Germany, Austria, and Italy was renewed. On June 28, 1908, +the late Crown Prince Franz Ferdinand had completed his preparations for +annexing Bosnia-Herzegovina to Austria-Hungary. On June 28, 1909, Austria +was trying fifty-three Slavs for high treason. On June 28, 1910, the +newly established Diet of Bosnia-Herzegovina decided that the proffered +constitution did not suit the needs of the people, and adjourned for the +annual day of Serbian sorrow. + +It was on June 28, 1911, that Trench went fishing. On that day the German +corvette _Panther_ was setting out for Morocco to test the strength of +the Triple Entente, and King George was opening the Royal Agricultural +Show at Norwich. But on exactly that date, June 28, 1911, the +ladyslippers burst into bloom, opening a still more royal show. This was +on King George’s loyal island of St. Joseph, between Superior and Huron. +Because Trench went fishing on that day, and because of the trivial dear +event that he plucked a ladyslipper, this tale came to be written. + +He had whipped the brown stream far into the cedar uplands. At six +o’clock his creel was full of ferns and fish, and it was time to quit. +He felt some regret at leaving so good a stream, and imagined the orange +tails of the survivors all pointing downstream in the deep pools, waving +an insolent farewell. But he corrected that idle fancy. Trout are not +insolent, and trout do not wave farewell. + +Being very hungry, he built a tiny fire, broiled a half-pounder, ate the +crisp flesh, and tossed the lacy skeleton away. It fell on a flat rock, +where it looked like a fossil. It was no different from the skeleton of +its millionth ancestor. The generations of trout had pulsed along without +progress or meaning. + +As Trench started back towards Encampment, a white-throated sparrow was +asking some sort of heavenly question from the top of a charred tree. He +left a thin, sweet query in the air, as if he suspected that the universe +is a great unfinished adventure. So it struck Trench at first, till he +reflected that it was all a matter of the chemistry of light. The song +was inevitably started by sunshine and inevitably stopped by darkness. + +As he stopped to listen, turning a lean cheek away from the level sun, +Trench presumed that the thoughts of any white-throated girl were as +automatic as those of the white-throated sparrow. The young physician—he +was a specialist in the diseases of children—was determined to be +impersonal. + +For he had lost his father and mother in 1907, by the sinking of a ship. +The court of inquiry had not been able to fix the blame, and certainly +the ocean was not to blame. Oxygen and hydrogen are what they are, and +not some other thing. They are quite impersonal, and Trench was subduing +his bitter heart to the quality of these lords. + +Naturally he had found it hard to think impersonally of his little +mother. The last time he saw her was at Genoa, as she was about to go on +board. She had stood on the pier with a scarf fluttering around her neck +like a bluebird. She had put her arms around his neck, and told him how +proud she was of him. He had kissed her good-bye, not knowing that the +atoms of her lips would presently fade forever from that sweet pattern. + +There was a vain search for the bodies, and then Trench went quietly back +to Chicago. In the spring of 1909, when he was appointed instructor at +Lister, he built in Halsted Street, like an immigrant making a new start. +It was in Halsted property that the elder Trench had made his first +money—a part of the quarter million which now fell to his son. + +In unobserved ways Trench proceeded to return the income of that +inheritance to the Halsted region. In so doing he was aware of no motive. +He was neither bestowing charity nor returning property. When he put +antitoxin where it could be had within five minutes by any physician in +certain wards, his one concern was to keep the fact out of the newspapers. + +Trench had chosen pediatrics deliberately, because children would let him +alone. I do not know whether his brooding should be called abnormal or +not. But it was as uncommon as the death of parents is common. And it is +uncommon that any man, year after year, should keep a rose burning before +his mother’s picture in his bedroom. + +As for marriage, the thought of it had dropped from him automatically. He +was straight and alert and masculine, but the faces of dead mothers and +dead children filled his brain. He was nine and twenty, and scornfully +clean. Immigrants poured into Halsted Street and bred there, and Trench +worked hard to save the creatures bred. But he felt no desire to continue +his own line. He saw too many children dying—as in the streets of a +pillaged town. + +Dusk gathered as he strode along, and a cricket chirped. He recollected +that the female cricket eats a part of her mate after pairing. The +phenomenon had its parallels in human life, but he must regard it +impersonally. + +The wood road dipped downward, and by the edge he noted a gleam of +colour. He knew it for an orchid, a specimen of the showy ladyslipper. He +cut the long stalk of springing leaves and looked at the great blossom. +It seemed a bit of afterglow caught in the woodland. Yet how firmly it +swung out, cunningly backed by four white wings, like bridal ribbons +flaring. Some woman must have made the exquisite thing. + +On second thought it was not exquisite. It was a mechanism of six parts. +He saw the upper stamen—tongue-like, but not a tongue. He saw the pollen +masses, and remembered how the first bee would lighten them and make them +change position, so as to admit the second bee to the stigma. It was all +automatic, and should remind him of nothing purposive. Yet inexorably it +reminded him of Chicago. The first bee was like the envoy of the vice +trust, the second was the ordinary libertine. + +Against such natural forces he felt himself to be powerless. A vice +commission had recently laid bare the facts, long known to Trench, but he +had no faith that any good would come of it. He must learn to think of +men and women as bees and orchids. He must not blame them. He must think +vileness a matter of instinct, and instinct a matter of chemistry. + +It was at this point, when his efforts to be impersonal seemed to be +succeeding, that he was intruded upon by persons. He heard a voice above +him on the slope, and knew it for that of little Mildred, the daughter of +his washerwoman. “If I was dead, Miss Edith, now if I was dead and going +to heaven, I’d want some of them put on me to make me pretty.” + +He did not catch what the other voice said in reply, but presently the +cedars parted, and the two persons came into the path above him, with +their hands full of such flowers as he had just tossed away. Mildred ran +to meet him, while the lady stood there in the path. He reached out his +hand to Mildred, but kept looking at the figure above him. + +Fine balance, he thought to himself. It had required a great many vain +repetitions of the human biped to produce a girl who could stand like +that. She would make a good mother, and at forty she would be almost as +slender as she was now. + +Little Mildred marched him up the slope and introduced him in her own +fashion to Miss Bridgman, who lived in Chicago the same as the doctor, +and why didn’t he know her already? + +“The blossoms are just opening,” said Edith Bridgman, “and it really +seemed a pity to take so many.” + +“They are exquisite mechanisms,” said Trench, forgetting that he had +decided against the adjective. Then he added, “It would be hard to name a +finer orchid.” + +She did not answer at once, but stood looking at him. Then she slowly +said, “They declare the glory of God in the wilderness.” + +There was not much talking on the homeward way. At the trill of a notably +insistent cricket, Edith Bridgman remarked that she had always wanted a +cricket on the hearth. Trench said “Well,” and seemed about to discuss +crickets, but ended by merely remarking that he wondered what was the key +of the cricket’s song. + +They came out at the brow of the steep hill and stood looking down on +the Straits of St. Mary, where a can buoy was fading and brightening, +like the superficial daily routine of consciousness, on the surface of +the deep swift stream. It was pretty dark now, and Trench saw to it that +a neighbouring farmer took little Mildred home. + +Then he himself took the lady home to the Jackson cottage, where he met +her sister, Helena Drummond, and presented her with half his catch. +Helena was the Wife of John the banker. Trench knew the firm of Drummond +and Vevers well enough by hearsay. He knew that both the founders were +Scotch, that it was now in the hands of the second generation, and that +John lived in a comfortable West Side house built by his father. With +Helena was her only child, Robert Ogden, a boy of eight. He learned later +that an older brother of Robert had died. + +As Trench was leaving, to cross to the American side, Edith Bridgman +offered him a share of the flowers, and he took a few for Mrs. Jamison, +the old lady who had mothered him during his vacations. Mrs. Jamison was +honoured by every white man and Indian for fifty miles around, for in +her veins ran noble blood of both races. She had taught Trench to call +her Nokomis, the Ojibway word for grandmother. In turn she called him +medicine man, Mushkekeewinini. + +“Ah, you bring me the mokesin,” she exclaimed, catching the flowers to +her breast. “But you must take back two and keep them—for the feet of +your first child.” To humour her, Trench put the two in fresh water +every day thereafter, till the blossoms paled. They did not wither, but +remained toughly delicate in texture. + +He had met Edith Bridgman the second evening after his own arrival. He +always took his vacation early, to be ready for the stress of summer +work, and there remained only ten days before he must return. During +these he made himself agreeable. Bobbie took to him at once, and together +they visited Indian camps. + +He rowed the Chicago women across the river and introduced them to Mrs. +Jamison and Moira and Shane, and thereafter Edith and Helena went over +almost daily. Helena was an ardent suffragist, and the old lady discussed +the subject with an insight which astonished her. Helena did not know +that in her girlhood Nokomis had stepped in and out of great London +houses with as little self-consciousness as if she were in the wigamigs +of her famous grandfather. “You are tired of being squaws, I suppose. It +is a hateful word, and does not exist in the Ojibway language. With us +a woman is equay—just a woman. But with us, too, women have sat in the +councils. My dear, I shall call you council-woman, ‘Gegidoquay.’ And this +girl who brings me sunlight every day I will call ‘Gizhegoquay,’ woman of +the morning.” + +On Sunday of that week, Potter, an unsuccessful little man who lived in +an unwholesome little bay, came to report that Mildred was sick, and +wanted to see the doctor and Miss Edith. They ran down in the Jackson +launch, an old-fashioned naphtha affair, and Trench found the child +suffering from injudicious feeding. Mrs. Potter, a tawny, fiercely +maternal young woman, marvelled at the gentleness and swiftness with +which the doctor made his examination, and the way the child clung to +him. Mildred was the one thing in Mrs. Potter’s life. The cabin was +poverty stricken. + +On the way back Edith was full of questions about pediatrics, and managed +to learn something of Trench’s surgical work, and the fact that a certain +finger-tip was more useful to him than both eyes. + +As they passed the point it blew a gale, and suddenly half the launch +seemed to leap into flame. Something had happened to those open rows of +naphtha jets. The cutoff was aft, and before Trench could move, Edith +had thrust her left hand and arm into the flame. She groped for the +valve that supplied the fuel, and found it and closed it. She had saved +Trench’s surgical finger, and scarred herself for life. + +When he had extinguished the remaining fire, Trench turned to the +victim, and she held up her burnt hand. Instantly there rushed upon him +a passionate desire to press it to his lips, and he was surprised at the +degree of self-control he had suddenly to exert. + +But the impulse passed, and he stripped off his flannel coat-shirt and +ripped it into bandages. The girl rocked back and forth to ease the +anguish, but she joked as if it were all a merry game. She should never +want to wear a short-sleeved dress again, she said, but she thought +short sleeves becoming to the doctor, who was now poising above her in +the tossing boat like a sea gull. Trench unscrewed the oil cup from the +engine, anointed the wounds gently, and swathed hand and arm. Never had +he done a quicker or neater job, but he would much rather have given his +own hand for amputation. That night in a dream he kissed the injured +hand, and caught her to his breast. He coldly charged up the dream to +physiological profit and loss. + +A week later he strapped his suitcase, helped Shane Jamison carry down +his trunk, and went back to make sure that he had forgotten nothing. The +two cypripediums stood in the old bit of lustre ware that Nokomis had +lent him. He was about to toss them out the window when another insane +impulse mastered him, and he hid them in his long pocket-book. + +Half an hour later he was standing on the deck of the little mail +steamer. Everybody had come to see him off. Even Mrs. Jamison had got +herself into a canoe, and there she sat with a paddle in her hand, +pretending that her son needed help. + +“Good-bye, Nokomis,” called Trench softly, as he leaned over the rail. + +“Good-bye, Mushkekeewinini,” she answered tremulously, like the secret +voice of all the woods bidding a lover farewell. + +He gazed down at the swart and noble old face, and thought of his little +mother, tossing somewhere with tangle and with shells. Once more he +leaned down and called. “Send for me, dear, if you need me.” + +The boat swung away, and he lifted his hat to all the good friends on the +pier. But what lingered in his gaze was something that fluttered from a +right hand—the other being still in a sling. Edith’s handkerchief rippled +in the brilliant northern air, an evanescent patch of light against the +eternal shadow of the woods. So she herself had gleamed across the shadow +of his life. Well, he had not made the mistake of offering her that +shadow to live in. + +But even as he reasoned, he wished that she were there beside him on the +deck, that he might throw about her an arm which would neither press her +nor release her till he had kissed all that refinement of feature. He +walked forward and stood in the bow. The fresh breeze smote him in the +face like a restorative, and he vowed that he would never set foot in +Drummond’s house, where she lived, an orphan like himself. + +He thought to end it so. But Trench was the slave of memory, the memory +to which many a child owed its life. During that winter he never saw her, +and yet the thing was happening to him. The infection was in every vein. +His unwilling blood was perfumed with her. The dream he had suffered at +Encampment began to recur. Once more the launch would spring aflame, and +once more she would hold up her burnt hand, like a child, to be kissed. +He would catch her to his breast—when instantly the boat would disappear +and they would drift side by side on a black ocean—where steamers called +to each other wistfully. She seemed a patch of phosphorescence, and he +another, impotent phosphorescence of reason on an ocean of instinct. + +The parting request which he had made to Mrs. Jamison was earnestly +meant and seriously taken. In the dead of winter he was not surprised to +receive a wire from Miss Moira: “Mother has pneumonia. We must not be +selfish, but she wants you to know.” Trench had a cold, but he caught the +first train to Sault Ste. Marie, was met next day by Shane Jamison with +a sleigh, and sped twenty miles down the frozen straits under a lowering +sky. Late in the afternoon, far ahead of them, something crossed the ice +like a sinister thought. “Timber wolf,” said Shane. + +He frowned as his gaze followed it. “Last night,” he said, “I heard a +knocking at the back door, and opened, and there was no one there. That +is what I heard the night before my father died. It was his call.” + +After warming his hands, Trench went up to the patient’s room, and found +the windows admitting plenty of fresh air. Mrs. Jamison was propped on +pillows, breathing rapidly, and coughing a little. The massive, prophetic +old face lighted up. + +“I knew you would come, and the tribes in Chicago must spare you, because +I have something to say to you for their good.” + +Trench kissed her, regardless of the risk, and made his examination. +The red count and white count were satisfactory, and there was some +temperature, a fact at which he was rather pleased than otherwise. The +heart was not so good. + +“Have you any hopes that I am going to get well? I know that what you say +will be the truth.” + +“Yes, Nokomis. Good hopes.” + +“I would like to live another year,” she said, “for two reasons. I want +to eat huckleberries again. I want to eat meenin and milk, but mostly I +want to see you married. You brought your Gizhegoquay to see me.” + +“Not mine, Nokomis,—and I am afraid that talking will tire you.” + +“I have eyes, my son, and I looked into yours. I still have eyes, and +down the years there are children waiting for the right parents.” + +Trench was silent. + +“Ah,” she said, “I feel better, now that I have told you. I feel well +enough to die. I am a foolish old Indian, who needs to die and learn +something. I want to know why Gizhe Manido had to let his son die on the +cross. I want to know why it was necessary to kill so many children when +my grandfather drove the Sioux out of this country. In my heart there +is a birch bark scroll with many questions to ask in heaven. I’ll find +my husband, and my two little boys, and we’ll go to get our answers. +There’ll be some sort of place where He will answer—not one by one, for +there are millions in the class, all hearts together. There are millions +in the class, but only One to answer. He’ll stand there in a seamless +robe with light and a smile.” + +Trench seemed to choke as he listened. Strange world of the +imagination—illusions exhaled by the human brain so soon to be resolved +into silence and the winds—why should it exist at all? And why should it +tear so at his heart strings? He could not say, but he must try to think +these matters out, in physiological terms. + +He rose now, and insisted that she must sleep. He administered the +heart stimulant, sent Miss Moira to bed, and settled Shane on the couch +downstairs in the living room. + +The birch snapped in the fireplace, and he remembered the Ojibway +tradition that when the hearth burns bright, the spirits of the children +who have died are laughing there. But the wind howled outside, and a +snowstorm was in progress. It must have been eleven o’clock when there +came a knocking. He heard Shane spring to his feet and go to open the +door, for Shane had no fear of ghosts, although he heartily believed in +them. + +Nokomis was resting quietly, and Trench slipped downstairs. He saw the +muffled form of little Potter, standing in snowshoes. Under his arm he +carried a second pair, and in his hand a lantern. + +Mildred was very sick. She had been taken down a week ago with a chill, +followed by a fever. She coughed all the time. Potter had heard that +the doctor had been sent for, and he knew he had no right to take him +away from Mrs. Jamison, but last night Mildred was out of her head, and +to-night she couldn’t seem to get her breath. It was awful outside, and +probably the doctor had never used snowshoes, but would he come? + +Of course he would come. But as he thrust his hypodermic case into his +waistcoat pocket, Trench realised that he was taking chances. It would be +necessary to charge both Shane and Miss Moira with directions as to what +to do in case of a collapse. So Shane aroused his sister, who was alert +on the instant. + +Trench put on a pair of Shane’s boots, to which Potter bound the +snowshoes by deerskin thongs. He wrapped himself warmly and set out into +the night. The wind seemed to tear his breath from him, even as pneumonia +was tearing hers from Mildred. + +They took to the frozen straits and kept to them. They hugged the shore, +being guided by the roar of the wind in the trees, for the lantern was of +no assistance. Trench fell repeatedly, and had to be helped to his feet. +But after four miles of this sort of work they got to the bay and saw the +dim light from the log cabin. + +They struggled in. Instantly Mrs. Potter was down on her knees, slashing +the thongs that bound the doctor’s feet. But at one glance he saw! +Mildred was going fast. + +“Calm yourself, Mrs. Potter—” and Trench had her hand in his and his arm +about her shoulders. “Potter, open that window.” + +“It’s nailed down, doctor.” + +“Open it.” + +Potter seized a hammer, drew out two nails, and shoved the window up. The +storm roared in, but it did not reach Mildred, who was on the other side +of a red-hot stove. + +Trench lifted the child and her wraps, and stood beside the window. Even +as he did so, the final wave of purple swept upward on the little face. +There was a last heave of the failing jaw, and Trench turned away from +the mother to hide it. + +For the next half-hour, Trench had his hands full. The mother was as +maniac as any woman who was ever put in a strait-jacket, but he managed +at last to get a shot into her arm. As for Potter, he suddenly seemed a +paralytic. + +Trench put Mildred back in the two chairs which, lengthened by boards and +lashed together by tarred string, had served for her bed. He closed the +sweet eyes. He propped the jaw in place till the lips smiled, as if she +were thinking of ladyslippers. Then he sat down beside her, holding a +little hand as it grew cold. + +Mrs. Potter, partly relaxed, lay on the bed moaning. By and by she +struggled to a sitting posture, started to leave the bed, and reeling, +sat down on the edge of it. + +“This is what comes of loving your neighbour as yourself. If I hadn’t let +that old Injun have you, I’d have my baby now.” + +“No, Mrs. Potter. It was too late some hours ago.” + +“It wouldn’t have been if Fred had left the word last night. He went +over to the Jamisons’ and knocked on the door, and then he got scared and +skinned away for fear of doing what he hadn’t no right to do. I’d let all +the Injuns in the world die for Mildred’s sake.” + +“We can’t tell, Mrs. Potter. We can’t say I could have saved her.” + +“Then what made you open the window?” + +“Fresh cold air is the best remedy for pneumonia. I ought to have told +you that last summer.” + +“They wan’t no call to tell me then. I’m a poor ignorant fool of a woman, +what didn’t deserve to have no child. There don’t nobody deserve to have +children. Just you remember that.” She blindly struck the edge of the +bed, time and again, with clenched fingers. + +“I shall remember it,” said Trench, and Potter looked up and shivered. +Trench relinquished the little hand, laying it across the breast. He +turned his chair, and spoke again. + +“You’ve had her, Mrs. Potter. Nothing can take that from you.” + +The woman wailed, but checked herself. “It’s true. My life wasn’t nothing +till she come. But God knew that. He knew that! No, he didn’t know it—for +there ain’t no God.” She stared at the black window as if a fearful +annunciation had been made to her from out the night. + +“Mrs. Jamison would make you feel differently. You have been generous to +her. She would say that God will not forget that, and will give Mildred +back to you.” + +“I don’t see what Mrs. Jamison has to do with us. Here’s me and you and +Fred, and there lies Mildred. You tell me there’s a God, if you dare! +You tell me I’m going to hold that baby in my arms again, and maybe I’ll +believe it.” + +Trench was silent. + +“Shut the window, Fred. I’m cold, and the doctor is coughing.” + +“You’ve got to trust something, Mrs. Potter.” + +“I can’t trust things no more. Look at that white thing.” + +“If I were you, I would trust in God.” + +“You ain’t me. You don’t trust Him, and I don’t trust you. But you are a +good man to come here this awful night. I guess I can stand it without +comfort. I got to stand it. You and Fred sit over there awhile. Talk to +him if you can. He don’t know whether he’s foot or horseback.” + +Trench moved over by Potter, but they could not talk. Mrs. Potter went +about her work calmly. She knew what to do. She had helped lay out folks +before. + +It was only when she brought out a little white dress that she broke down +again. “My God, my God! I was hoping she’d be baptised in this. I made +it out of a dress that girl of yours gave me. May she never see her baby +lying like that.” + +Even at that moment Trench had a temperature, but the blood retreated +from his face. She came nearer and looked at him. + +“So that’s where it hurts,” she said. + +Then she turned to her husband.—“I tell you one thing. I ain’t going to +have another child. And I ain’t never going to church again.” She threw +herself on the bed, weeping with hard raucous intakes of breath. + +Trench tried to brush the whole scene out of his mind. He had another +patient, and he must get back to her. But how? Potter was obviously +incapable of making the trip again, and if a man fell with snowshoes on, +he would need help. + +At last Mrs. Potter recovered herself and finished her work in silence. +The two men sat on into the grey dawn, and the woman lay down and slept. + +Then came a shout, and Trench stepped to the window. He saw Shane Jamison +standing on snowshoes in the edge of the reeds. Trench went out to him +bareheaded. + +Mrs. Jamison had had a sinking spell, and if the doctor could come, he +was wanted. Trench returned for his things, silently shook hands with +Potter, promised to be back when they buried the child, and departed. + +One disaster was destined to follow another. When Trench reached Mrs. +Jamison’s side, she was dead. Miss Moira sat by the bed, tearless, her +proud face set to endure the inevitable. + +In two snowbound woodsheds, two men fashioned coffins, the one for his +aged mother, the other for his little daughter. + +A few neighbours were able to make their way to the Jamison home when the +mistress of it was laid to rest. The wind sorrowed in the pines, as it +sorrowed a million years ago, before the days of sorrow. Miss Moira stood +bareheaded, straight and tall, and read the service without faltering. +Trench was one of the bearers, and he too stood uncovered in the frosty +air and afterwards helped Shane fill the grave. + +On the following day he stood with Potter and Mrs. Potter beside the +grave in the pasture. Mrs. Potter was burying her child without bell or +book. The tiny scratch which had been made in the surface of the earth +seemed like a chasm, august and forbidding. When the two men had let the +coffin down, and both stood trembling in the cold, neither daring to +throw the first shovelful, Mrs. Potter turned to Trench, and beneath her +tawny hair her face was white as the one now hidden. + +“Can’t you say nothing?” + +Trench could no more have spoken than he could have raised the child +from the dead. He fell to coughing painfully. But with numb fingers he +took something from his pocket-book, and knelt, and dropped his two dead +flowers on Mildred’s breast. + +Mrs. Potter bent and put a hand beneath his shoulder, and he seemed to +need that help as he rose. “I understand,” she said. “You are giving her +all you got, and giving up all you got.” + +And then Trench went back to the desolate Jamison house and had +pneumonia. It was a swift and bitter business. Getting a doctor was out +of the question, but Moira and Shane stood by as best they knew how. What +they found hardest to endure was his delirium, when he kept calling on +names they had never heard before. + +“Jaffer, Jaffer, can’t you see it? Is there nobody about me? Tell Becker +to come, before it gets to the door.” + +“I’m here,” said Shane. “What do you want me to do?” + +“Stop that white hearse! Stop it! It’s there! By God, it’s there.” + +There was a week of this sort of thing, and then Trench knew where he +was. He was up north, and Nokomis was dead, and Mildred was dead, and +soon there would be silence for him too. + +But he did not die. He got well in about the usual time and returned to +Chicago. Only—his mind had taken on a permanent set. + +To describe him as he was in 1912 or 1913 is not easy. He had no +philosophy—to have one would have seemed to him like stopping to +dramatise one’s self. He was busier than ever, and self-effacing. To call +him a materialist or a pessimist would only raise a dust through which +the core of his activity would be invisible. But he dealt as little as +possible with “persons.” To him babies were now water of Lake Michigan, +thickened with colloids, enclosed for a while in membranes, and returned +to the lake. + +Meantime nearly two billion other human beings were pursuing their hopes +and fears. On June 28, 1912, the English women who wanted votes began to +smash windows at London, while Lord Morley was carefully explaining the +theory of democracy at Manchester. On the same day the Democrats were +taking their first ballot—preferring Mr. Clark to Mr. Wilson. On the same +day certain Turkish troops mutinied, a fact which pleased the Balkan +states, who were about to enter upon war with Turkey. On June 28, 1913, +Bulgaria, not content with the Turkish territory allotted her, began war +on Servia. The Triple Alliance was due to lapse on that date, but the +Turkish defeat led to its renewal. + +On June 28, 1914,—but we anticipate. All the rest that we have to record +comes before or on that date. + + + + +I + + +The names which Trench had uttered in his delirium were those of medical +students who lived in his house. The first floor of it was occupied by +a drug-store, and the second by his own quarters, but the third he had +divided into six little suites, of two rooms each. He had intended them +for Halsted Street boys, but he found that foreign students had trouble +in getting rooms, and he threw open his doors to them. + +Of the five students who were living in his house in 1913, two cooked for +him, and served as office attendants. These were Chatterjee of Calcutta +and Wu of Hong Kong. + +It was late in August when Trench’s cool impersonal way of regarding +things was suddenly put to a severe test. + +Chatterjee had just gone on office duty. The first man gave his name +as Ischl. Chat reported the name to the doctor, who had on his desk a +delicate piece of apparatus, which he was repairing. + +“Ask him if he owns a clothing factory.” + +Chat vanished and returned. “He says yes.” + +“Then I say no. Show him out.” + +Presently Chat admitted Arschiak, an Armenian painter, whose wife had +been killed in the massacres of 1909, but who had escaped to America +with his infant son. Trench had seen the child through an attack of +infantile paralysis and saved him from being a cripple. Arschiak now +unwrapped a package and set a little canvas on the desk, against the +piece of apparatus. It was a sketch of the point below Encampment, as he +had guessed it from a photograph he had seen in Trench’s library. It +was painted in open sunlight, and was really a remarkable little tour de +force. + +“For me? Why, man, this is worth twice my services!” + +“One artist to another, monsieur, with love and homage. You have a Della +Robbia above your desk. Pray have the poor Arschiak on it—about here.” + +After Arschiak had gone, Trench gazed at the little treasure and +remembered that day in the launch. How incredibly clear and bright it had +been. The mountain on St. Joe had seemed as near as a reformer’s ideal. +It was the height of rudeness never to have called on the girl who had +given her beauty to save his hand. + +Here Chat entered and closed the door behind him. “The other man has not +gone, doctor.” + +“Let him in, Chat.” + +Ischl entered, burly-boned and dewlapped, and started to seat his great +frame. + +“Stand up,” said Trench sharply, as he went on adjusting a tiny screw. +“So you are Ischl. Isn’t it possible to insult you?” + +“What do you mean?” + +“You know what I mean.” + +“I’m damned if I do.” + +“Well, I mean that you’re a bloodsucker and a dirty dog.” Here Trench set +his apparatus carefully aside and stood up. “Now I’ve told you what I +think of you, and you needn’t spare the furniture.” + +“I come here to get help for a little girl. I ain’t come here to fight.” + +“Well, you can go away again, and go quick. I’ve done enough for you. +I’ve patched up a scabby little son of yours that you never saw. Get out!” + +Ischl stood irresolute. Then he sat down. “I think probably you can knock +me out,” he said, “but I’m too heavy to throw out, and I’ll kill that +brown man if you call him.” + +Trench took up the telephone and asked the nearest police station for an +officer. Then he lifted the apparatus again, and finished adjusting the +tiny screw. + +Ischl did not take the hint. + +“It ain’t my fault if my women go wrong.” + +“I don’t say it is.” + +“I suppose you think I should worry about them.” + +“I don’t say so.” + +“Then what in hell—I suppose you mean it ain’t your fault if my Elsie is +sick.” + +“Quite so.” Trench released a cylinder that began to turn silently. + +“I ain’t sparin’ no expense,” continued Ischl doggedly. “I’ve got the +best man I know. His name is Ernst, and he ain’t so young as he was.” + +“If Ernst can’t cure your child, nobody can.” + +“Ernst sent me to you. I’ve got a letter for you.” + +“Take the letter back and tell him that he adds insult to injury. He +introduced me to the world, and now he introduces me to you. You’re +rotten to the core.” + +Ischl clenched his fists, but suddenly relaxed them. “I may as well own +the corn. Elsie got her trouble from me.” + +At this point the telephone on the desk rang, and the doctor lifted the +receiver—“Yes,” he said. + +Ischl heard a light crackle, as of a woman’s voice, to which the doctor +presently responded. “Yes. I was thinking only a few minutes ago that it +was inexcusable.” + +Again the faint crackle. “The little boy? I am very sorry to hear it. I +shall be glad to consult with Rowland. Ask him if eleven o’clock will do.” + +“My God!” broke in Ischl with a roar, “you can’t be there.” + +Again the faint crackle, and this time the doctor turned to Ischl. + +“Is this case surgical?” + +Ischl held out the note, and Trench read it, and it was profane. Ernst +had not been called soon enough. Had he seen the case earlier, it would +have yielded to treatment. As matters stood, the child was likely to lose +an arm. + +Trench turned again to the transmitter. “Yes, it is surgical, and I will +attend to it. I’m glad Girling is the next man on the list. Good-bye.” + +Trench glanced once more at the note. “Mr. Ischl, I wouldn’t lift a +finger to save your life. But a lady heard you and pleaded for you. Do +you still want me to see your daughter?” + +Ischl gulped hard, drew out a checkbook, and wrote a check for a thousand +dollars. Trench took it and tore it up. + +Ischl protested fiercely. “I’m going to pay you.” + +“You haven’t money enough, Mr. Ischl.” Trench touched a button. Chat +instantly appeared, and was told to send the officer back. + +“Look here, Doc,” said Ischl, “I know there’s girls named Elsie in my +shop. You visit my shop. If there’s anything you want done, say so. I’ll +do it, if it puts me out of business.” + +Trench turned upon him—at the sheer poetry of the man’s first sentence. + +“You are speaking before a witness. Mr. Chatterjee will not forget your +words.” + +“Mr. What’s-’is-name can damn well remember them, then.” + +“Very good, Mr. Ischl. I will visit your shop to-morrow.” + +In the best room at the Children’s Hospital, Elsie was lying with her +right arm and hand immobilised. She was not pretty, for her forehead was +square and her face flat. She was weak and restless. Part of the night +she had been in a stupor. + +The nurse was mildly busy about the room. Beside the bed sat the +white-haired Ernst, famous in his generation. + +“Elsie, my boy has come to see you. This is Dr. Trench.” + +“Is he really your boy?” The voice was very little and very hoarse. + +“No, but then you aren’t Isabel’s mother.” + +“Yes, I am. Give me Isabel.” + +Trench lifted the doll and put it close to Elsie’s heart. Then he pushed +the doll gently aside and bent down to listen. Elsie put up her good hand +and fingered his hair. It was not very soft, and it twisted a little at +the top of his forehead. + +“Can you make me well again, doctor’s boy?” + +“Of course. You do ask such funny questions in the morning.” + +“Oh, I wish it was evening. I want to go to sleep.” + +“Didn’t my little girl sleep well last night?”—It was no voice Ischl had +heard. It reminded him of a woman dead these three years—dead of a broken +heart. + +“I don’t know. I guess I don’t wish it was night.” + +“Why don’t you take a nap, sweetheart?” + +“I can’t take a nap. Oh, I wish I could take a nap. If you would take me +up in your arms, maybe I could go to sleep.” + +“I will,” he said, and knelt beside the bed, and seemed to gather her in +his arms. In five minutes she was asleep. In ten she had sunk into the +stupor again, and later, in that condition, took the anæsthetic without +knowing it. + +Ischl went into the corridor. He walked up and down, that big assemblance +of a man, tears streaming from his eyes. He saw Trench come out, saw him +give some directions to an interne, saw him disappear into the robing +room. Then, like many another father, he went into a waiting room—and +waited. + +An hour had passed when he saw something white wheeled through the +corridor. He was quite sure that Elsie was dead, and put his head down +heavily in his hands. Hardly had he done so when he felt a kind touch on +his arm, and Trench was saying, + +“Here, here, this won’t do. She’s going to be all right now for years, +and maybe always.” + + + + +II + + +It was only half-past twelve when Trench got back to his office, and Wu, +who was now on duty, reported that Dr. Rowland wished Dr. Trench to call +him up, at Mr. Drummond’s. Trench complied. Mrs. Drummond had brought +Bobbie down from Encampment, sick. It had taken Rowland some time to see +the case as diphtheria. He had given ten thousand units, but the child +was growing rapidly worse. Rowland would feel better if the case were +transferred to Trench. He had said as much to Mr. and Mrs. Drummond, and +they had consented. + +Trench guessed that what was really weighing on Rowland was his loss of +the older child. Otherwise he would merely have repeated his request for +a consultation. Trench promised to come at once. + +Shortly after one he was admitted to the Drummond house. Drummond came +forward, his face tense with anxiety. Helena Drummond was in the third +story, with the boy and the nurse and Dr. Rowland. Presently in came +Edith Bridgman. As Trench took her hand the impulse again rose within +him. Strange—almost sinister—at such a moment! + +He went up to the third story, donned his gown, and entered the sick +room. Helena greeted him. “This is terribly different from Encampment.” + +Trench smiled. “He is stored full with summer. Don’t worry!” + +He went to where Rowland sat by the bed. Bobbie noticed him, in spite +of feeling so light in the head, and reached out a hand. It seemed to +take all his time and attention to draw his breath. Trench guessed that +within an hour Bobbie would find it pretty hard to do even that much. + +Dr. Rowland told all that he knew of the boy’s clinical history, and then +took his leave with the manners of the old school. As he went downstairs +he felt very much chagrined, but he was a Christian gentleman, and knew +that he was doing the right thing. + +“Well, Bob,” said Trench, “I haven’t forgotten that you are going to be a +scout. Does your breath come pretty hard, scout?” + +Bobbie grinned and nodded. + +“It will come harder yet, so that your mother will be scared. You know +what women are like. Think you can stand it?” + +Bobbie shut his teeth—for one second—and nodded. + +“If you say so, I’ll slip a little tube in there, and you’ll breathe +easier.” + +“Ready,” whispered Bobbie stridently, and it made his head whirl. + +“Put a sheet around him, Miss Neale, good and tight, so that he won’t +biff me. Saw a papoose in the hospital the other day, Bob. It couldn’t +sleep, and they couldn’t make it sleep. I remembered the one you and +I saw in the woods—the one that was set up against a tree. I said to +myself, if Bob Drummond were here, he’d tell the nurse to set the kid +up against a tree. So I did. And she put a small board to his back—one +of those boards that they iron coatsleeves on, and strapped the kid to +it—that’s good, Miss Neale—and held him upright, as Miss Neale is holding +you, and he went to sleep like a coon in the top of a gumtree. Here’s +the tube—which we fasten like this on the end—like a trout on the end of +a fork—while Miss Neale holds the scout’s mouth open—from the side—very +nicely—with a bridle on the end of a pair of—steady, scout!” + +Bobbie was struggling for breath. He was a bear with dogs at his throat. +Everything was growing black, like night in the woods. + +There was a swift finger-tip in his throat—the poising of something +exactly beside it, a gentle pressure, and still the finger-tip while the +other hand withdrew. Then Bobbie felt himself coming up out of dark, deep +water, because the bear—or maybe it was one of the dogs had jumped down +his throat—like Hiawatha down the sturgeon—and let the air in. + +“Good scout! Shall have a decoration when the war is over. Hear the +breeze whistling up the river. Cough all you please, but I don’t think +you’ll cough up that one.” + +When Bobbie’s arms were free again, Mrs. Drummond followed Miss Neale +into the next room. + +“Did it have to be done?” + +Miss Neale looked at her sharply. “Couldn’t you see? No, of course not, +for I didn’t myself. How did he know that there was going to be that +sudden plugging? He deserves his reputation.” + +“And it was—a good job?” + +“Exquisite. Not a second lost. And gentle—why, I’ve seen lacerations that +would make you sick.” + +Helena returned to the sick room. Bobbie was still coughing, but the +doctor was smiling at him, and the boy was smiling back. His head did not +whirl, and the scoutmaster was standing with him, shoulder to shoulder. + +Trench gave more antitoxin that evening. Bobbie drank his milk according +to orders. Bobbie beckoned to his mother, to indicate that he would like +to kiss her good night. Trench shook his head. Then Bobbie reached out +and pulled on the doctor’s gown. Trench bent down, and Bobbie kissed him +full on the lips. Then the sufferer dozed a while, though real sleep +would not come. + +Grey morning, and Bobbie got to coughing again, and up came the tube. + +“What’s this, what’s this? Scout carrying concealed weapons? Let me see +where it came from?—Ah, sky’s clearing up. Pink morning at Encampment. +Good day to go fishing.” + +“They bite best when it’s cloudy,” said Bobbie, in a drowsy but +unobstructed voice. + +“So they do, so they do,” murmured the doctor. But Bobbie was asleep. + +Miss Neale knew that they were by no means out of the woods yet. The next +night or two would bring their own problems, and she was glad now to be +relieved by a second nurse. But before she slept, she expressed to Mrs. +Drummond her feeling that the worst was over. + +Helena telephoned the whole story to her husband. “Try—try to express +your feelings to him.” + +Feelings? When Trench descended, Drummond seized him by both hands. + +“I’m not a rich man, as rich men go to-day, but you can have anything +I’ve got. I’m going to do something for you. If you can’t think of +anything better, perhaps I will build you a children’s pavilion for the +Lister.” + +“You mustn’t say such things to me, Mr. Drummond. Nobody ever did before. +I might take you up.” + +Edith Bridgman brought the doctor his breakfast, which she had prepared +with her own hands. He did not know that the silver was her mother’s +wedding silver and had not been used since her mother died. She said +something about the need of beefsteak after a hard night—tried to say +something else, failed, and left the room. + + + + +III + + +Trench was pretty tired that morning, and handed certain cases over to +his oldest student, Becker, and lay down in his office to rest. He could +not sleep, however, for he kept remembering Drummond’s words. Drummond +had of course spoken in emotional haste, and would make no further +reference to a children’s pavilion. But how tremendously Lister Hospital +needed such a thing—a genuine place for bedside teaching for the boys of +Lister College. It was no exaggeration to say that the average doctor +graduated without sense enough to strip a child before examination, +and without knowing how to hold it. Trench’s own will was made out in +favour of Lister, but it directed all his fortune to be applied toward a +research laboratory. He had no heart to begin the enterprise himself, or +any enterprise. What the devil was the use of supplying the Ischls with +grist? + +At the same time, he had the habit. And if the Drummond child got well, +and Drummond relapsed into the customary indifference, why, Drummond +should in due time be reminded. He, Isham Trench, who had not asked a +favour of any human being in six years, would go to the man. He would go +at Easter time, when Drummond would be glad that one son was in heavenly +bliss and more glad that the other wasn’t. He would go, and Drummond +would turn him down to the tune of the Hallelujah Chorus. + +Speaking of Ischl’s, he had promised to go to that hell of a shop and +criticise it. He might as well give up this napping business and go. This +he proceeded to do. As he expected, he found Ischl in a sullen rather +than a chastened mood. Trench pointed out numerous deficiencies—the +inspectors had done it before—and ended by telling him that his +wage-scale was a disgrace to a white man. All of which was useless, +competition being competition, and Ischl’s scale being higher than that +of many shops in Rochester and New York. + +That afternoon he got a nap, and that evening he returned to the Drummond +house. + +The night proved better than he had any right to expect. By four in the +morning he was reasonably certain that the heart would stand the strain. +Nor did he see any reason to change his mind when at six he studied the +pulse and the face. He washed up and went down. + +Again Edith had breakfast ready for him. + +“A very good night,” said Trench. “Errors and omissions excepted, Bobbie +is going to get well.” + +“I have been praying for you all night. Your news is just like heaven.” + +Her hand trembled a little as she poured out his coffee for him. She sat +down opposite, but would touch no food until she had seen him begin to +eat. + +“Somehow,” she said, in a low tone, “I am haunted by the feeling that +this dreadful disease may be unreal—a bad dream that we have conjured up +in our fear.” + +“You are tired, my dear lady. May I ask where that plant came from?” +He pointed to the centre of the table, where a single superb stalk of +leaves, freshly cut, rose from a vase. + +“It came from Encampment. I brought home twelve, and gave Mrs. Potter a +white dress for them. Do you remember them?” + +“I remember perfectly. You said that they declared the glory of God in +the wilderness.” + +“And you”—Edith laid down her bit of toast and leaned forward—“said that +they were exquisite mechanisms. Did you see my name in the commencement +list this June?” + +“I regret to say that I did not.” + +“I took honours in botany.” + +“Glorious! Let me offer tardy congratulations.” + +“You’d better, because it was your doing.” + +“My doing!” + +“Yes, sir. I determined to know something about the exquisite mechanisms.” + +“I trust that they still seem exquisite.” + +“They do. Every fact I learned seemed like a loving response from God.” + +Then they ate in silence, and to Trench it was like being married. To +glance across and see her sipping her coffee, to receive a second cup +himself and note the horizontal movement of her deft hands—as of advance +and retreat—it was all new to him. + +She finished first and sat regarding him thoughtfully. “Helena telephoned +me that Bobbie insisted on kissing you last night. It was very wrong for +you to let him do it. You may pay with your life, as Phillips Brooks did.” + +Trench rose, and was surprised at a sudden tremor of his whole tired +body. “I am immune,” he said. “My blood has developed its own antitoxin.” + +“If you were twenty years older,” she cried, “I would kiss you myself for +saving our boy.” + +It was nothing much to say, but Trench caught her hand and raised it +almost to his lips before his nerves stopped the lever of his elbow. He +caught himself in time, and seemed merely to scrutinise the scar. “I wish +we could do something for this place on the finger. Some day your wedding +ring will partly cover it. Tell him to get a broad one.” + + + + +IV + + +When he had gone, Edith stood thoughtfully looking at her hand. How his +own had trembled! Then she went to the telephone and called Helena. + +“Have you had your breakfast, you old dear?” + +“_Have_ I? I’m so happy and so hungry. Has the doctor gone, and is John +up?” + +“John is not up, and the doctor has gone. He is terribly tired, Helena.” + +“Of course he is. He hasn’t had his clothes off for two nights. You +should have seen him, Edith. He chummed with Bobbie like a boy, and then +when the little man was asleep he’d sit and watch him like a marble +statue. I had the queerest feeling about it. He didn’t seem quite human. +What fools we women are. Edith, I think I’m going to cry.” + +“Don’t you dare, Helena Drummond! Be cold, be cold like Dr. Trench, for I +want some advice.” + +The telephone seemed to blow its nose violently, and resumed its calm. +“What advice do you want?” + +“Helena, I want to do something. Bobbie is just as much mine as he is +yours. So be a good girl and point out a dove for my offering, and I’ll +go after it, even if it flies out the window.” + +“It’s dear of you, Edith. I suppose you can send a check to some of the +organisations for children. There’s the Welfare Association, and the Home +for the Friendless, and St. Joseph’s Home.” + +“I was going to do that, anyhow. Which one shall I send it to?” + +“I don’t know that it makes any difference. When the husband is a +deserter, the children have to be sent to one of the homes for a while, +and there are so many deserters that both places need money all the +while. Dr. Trench told me last night of a deserted Greek woman he saw +last week. Her husband went home to fight the Turks, and survived, but +didn’t come back to her. She was trying to keep her family from going +to either home. She has a baby two months old, and she was starving +herself and the baby to get food for the other two children. His young +Mr. Deland got track of her and took her two quarts of milk one evening +after the children had gone to bed, and she made gruel for herself with +the whole two quarts, and ate till midnight. I think the doctor tries to +handle such cases personally. He keeps his family of students looking +after them, and doubtless pays the bills himself. But it doesn’t cure +desertion.” + +“No, I suppose not. But I want action. Can’t I work for the United +Charities? It won’t cost them a cent, and I’ll try not to bungle the job.” + +“You can telephone and find out. I don’t know how much responsibility +they would let you assume.” + +“What would I do?” + +“I suppose it would depend on whether you were in the office, or out as a +visitor. You might ask to specialise in desertion. But you won’t get any +thanks.” + +“I don’t want thanks.” + +“Perhaps not, dear, but you want to consider. A friend of the doctor’s +was in the Court of Domestic Relations the other day for the United, +asking to have a professional beggar sent to the Bridewell. A paper wrote +him up as the authorised beggar trying to suppress competition!” + +“Helena, are you trying to stop me?” + +“You know I am not. I just want you to know what you’re entering upon.” + +“Well, Helena, I give you warning that I’m about to enter upon +something. I’ll send beggars to the Bridewell, or I’ll bring the deserted +here and enlarge the family circle, unless you object.” + +“Edith—you might consult Dr. Trench.” + + + + +V + + +The next day, as Trench came down into the hall, Edith was waiting for +him. + +“You haven’t seen my plants, Dr. Trench. Can you spare the time?” + +She led the way to the conservatory, where, in a shady nook, the +cypripediums stood in a bank of feathery moss, like green-robed girls +awaiting bloom and bridal. On the way back, Edith stopped beside a +wonderful begonia rex. “I learned something interesting about the +epidermis of begonia. In case of injury, it has a quite exceptional power +of restitution. Some guardian angel seems to weave the pattern again.” + +“That is very interesting.” + +“Isn’t it! When you said ‘exquisite mechanisms,’ of course you didn’t +mean _only_ mechanisms.” + +“I’m not a botanist, my dear young graduate.” + +“Well, you are the inspiration of a college girl; so you’d better answer +my question.” + +“What question?” + +“Is it only photochemistry that makes the begonia restore itself?” + +“I presume so. But who cares?” + +“I care,” she cried. “If it’s only chemistry in a leaf, you’ll say it’s +only chemistry in me.” She glanced at the scar on her hand. + +Trench smiled gravely. “I shall not say anything that I’m not compelled +to say.” + +“But if life is only chemistry, there is no heaven. Oh, if Bobbie—” She +could not go on. + +“We love Bobbie,” said Trench, and the child’s father could not have +said it more gently. “But love would always stay the passing moment, +and nature will not have it so. I say ‘nature,’ regretting that it is +necessary to use any word.” + +“Dr. Trench—is it possible that you look forward to absolute extinction?” + +“Yes. Certainly.” + +She pressed the scar as if it burned again. + +“I have thought of you as the person who opened my eyes to the glory +of God’s world. I can’t get used to the change in a minute. Won’t you +sit down—here on this long wicker affair where Bobbie loves to read +fairy-tales?” + +Trench did not comply. “I’m afraid,” he said, “that we can’t agree about +life, unless we agree that it consists of vain repetitions.” + +“Surely not vain—oh, surely not. You must have practiced a hundred times +on dead throats, to have saved Bobbie’s living one.” + +“This is a good place to stop, Miss Bridgman. I’m glad to leave you +cheerful.” + +“Cheerful about what?” + +“About the dead throats of other people’s nephews!” + +She did not flinch. “If I am hard-hearted,” she said with dignity, “I am +willing to be told so.” + +Trench sat down. He knew perfectly well that he was a fool to do it, but +he had long felt that it would come to this; he was doomed to confess. + +“Very well, Miss Bridgman. Let us continue to speak of vain repetitions. +There are sunrises, for instance. They are an old story, and I dare say +that they tell you the old, old story of Jesus and his love. But to me +they are impersonal, and I am glad of it.” + +“What bitter words! I fear that I have done you no good by asking +questions. I have—intruded.” + +“You are welcome,” said certain vocal chords huskily, contracting against +their will. + +“If I am really to be one of your friends,” she smiled, “I must learn +more. I think I’ll go back to the University and prove that life is a +good deal more than photochemistry. If you’ll come here in June, I’ll +tell you the result. Come when the first cypripedium opens. This year it +was on the twenty-eighth.” + +“I’ll be here, June 28, 1914.” + +“Thank you. And now I want to ask your advice about some social service.” + +“Please do not.” + +“But I feel so selfish. I am as useless as a cypripedium.” + +“You are more beautiful than any cypripedium, but beauty is a sex fancy, +like religion. And of course you are useless. Use is another fancy.” + +“Thank you almost to death, Dr. Trench. And what about yourself?” + +“I’m an atom. And being an atom I don’t believe in the reformation of the +world by young-lady power.” + +“You sound brutal, my friend, but I can’t forget Bobbie or our little +woodland Mildred. How is she?” + +“She is beyond the fear of brutality.” + +“What—our little one! Oh, was it necessary to take our little +flower-girl? She told me that she wanted those flowers when she died.” + +“I saw her die, Miss Bridgman. I saw that operation. Her mother came out +of the ether badly.” + +“Ether?” + +“The ether we call religion. It is what deadens everybody.” + +“Can you speak so, Dr. Trench? Can you ridicule all this splendid +collective effort that is beginning in the churches?” + +“I do not ridicule a clinical picture. I see no difference between the +parents of illegitimates and the parents of slaughtered legitimates. One +group say they couldn’t help it, and they couldn’t. The others croon a +song called Precious Jewels, and breed again. For such people to organise +committees of fifteen is not collective effort, but collective insanity.” + +It staggered her, of course. She was too deeply shocked to speak. + +Trench softened his voice to a professional tone. “Gentlemen, the work of +saving sick babies is growing magnificently. The Welfare Association is +caring for three thousand a year, and the death-rate is only thirty in +the thousand. Very low, gentlemen.” + +She smiled a little. “I love to hear you speak that way.” + +“Of course.” + +“Doctor, you evidently think me securely etherised. If you think my +throat needs an operation before it can tell the truth, I’m ready.” + +Trench looked at her—young, beautiful, beloved—and would have turned +back. But he heard within him that echo of anguish—“May she never see her +baby lying like that.” He seemed once more to be in that lonely cabin on +that deadly night. At last he spoke. + +“Mrs. Potter told her husband that she would never bear another child, +but she has one already. In speaking of it to you, I don’t wish to be +dogmatic or cocksure, but I do wish to be impersonal and honest. And it +seems to me that every child born should be considered a unit in infantry +sent out against appalling odds. By using the lives of infants man has +overrun the earth. He thins out his own numbers for the greater security +of the survivors—and is the only animal who does so. I don’t call man +the most cruel of all the animals, for he doesn’t know what he is doing; +he is born callous, and the chemical impulses that drive him give off a +religious vapour that deludes him. Still there is the fact—comfort at +the expense of infanticide, whether bloodless or armed. And the standard +of comfort has risen so high that a great war is probably at hand. The +barometer of the birthrate is falling rapidly, but not because we pity +children. We are more considerate of cows, grain, and mothers, because +we’ve got to have cleverer sons to exterminate our enemies. What is going +on is the unobserved, scientific extermination of every stupid enemy. The +Welfare Association is merely a group of opium-eaters, who don’t know +that they save weak children because any one of them may have a brain +that will exterminate thousands. I do not blame them. I am in the same +business.” + +“Horrible!” + +“Exactly. If mothers understood the situation, there would be no +children. But it will take a great war to make them see the point, and +then they’ll forget it.” + +Edith was silent. + +“Now and then,” continued Trench gravely, “an animal has emerged who +understood it. I conceive Jesus to have been such an animal.” + +“It hurts.” + +“I thought it would. Shall I stop?” + +“No! This is your confessional!” + +“Jesus saw life as it is, and desired its speedy extinction. The +mechanism of his agony made him dream of relief. It manufactured an +idyllic future life—a perfectly impossible cycle of nutrition without +reproduction. He declined myrrh and hyssop, but he offered paradise to +the crucified thief, and the uncrucified thieves have been using that +drug ever since.” + +Edith grew pale. + +Trench waited a minute till he saw the blood return to her face. “Animal +indifference still keeps us going, and women protect themselves. They +take this twilight sleep, this belief in a future life for defeated +young. Women believe in heaven, and that is why they marry.” + +“Doctor—I’m strangling!” + +“Steady! The blind instinct comes first. With Christ, heaven was an +afterthought of mercy. With men and women, it is an afterthought of the +reproductive instinct. The operation is over, and you are coming out of +the ether. Steady—don’t struggle.” + +But Edith clutched at her throat. + +“Oh, base and cruel! And this is your unspeakable philosophy. I don’t +believe there is a thinker in the world who would subscribe to it. I’ll +find out. I’ll get the arguments. Here and now I declare war on you.” + +But suddenly her voice softened. “In spite of all your dreadful +pessimism, you’ve got to advise me. I’ve sent the Welfare Association +a check, but that is nothing. It is too impersonal. I want my love for +Bobbie to take some better form. I want to be personal—like you.” + +Trench burst into bitter laughter as he rose. “‘Personal like me’ is +simply stunning. But I can’t advise you. Personal effort is a gross +illusion, as if one child set out to stop a war. But waste your sweetness +where you will.” + +Edith caught her breath. His scorn had stung her into a bold thought. “I +won’t be laughed at, Dr. Trench. I’ve stood my operation and live to tell +the tale, but if you laugh at me I’ll make you smart.” + +“You can’t.” + +“Think again, Dr. Trench. You like to be impersonal. But what about +impersonal passion?” + +Trench stopped short in his tracks. “I don’t understand.” + +“Don’t you? Don’t you know men who have it? Did it never occur to you +that impersonal could be used in that sense? There are wretched girls in +Chicago who have been loved impersonally enough.” + +Trench ought to have expected some such retort, and might have been +expected to meet it readily. But such was not the case. It struck him +like an angina, crushing the breath out of him. It disorganised all his +old adaptations. In this world it makes a difference who says a thing, +and this fact was coming home to Trench as he stood with parted and +paling lips. But he recovered from that dismay, and the real Trench spoke. + +“I understand you at last. If you can be a personal friend to any girl +who stands within that danger, go to her.” + +“Where shall I go?” + +Trench thought a moment, his face set like marble. “Go to Ischl’s +clothing factory.” + + + + +VI + + +When the doctor left the Drummond house that day, Edith went to her +room and thought over the situation. The mirror showed her that her +cheeks were flushed, and she found herself walking around the room, +unnecessarily putting things to rights. + +What had she done? In the first place, she had listened with reasonable +politeness to some very extraordinary language. There had been a certain +austerity about it, a surgical cleanness, but it had been merciless. In +all her life nothing had so surprised her. What else? She had promised +to be a personal friend to some unknown girl. Personal friendship with +the poor was notoriously a chimera, but she had driven Dr. Trench to +a dramatic impasse where he had married her off to some unknown girl +forever. + +Finally, she had engaged to show Dr. Trench that the chemical theory of +life is impossible. At least, she was going to get the arguments. And to +understand them, she must do laboratory work. + +Before she forgot all the things he had said, she must make a memorandum. +She hunted up a note-book, and wrote down every sentence she could +recall. More than once she dug the pencil through the paper. She would +understand this man. She would analyse him as if he were a starfish. + +She told Helena what advice he had given her, but nothing of the +discussion which led up to it. Neither did she explain just why she was +going back to the university. + +At last quarantine was lifted, and the windows were opened to blow away +the last reek of formalin, and Bobbie came down. The car was at the door, +to take him out into the air. + +“Aren’t you coming with us?” Helena put her arm around her sister’s waist. + +“Not I. I’m off—to enlarge the family circle.” + +Helena kissed her. “You blessed Don Quixote. But you’d better do a little +choosing, as I told you. Take Mrs. Draper’s advice.” + +Edith watched the car whirl away triumphantly. She closed her eyes and +spoke within her soul to the Presence there: “You are good to us still. +Always good to us.” + +Then she made ready and found her way to little Mrs. Draper, of the +Woman’s Trade Union League. Mrs. Draper received her with a nervous +handshake. + +“Helena Drummond’s sister is very welcome in this office. It’s well that +you didn’t let your brother-in-law bring you, because he scares me with +his handsome big countenance before I can really remember my rights. He +banks for several of my bitterest enemies.” + +“Do you really have enemies? How can anybody be your enemy?” + +“You are a nice girl to say that. But no member of the Illinois +Manufacturers’ Association would shed tears if I caught something in the +shops, and were driven off in a beautiful automobile hearse.” + +Edith’s eyes looked very tender. “We’ve just been spared something +like that at our house. My little nephew has pulled through a siege of +diphtheria, and is now out for his first ride.” + +Mrs. Draper’s mobile face was all sympathy. “I am so glad for you. Maybe +Mr. Drummond won’t feel so stern toward the factory girls he doesn’t know +anything about. And now what can I do for Helena Drummond’s sister?” + +“You’ll laugh at me.” + +“Maybe I shall, but you mustn’t mind.” + +“I want—a friend. I’ve always been to school, and Helena’s suffrage craze +has brought only her own friends to the house. They’re very nice as folks +go—but they lack flavour.” + +“I can introduce you to flavour,” said Mrs. Draper, thoughtfully, “if +you’re quite sure it’s what you want.” + +Edith pondered. “Of late,” she said, “I hardly know what I want or what +I mean. I want to find out whether I can be real personal friends with a +factory girl, and it must be a girl whose moral surroundings are against +her.” + +“It’s a curious wish, Miss Bridgman, but it does you credit. Praise God, +the great majority of the girls are wise in their generation. But there +are exceptions enough. I think of one shop—there’s no worse shop in +Chicago—where no virtuous girl can hope for good wages.” + +“Will you name it?” + +“Ischl’s. A girl named Clara Narcisco told me last week that she was +going to be a forewoman at Ischl’s, and I did my best to stop her.” + +“I’d like an Italian friend. We spent a winter in Florence when I was a +little girl.” + +Mrs. Draper glanced at her watch, drew a pad of paper forward on her +desk, and scrawled an address. “Go over at once and ask for her. And may +the good Lord give you tact out of His abundant tactfulness. Amen.” + +Twenty minutes later, having threaded her way down side streets, up a +flight of stairs and between crowded power machines, Edith found the +object of her search. Clara Narcisco was sitting in a window and eating +a cream puff. Outside the window, on the platform of a fire escape, sat +another girl. Edith introduced herself, and Clara brought a chair for her. + +“Are you slumming, Miss Bridgman?” + +“I am, Signorina, and I wish you to come slumming in my street. The way I +keep my room is a sight.” + +“That is a great big whopper,” said Clara judiciously, elevating one end +of the cream puff so that it would not trickle. “Anybody whose clothes +fit ’em the way yours do don’t leave no muss about a room.” + +“Do you really like this dress? I made it myself.” + +“It’s too plain,” said Clara, “but it hangs something elegant. Are you an +inspector?” + +“No. I’m a sort of fraud, because I don’t often make my own dresses.” + +The girl on the fire escape was listening to all this, and now she leaned +forward. “Are you a representative of the idle rich?” + +“I am.”—As she spoke, she feared she was carrying the pose too far, but +she was vastly mistaken. + +“Miss Bridgman,” said Clara, “this is just as good as a show at the +Venezia. We welcome you to our palazzo Ischl. Allow me to present my +humble friend, Elsie Shaviro on the new fire escape.” + +Edith was equal to the occasion, and rose and bowed. “I am highly +flattered to meet Miss Shaviro, and I request the honour of both your +presences at my mansion this evening to dinner.” + +“Brava! brava!” shouted Clara. “You done that fine, Miss Bridgman.” + +“You are to call me Edith. I want you two girls for friends, to have and +to hold, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in +health. You two are it, if you’ll have me.” + +“Quit your kiddin’, Miss Bridgman.” + +“Whom are you addressing?” + +“Gee! You dare me to try it on? Well, watch me! Edith Bridgman, did I +hear you invite me to eats this evening?” + +“You certainly did. I’d rather go to your house, but you don’t want me.” + +Clara looked at her long and keenly, and then she pulled a handkerchief +from her belt and pressed it against her eyes. + +“You’re all right—Edith. But what’s the use? I can’t go after any +pipedream like that. I got a brother and sister to look after. My mother +is dead, and my dad—God only knows where he is. Maybe Elsie will go.” + +The girl on the fire escape leaped lightly in, and Edith saw that she was +no ordinary person. Edith could think only of Nazimova, though Elsie’s +face was untrained to pretence. + +“I am a socialist,” said Elsie. + +“I don’t care,” said Edith. + +“But I do. If I go to your house I am disloyal to the workers. If you +would join the socialist party—that would be different.” Elsie took off +her eyeglasses to wipe them, a process which revealed the loveliness of +her dark eyes. + +“I should cut a pretty figure joining the socialist party for love of +you,” said Edith. “All I know about socialism was learned in one quarter +of economics, and it struck me as what Clara calls a pipedream.” + +“Of course it did. But if you would be as poor as Clara and me you’d be a +socialist.” + +“I ain’t so sure of that,” interrupted Clara. “I’m a good Catholic. It’s +only Sheenies like you that get nutty over socialism. Anyhow, you ought +to give the poor little rich girl a chance. You can’t say, Edith, I’ll +love you if you’ll send a hundred beans to socialist headquarters.” + +“That’s so,” reflected the Yiddish girl. “Could we be friends for a +year, Miss Bridgman, and then quit if you would not have succumbed to +propaganda?” + +“Yes, that’s fair. But you must call me by my first name, and come to +dinner.” + +“I’ll call you Edith, and it’s a pretty name. But I’m proletariat, and +if I will dine in a rich house I will not feel comfortable. I spend most +of my evenings studying. When you would study with me, perhaps we could +be friends after all.” + +“I’m to be in the University this year. But we could spend Sundays +together.” + +“Oh, dear, oh, dear,” cried Clara. “I was the first one she spoke to, and +now I ain’t in it a little bit. I ain’t highbrow enough. I see little +Clara going with Gino and Maria to the nickel show forever and ever.” + +“Do you love the theatre?” + +“Do I love teatro? Santa Chiara, what a question! There’s girls in this +shop that would go wrong to get a ticket.” + +Edith opened her pocket-book. “You give this dollar to some nice old +woman to get dinner and stay with Gino and Maria, for you and Elsie and I +are going to see the best play there is in this town to-night. La prego +umilmente.” + +Clara took the dollar bill and put it back into Edith’s pocket-book. “If +Madonina can talk Italian, she is coming to eat spaghetti al pomidoro +with Clara and Gino and Maria. Altro! The awful Sheeny can come too, and +we three will go to the big show.” She suddenly leaned down and kissed +Edith, and friendship was sealed. + +Clara’s quite unexpected surrender seemed to impress Elsie.—“If you are +going to Clara’s house, you must come to mine. My sister is going to be +married next week, and you may as well see what we are like.” + +“I shall be more than happy to come. And isn’t there something friendly I +can do for you? Think hard, Elsie.” + +“Well, when you would help me with shall and will and should and would +and a few things like that, it would be very kind. You could call me down +every time I make a break when I talk. And I’m reading Westermarck, and +I could write out the main things in each chapter, and send them to you, +if you would be so very kind and correct them.” + +“Splendid! Send your papers to me at the address I’m pencilling on this +card. Do you mean the Westermarck who wrote about the origin of moral +ideas?” + +“Yes. That’s the man. I’ve written one chapter already.” + +“Here, you girls,” cried Clara, “don’t you get agoing on any more +highbrow stuff. The whistle’s going to blow pretty quick. But tell me who +sent you here.” + +“Mrs. Draper told me your name.” + +“Mrs. Draper’s all right, but she’s too swift. She wants us to organise +this shop. You ought to see my girls upstairs. They’re just over and they +can’t speak a word, and they don’t know enough to go in the house when it +rains.” + +“We did think of organising,” said Elsie, “but there’s a good reason why +we aren’t trying just now.” + +“What reason?” + +“Because Ischl has turned decent already so sudden. Look at the new +fire escape. He was reported already by the inspector time and again, +but he’s got such a drag that he ain’t got to obey the law. Look at +the new fans—why, we nearly died this summer with the heat. Look at +the carpenters over there. That place wasn’t fit for a decent girl to +go into. There’s handrails on the stairs and rubber on the steps, and +they’re fixing the exits. And, listen, Edith Bridgman, last week he +actually raised the scale! Ischl is going to die.” + +Clara tossed her beautiful head. “’Tain’t that, Elsie. He is cleaning up +in my honour.” + +“I wonder,” said Edith apprehensively. Her desire to help was obscuring +her sense of humour. + +“I’m kidding you,” said Clara. “Ischl is scared. There’s going to be +trouble in the shops again this winter, just like we had three years +ago. Things is awful dull, and the girls are working for nothing.” + +“Never you mind, my dear! I promise right now to go on picket duty with +you and Miss Starr. And if we get arrested, my sister will bail us out.” + +“You’re all right, Edith. But there’s worse things than being arrested. +Flesh and blood can’t stand what I stood across the street.” + +“What was that, Clara dear?” + +“Why, I was over there and I was an experienced girl. I knew how many +coats a girl could make. To make them good with small stitches I could +make seven in ten hours. Well, the boss comes along and he says to me, +‘I want ten coats a day from you. I want all these girls should make +ten coats a day.’ ‘Basta, basta!’ I says, and I stuck my fingers in my +ears. ‘I don’t mean no basting,’ he says, ‘I mean whole coats.’ ‘Well,’ +I says, ‘you’re the boss, but no greenhorn can do it. I’m an experienced +girl,’ I says, ‘and I know. They can’t make five!’ ‘Let ’em take the +coats home,’ he says, ‘if they want six dollars a week.’ Then he went +off, and the greenhorns had to take coats home and work fifteen hours and +they couldn’t make seven coats then. He kept coming round to me. ‘I want +somebody to make them fools work,’ he says. ‘The contractor he cuts me +twenty-five cents on a coat, and I got to live.’ ‘You got to live, have +you?’ says I. ‘You’re a rich man and you talk like that. What about me? +Where do I come in? Ain’t I got to live?’ ‘Oh,’ he says, ‘you’re pretty. +You don’t have to work.’ He wasn’t far off and I slapped his face for +fair. ‘Come now, Clara,’ he says, ‘I didn’t mean nothing. I’m going to +make you forelady so you can learn ’em something.’ First I didn’t say +nothing, I was so mad. But then I began to think about little Gino and +I began to cry. ‘All right,’ I says, ‘I’ll be forelady, but if you ever +speak like that to me again, I’ll kill you, and after this I’m going to +carry something that ain’t ribbons in my stocking.’ So I was forelady. +But then I couldn’t stand it at all. I was such a fool I didn’t pipe that +all he wanted me was I should wring the girls out like dishrags. I went +to him and I says, ‘I’m going to quit. I’m going to try it at Ischl’s.’ +‘Ischl’s!’ he yells. ‘He’ll say things to you I never said.’ ‘Don’t fret +yourself,’ I says. ‘I’ve got that thing in my stocking yet.’ Would you +blame me, Edith?” + +“No.” + +“Well, I come over here and told Ischl I was an experienced girl and I +was a forelady, but I didn’t want no job to drive niggers. So Ischl took +his cigar out of his mouth and looked at me. ‘My forewomen,’ he says, +‘don’t drive no niggers. I seen some handwritin’ on the wall. Damn it,’ +he says—Ischl swears something awful—‘damn it,’ he says, ‘you can ask +Elsie Shaviro. She’s forewoman on the second floor, and she’s a good +one. But I got a fool for a forewoman on the third floor. Mebbe I’ll put +her back on a machine and let you try to boss ’em. You sure can’t do +any worse,’ he says. And then he showed me a peach of a scale he’s just +drawed up. ‘Well,’ I says, ‘Mr. Ischl, I guess you did see some sort of +handwriting on the wall. I ain’t asking what,’ I says. ‘But I’ll say this +right here off the bat, that if I give satisfaction there won’t be no +walkout in this place.’ ‘Damn the walkout,’ he says. ‘Go and see Elsie, +unless you’re sore on Sheenies.’ ‘Sheeny or Catholic,’ I says, ‘they all +look alike to me in the shop.’” + +Clara stopped, quite out of breath, as the whistle blew. + +“Wait just a second,” said Edith. “I want your address.” + +“No, you couldn’t find it, cara mia. Be at Hull-House at six, and Gino +will find you.” + +“All right. I’ll stay there in the car till he comes.” + +“The car! Santa Maria Vergine! I’ll be scared to death and my other dress +ain’t much better than this one. But oh, you automobile!” + + + + +VII + + +They had an extremely good time at the play, and the very different but +very real impulsiveness of all three girls drew them closer together as +they laughed and wept at the same things. On the way home Clara confided +the fact that the leading juvenile strongly reminded her of her own +_innamorato_, who was the best of all possible men, and who had a job in +the Chicago Public Library. Edith heard this with satisfaction. Clara was +clearly in no danger from Ischl. + +During the entire evening Elsie held a long envelope in her hand, and on +parting from Edith she handed it over—her first paper on Westermarck. +Next day Edith read it, and a baffling thing it was to correct. +The author’s most significant phrases were there, the harvest of a +discriminating eye, but they were innocently linked by curious slang +and un-English idiom. To raise the tone of the one and straighten the +deformity of the other took Edith a whole evening. But could she have +seen Elsie poring over those corrections and fixing each in mind, Edith +would have been well rewarded. + +That first paper was about marriage customs. As each division of Dante’s +Commedia ended with the stars, so each paragraph of Elsie’s summary +ended with the Jews. She focused everything on the enslaved condition of +Jewish women. Marriage is indissoluble among such creatures as Papuans, +Igorrotes, Veddahs, and Roman Catholics, but a Jew can divorce his +wife for any one of many reasons. It would be better to be a Moslem’s +wife—divorceable for no reason at all! In like manner every part of the +Jewish ceremony came in for ridicule. The custom by which the young men +lean against the wall and watch the girls dance was a survival of days +when girl slaves were put through their naked paces before being bought. +The wearing of a kittel, or white cloak, by the bridegroom, was a device +to scare the bride with the thought that even in death he was to be her +master. The crushing of the wine-cup on the floor was a similar bit of +intimidation. And above all, the use of two ceremonies—one religious and +one civil—showed clearly enough that the lofty masculine sentiment was +hypocritical. In short, Elsie had embroidered Westermarck with her own +red thread. + +Edith was therefore not surprised, on the evening of the Shaviro wedding, +to see Elsie go through the bridesmaid’s part without the least attempt +at charm of manner. A proud oriental figure she made as she stood there +by the white canopy, but a certain calm disdain flashed from behind her +eyeglasses as she watched Rachel march seven times around her Marcus. + +Perhaps if Marcus had been more to her liking, Elsie would have had more +patience with the ancient ceremony. But Marcus was what is technically +known as an “allrightnik.” He united a profound veneration for antiquity +with an insolent adequacy in the clothing business. Rachel was graduating +from the dingy flat to a rococo house near Douglas Park. + +When the ceremony was over, Marcus made his _Drosche_ speech, and was +rewarded at the end of each paragraph by the presentation of a gift for +his bride—or himself. Edith listened with amazement as he turned toward +her and began to talk about dishes. He quoted from the Talmud concerning +clean and unclean. He told how a Jew had turned the tables on a goy by +giving him the uncleanest of _tref_ basins to wash in. Then he had the +nerve to refer in luscious terms to the friendship of Rebecca and Rowena, +and stopped. + +Elsie whispered to Edith. “The fool expects you to bring him a cup or +something from the set you are giving Rachel.” + +Edith flushed, but rose to the occasion with plenty of dignity. As Marcus +waved a bit of Limoges in air he cried, “It never came from Klein’s!” and +the crowd cheered. + +The disgusted Elsie drew her friend away. “I want you to come in my room +and see where I live.” + +They entered a little rear bedroom. It was doubtless a dark room in the +day-time, but it looked very cheerful now. + +Edith glanced at two photographs that stood on the dresser, and Elsie +advanced and picked one up. “I cut this out of a magazine and pasted it +on an old photograph, because it looks so much like you.” + +Edith laughed, but she was touched by the little tribute. “You shall have +a photograph of me by the very next mail, and I’m going to photograph you +myself in about nine different poses.” + +“Eyeglasses and all?” + +“Yes, indeed. The eyeglasses are a part of your beauty.” + +“I’m not beautiful, Edith. I wish I was, but I’m not.” + +“I would not hear your enemy say so, honey. When you get a little bit +wrought up about socialism, you look like a French aristocrat ready to go +to the guillotine. Who is this other person?” + +“That’s Marie Sukloff, and they’re scared to death of her in Russia. When +I see a farce like that in the other room I wish I was a revolutionist, +too.” + +“I thought it very impressive.” + +“Oh, yes. Mothers have to weep. But it’s a long time since I heard a +prayer, and I never want to hear another.” + +“Don’t you go to the synagogue?” + +“No. I wasn’t to Shul in two years. My folks feel awful about it, but +there’s no sense in religion. It keeps people contented with things as +they are, and everything is all wrong. Folks think too much about heaven, +and not enough about earth. We’ve only got one life.” + +“Do all the socialists feel that way?” + +“Most all of them. They tell about Christian socialists, but I never saw +one. It will be a monstrosity.” + +“Would be,” murmured Edith. “I hate to correct you, dear. You say there +is no sense in religion, but there is certainly none in idioms.” + +“Edith, are you going to try to make me religious? If you are, we can’t +be friends. Suppose I got married without any nonsense like that in +there, or any marriage certificate. You wouldn’t invite me and my man to +your house. You know you wouldn’t.” + +“I would if I had a house of my own.” + +“Would you come to see me?” + +“Of course.” + +“But you think marriage is a sacrament, and I think it’s a habit.” + +Elsie was sitting on the edge of her little bed, and Edith came and sat +down beside her. “My dear, you aren’t going to put me to any such test, +are you?” + +There was silence for a moment, and then Elsie smote her white hands +together. “I don’t suppose so, oh, I don’t suppose so. The right man will +not come along. But if he did come—I would go with him even if he was +married.” + +Edith was silent. + +“I know what you’re thinking. Edith Bridgman. You want me to be perfectly +respectable like your friends. You say your sister works for suffrage, +but people like you and her don’t know anything about it. Russia is the +only place where women are alive.” + +“I’ve read about them, dear. I’ve read ‘Anna Karenina.’” + +“Piffle! I hate to be jabbed with a hatpin.” + +Edith was silent again for a little while, but her blood was slowly +rising. + +“I thought you were a socialist.” + +“I am, if there ever was one.” + +“Well, I thought socialists stood for peaceful revolution.” + +“We do. We believe in the ballot box.” + +“Then why do you talk like Emma Goldman?” + +“I don’t. I want love, and I want a child. Emma says that the workers +have no business to bring children into the world to be slaves. It’s +a nasty thing to say, Edith, unless you are going to be a nun. I want +a child, and I want him to grow up and fight for the workers. And I’m +twenty years old, and haven’t seen a man who has any fight in him. I +won’t marry a creature like Marcus. My husband has got to be willing to +die for the workers.” + +“Well, my dear, I can’t object to that—unless he is already married +before you meet him. May I tell you a secret?” + +Elsie put an arm around her and drew her close. “Maybe you _are_ a +friend,” she murmured. + +“It isn’t much, but I have refused two men because they were not the kind +I could look up to.” + +“I thought it was going to be more of a secret, but it’s quite a good +deal. I suppose they were both rich.” + +“One was. The other will be.” + +“And you didn’t dope yourself with the idea that you could use your +husband’s money to help the poor. The poor! Say, Edith, you ran a risk +making love to Clara. She was one of the girls who smashed a movie that +some of your friends took in the Italian quarter. She’s sweet as sugar, +but when she has told you about that stiletto she has told the truth. Oh, +what a mixup folks are! Clara’s a Catholic, but what’s the difference +between a Catholic with a stiletto and an I. W. W. with a gun?” + +“None at all, my little bunch of black pepper. And they are both like a +socialist without a wedding certificate.” + +Elsie pondered, and saw the point quickly enough—but thought is not +always efficacious. “I will make no promise,” she said, haughtily. “You +judge everything by your silly New Testament, just as my folks judge by +the Talmud. You haven’t any passion or any courage.” + +Edith’s love for Elsie was only a week old, and infant loves are easily +strangled. “I think you’ll find, Miss Elsie Shaviro, that the New +Testament is about as impassioned and daring a book as was ever written. +The third of John is the boldest thing ever said on the planet. But you +are so wrapped up in Jewish prejudice that you dare not read it.” + +Elsie lifted kindling eyes. “You’ve got more stuff in you than I thought, +and I won’t take a dare.” She turned and gave Edith a vigorous kiss, and +infant love got its breath again. + + + + +VIII + + +The preceding events bring us up to September 11, shortly before Lister +opened for the college year 1913-14. All of Trench’s family of students +had stood by him through the summer except the one Yankee, who was +working in a boys’ camp, and who had now returned. + +On September 11, the Persian student, Ameen, went over to Lister to carry +a message to the dean. He found the “old man” conversing with a new +student—apparently some sort of oriental. The dean’s eye brightened at +once. + +“I was on the point of telephoning you. This is Mr. Saadi Sereef of +Bokhara, and I want to place him in the care of Mr. Ameen of Isfahan.” + +“You could do me no greater favour, doctor. Salaam alêkom, Mr. Sereef.” + +The stranger arose and bowed gravely. “Wa-alêkom salaam, Mr. Ameen.” + +“So that is the way orientals salute each other,” smiled the dean. +“Salaam means peace, does it not?” + +“Yes, doctor,” said the new student. “It is first principle of my +religion to say peace and mean war.” + +The dean turned to Ameen. “Mr. Sereef comes to us from Vienna, with +credentials which cover four years above the Matura examination. He +enters with us as a junior, though I suspect that he knows more surgery +than most of you. He would naturally report to Dr. Trench. He has been +in Chicago a month, but if there is a possibility of changing his +boarding-place—well, I leave that to you.” + +Ameen delivered his message, and the two orientals bowed themselves out. + +“Who is Dr. Trench?” + +“I live with Dr. Trench,” said Ameen, his dark eyes glowing like pansies, +“and the dean meant that perhaps we could find room for you in the +Caravansery. That is what I call his house. It is in Halsted Street.” + +Saadi Sereef nodded. “I know Halsted Street. I went to Hull-House to find +teacher to teach me idioms. I know all American slang.” + +Ameen laughed. “In the Caravansery we have a sophomore who will keep you +in practice. His name is Deel’nd, spelled Deland, and he comes from Salem +in Massachusetts.” + +“Where you learn such beautiful English, Mirza Ameen?” + +“Do you think I speak well? I try very hard. I began in the Protestant +College in Beirut, and I have done much translating.” + +“I will never learn beautiful English. I always say v when I should say +double-you.”—This piece of self-criticism was entirely accurate. Saadi +never captured a w. + +“I shall never speak good English,” he repeated, “but you and I can talk +Persian.” + +“As you wish, but we stick to English at the Caravansery. It is our only +safety, because there are Wu and Chatterjee and Becker.” + +“Chinese, Bengali, German,” commented Saadi without enthusiasm. + +“Becker is a Russian.” + +“Becker should not change good Slav name. I do not like Germans, and +Germans do not like me. Well, you offer me room in Caravansery?” + +“Yes, Mr. Sereef, subject to the doctor’s approval. It is the room Dr. +Jaffer had for two years. Jaffer likes the Germans as much as you dislike +them.” + +“Dr. Jaffer is from Stamboul?” + +“No, from northern India. He is there now, as interne in a private +hospital. He is coming back next June as interne at Lister.” + +Saadi Sereef counted the names over on his fingers: “Ameen, Wu, +Chatterjee, Becker, Deel’nd, and Jaffer. It is not Caravansery. It is +Menagerie.” + +Ameen laughed again, and wondered that his new friend could say such +things without the shadow of a smile. But when Saadi Sereef presently put +his hand on the back of his neck and pressed it, while lines deepened +between his eyes, Ameen understood. + +“You are in pain, Mr. Sereef. I think you must surely join us in Halsted +Street, and let Dr. Trench take care of you. His specialty is pediatrics, +but that will make no difference.” + +“It will be very proper,” said the sufferer, drawing in his breath +sharply. “I feel like little child in Chicago. I am what you say +wandering kid to-night.” + +“Shall we go to your lodgings and have your trunk sent over?” + +“Pretty quick, yes. First I will hear about Dr. Trench. Is he old man?” + +“No. Let me get a book and show you.” + +Ameen ran up to the library, returned with a copy of “Who’s Who in +Medicine,” and read aloud: + +“Trench, Isham, pediatrician. Born Chicago, April 23, 1882. Son Darius +and Eleanor (Isham) T. Matura, Vienna, 1901. M.D. Vienna, 1907. +Resident physician, Lister Hospital, 1908. Instructor in Pediatrics, +Lister College, 1909-1910. Asst. Prof. ibid. 1911-1912. Professor since +1912. Adviser foreign students. Member Am. Pediatric Soc., Chicago +Pediatric Soc., Chicago Med. Soc. Inventor Trench Kymograph. Translator +Czerny-Keller: Ernährungsstörungen und Ernährungstherapie des Kindes. +Contributor _Amer. Jour. Diseases of Children_, _Archiv für Pediatrik_, +etc. Address, Lister Medical College, Chicago.” + +“What do you think of that, Mr. Saadi Sereef?” + +“I think he is wonder, and then some,” responded Saadi solemnly. “What +for genius like that has he menagerie of wandering kids to-night?” + +“To tell you the truth, Mr. Sereef, he does not see much of us. Wu and +Chatterjee cook for him, but even they do not know him well. But he +unites us in the spirit of science.” + +Saadi glanced at him suspiciously. “Perhaps he unites you and perhaps he +unites you not! I have been in Eshkabad, and I have seen new temple where +what you say renegade Moslems and Jews and Christians are united. They +are called Bahais, and they think themselves _seikeli rui zemin_—the hub +of the universe. Are you Bahai?” + +Ameen smiled more kindly than ever. “There are several sects of Bahais, +and I am a little afraid of names.” + +“Why you are afraid to wear dog-collar with name of Bahai Pope?” + +“Well,” laughed the Persian, “after a life of struggling to wear it, I +might awake in paradise and find that God is neither a Muhammadan, nor a +Jew, nor a Christian—nor even a Bahai.” + +“Paradise!” ejaculated Saadi. “I hate and despise religion. I am bad man, +Mirza Ameen. I am liar and thief and infidel, and what will you do with +me?” + +Ameen put a hand on the stranger’s shoulder. “I will love you like a +brother, and I will call you Saadi.” + +The grey eyes looked into the pansy eyes. “Well, Ameen, I do not think +you are liar, but I am sure you are damn fool. I will join menagerie, and +make all troubles for all animals in it.” + + + + +IX + + +As the two students were returning through Halsted Street, they passed an +Italian bank where shattered glass was lying on the pavement. + +“Bank has busted,” remarked Saadi, dryly. + +“It was a bomb,” explained Ameen. “The papers were full of it this +morning.” + +Saadi stopped and scrutinised the building. “It was not money they +wanted?” + +“No. Just a matter of intimidation. Such methods never accomplish +anything.” + +Saadi slowly resumed his former gait. “That is big question, Mirza Ameen. +Just now it is fashion to say bombs do not accomplish. But nothing +accomplishes. It is no use to explode or talk.” + +Ameen answered gently. “Your head is hurting you, Saadi. Sometime, when +it is well, I should like to discuss bombs with you.” + +“Help, help!” groaned Saadi. “Baveddin belagerdan!” + +Ameen laughed. “It is clear enough that you are a Bokharan. Nobody but a +Bokharan would call on St. Baveddin for help. What is so terrifying in +the thought of discussing bombs?” + +“English, Ameen. Your beautiful English. You will not let me talk bombs +in Persian, and I cannot explain in English. I was in New York five +months and in Chicago one month, and I have studied English sixteen hours +every day, and I could read English when I left Vienna. But I cannot +explain about bombs in English.” + +They reached the “Caravansery.” Ameen advanced to the third floor, and +flung open the door of Jaffer’s study. + +“Ahlan wa-sahlan, Saadi! You are among your family.” + +Saadi gazed. “Firdousi manend—it resembles paradise, but it cannot last.” + +Ameen quoted a line from Omar—whom he personally abominated, but shrewdly +guessed that Saadi liked—and continued to play the host. He showed his +new friend that no appointment of comfort was missing, even to the +shaving mirror and the telephone. These rooms were such as an indulgent +father might have fitted up for a beloved son. + +“What I pay for paradise?” + +“The price is supposed to be three a week, but the doctor was never known +to take it. The chances are that your tuition will be refunded, if you +make good.” + +“My tuition shall not be refunded. I will never take Dr. Trench’s money.” + +“In that case,” smiled the Persian, “it will continue to be spent on such +things as Jersey cows. The doctor pays for cow after cow that he rules +out of inspected herds. Come now and meet the other boys.” + +“First,”—said Saadi, throwing himself back and closing his eyes—“first +I would like to die here. But we may as well meet all animals.” And he +sprang up. + +At Ameen’s knock, the punctilious Wu looked up from behind his +spectacles, came to open the door, and received his visitors with a bow. +On learning that Saadi had come to stay, he immediately invited him to +dinner. + +“I will rather not, to-night, because my head is now so bad. But I +appreciate Chinaman’s salt. In Bokhara, best salt comes from China.” + +“I believe so, sir. Karshi is on our side of the mountains.” + +Saadi looked critically at Wu’s intelligent countenance. “Mr. Wu does not +seem like one of Chinese doctors who cure all diseases with long needle +stuck in.” + +“I bow,” said Wu. “And Mr. Sereef would not exorcise filaria worms by an +amulet made of a gall stone from the stockyards in Halsted Street.” + +“Mr. Wu, I like you. You have quick comeback. Best doctor in Bokhara is +big fat cook. He cuts out filaria with knife, and then cuts mutton. But +in Tashkent is man who can cure filaria with medicine he makes. I will be +good to you and tell you where he is living. It is Gospitalnaya numero +400a.” + +“I will call on Mr. Sereef’s medical man when I visit in Tashkent,” said +Wu with infinite dryness, “and I will reciprocate by exhibiting the +stockyards to Mr. Sereef.” + +Somewhat brightened by these international courtesies, Saadi cast an eye +about the room. There were several choice prints which Wu had brought +with him. These were not of distant chapels with the rising moon, or of +lonely reedbeds with flying fowl. Instead of the conventions, Wu had +selected studies of little children. Saadi noted the fact. + +“Will you be pediatrician in China?” + +“Yes, I have chosen. What is good enough for Dr. Trench is good enough +for me. I cannot hope to repeat all his successes, but repetition is the +secret of success.” + +“Shaitan belade! Devil knows if it is worth while to save little +repeaters called babies.” + +Wu smiled, while the western sun lighted his forehead and made it look +like weathered ivory. “I am agnostic on that point. But in China we say, +‘Szifoo bot ok siz—even the tiger does not kill its babies’—and I will +try to prevent the repetition of what I saw in Yunnan. I saw fifty girl +babies dead in one field. Famine was not the cause. They were not wanted.” + +Saadi merely nodded. “It is so everywhere, but in Bokhara and Chicago it +is not custom to use open field. Saadi prefers plenty of kids. It does +not hurt them much to die with steel-jacket bullet.” + +Wu bowed. “I prefer much offspring and much peace, Mr. Sereef. I trust +that your descendants will not quarrel with mine over pink salt.” + +“Mr. Wu, you trust too much. You are damn fool.” + +Wu bowed. “Your judgment is approximately correct.” + +Saadi stared, and for the first time laughed. “Jivio! Well, Mr. Wu will +be pediatrician. What is worst disease of yellow babies?” + +“A certain lung trouble found only in China, Mr. Sereef. Perhaps my +grandson will be the Kitazato who discovers a remedy for it.” + +Saadi smiled wearily. “If Kitazato had not helped Behring, it would be no +diphtheria antitoxin. Well, it has saved million boys. In one year more, +Behring kids will operate Kitazato kids with bayonets. That is progress.” + +Wu bowed. “We cannot turn back, Mr. Sereef. There will be no absorption +of perspiration. And when I have plucked the Kwei flower at Lister, I +will go back and sweat with the rest.” + +He showed them out, and went downstairs to start dinner, while the +visitors proceeded to Chatterjee’s room. They found him in his native +clothes, into which he often slipped when the weather was warm. + +“A Bengali knows nothing whatsoever about Bokhara,” he said, shyly, “but +if Jaffer were here he would be aware. He lives in Peshawar. He has +probably intervisited and interdined with Bokhara.” + +“There are many Punjabis in Bokhara,” answered Saadi. “Some are bringing +tea by Persian Gulf, and little bit comes by Kabul.” + +“I am glad you like tea in Bokhara. We do not drink it in Bengal. In +good sooth, however, the British drink much tea.” + +“It is good enough drink for British. You hate British?” + +“No. But many do.” + +“I hear you when you say so, Mr. Chatterjee. But you are three hundred +millions with Ehrlich’s sleeping sickness. If you would what you say swat +the fly—just seventy-five thousand little flies—you would get well. But I +don’t care. You are only damfool Kali-worshippers.” + +“I am a Brahmo, like Dr. Trench,” said Chat quietly. + +“What is Brahmo?” + +“A sort of Unitarian.” + +“How you know Dr. Trench is sort of Unitarian?” + +“Because like Rama he is the friend of living creatures. You will find +that the fatherhood of God and the brotherhood of man is his credo, or +some such thing.” + +“Well, if God is like my father, he is barbarian. Now I will go and +insult other animals and then go to sleep. It is better to walk than to +run, better to sleep than to wake. You know rest—?” + +“Better to be dead than to sleep,” finished Chatterjee. “I hope you will +rest well in Jaffer’s room. I hope too that you will breakfast with us.” + +Ameen took Saadi to Deland’s room and left him there. Deland had yelled a +careless “Come in,” and removed his long legs from the table. + +“Proud to meet you, Sereef. Do you know this little old burg pretty well?” + +“No, Mr. Deland. I have had nose in book all summer.” + +“Sit down in chairs and ask me questions. Here’s the map by wards. +Highest infant death-rate is in the first and seventeenth, followed by +the twenty-ninth and sixteenth. Nineteenth used to be the worst, but +Hull-House yanked the death-rate down. Miss Addams got herself appointed +garbage inspector. What do you know about that?” + +“Well, I saw Miss Addams in Hull-House, and what I know about that is if +Miss Addams has garbaged she has garbaged with dignity and distinction. I +wish Franz Joseph would let her clean up diplomat garbage in Vienna.” + +“What I want to be is a health officer,” continued Deland. “Dr. Putnam of +Boston sent me out here to be next to Isham.” + +“Eyesham?” + +“Yes, that’s Dr. Trench. And Dr. Trench gives me the right steer about +it all the time. Funny he never went in for public medicine himself. +But dear me suz!—look what he does in his own township. Internist _and_ +surgeon—that’s what Isham is, and he’s got the neatest hand in Chicago, +and as for a clinical eye—he’ll just look at a kid and see right through +the exterior integument down into the gizzard.” + +Saadi listened with gloomy admiration. + +“I will come and you will give me lessons in American. What you do in +summer?” + +“I was counsellor in a boys’ camp. That’s the kind of thing I like—games, +athletics, canoeing. And I planted a cross in our camp. Made it of birch.” + +Saadi scowled. “I do not wish to hear. It is all damn foolishness.” + +Deland opened his blue eyes wide. “You’ve got another guess coming. If it +weren’t for religion, life wouldn’t be worth living.” + +“Life is not worth living. I cannot explain to you. You are boy. I am old +man.” + +Deland flushed, and sat down on the table directly before his visitor. + +“Say, old man, I wish you were a Christian.” + +“Mr. Deland, you are damn fool. You don’t know that Christianity is damn +failure. Dr. Trench could put you next.” + +“Dr. Trench is a Christian,” said Deland stoutly. “He’s the kind of man I +want to be.” + +“Did you once ask Dr. Trench is he Christian?” + +“I don’t need to ask him.” + +“Well, I will ask him myself is he Christian, and I bet you one million +microbes he says no.” + +Saadi rose, and Deland slapped him kindly on the shoulder. “Say, old man, +you’re a kidder from Kidderville. Come on now and kid Becker by your +lonesome, for I’ve got to run over to the Juvenile Court building.” + +Becker proved to be big and rosy cheeked. He might have passed for a +Teuton, but the visitor was not deceived. As soon as they were alone, +Saadi folded his arms. + +“Pig of Jew,” he said, gloomily. + +“Dog of a Moslem,” retorted Becker promptly. + +“How old are you, Mr. Beckerovitch?” + +“Twenty-five.” + +“Well, it is same here. We are two old men. Where were you in 1905?” + +“Moscow.” + +“And where were you in 1906?” + +“In prison nine months. Then a year near Archangel, with nothing to do +but think about it. I got away all the same. And I brought my mother’s +best pillow with me.” + +“We will shake hands, Beckerovitch. But—you will please not mention +mothers.” Saadi’s voice was trembling. + +Becker nodded slightly, and resumed. “Were you ever locked up?” + +Saadi controlled himself. “Suremike. I was guest of Nicky six months.” + +“We knew in Moscow that there was fighting in Tashkent, but we did not +know much about our comrades there. Well, it is all over now.” + +“Yes, it is all over. Too—bad, oh, too—bad. It was no use. Nothing is of +use, except maybe body. Oh, you beautiful white human body. Maybe I will +what you say bust loose in Chicago.” + +“That’s a rotten thing to say, my friend. That won’t go with the doctor.” + +Saadi scowled. “Doctor won’t know.” + +“Make no mistake about that. He will look at you some morning and you +will feel like an interne who failed to wash before operating.” + +“I don’t care. Always I have kept clean, and Bokhara is not clean. But +revolution has failed, and always revolution will fail. I don’t care one +micrococcus.” + +“Well, I care. Come and have supper with me.” + +“No supper for me to-night. Only nice soft pillow like Becker’s mother +gave him. I wish it was pillow in dead-room. I was in hospital corps last +year in Old Servia. Dead-room was only room with ventilation.” + +“So! Do you think they are through their troubles for a while?” + +“Shaitan belade! devil knows. Soon Austria will jump on Servia. Then +Russian intelligentzia will march with mujiks.” + +“Stuff and nonsense, Mr. Sereef! We socialists will never sacrifice our +ideals like that.” + +“Mr. Beckerovitch, you are damn fool. How began all massacres in world? +With ideals, by golly. French revolution began with ideal, ended with +hæmoglobin. Turk revolution began same way, ended same way. In 1908 Turk +and Christian did kiss each other in streets of Stamboul, then Turks +murdered thirty thousand Armenians and ten thousand Macedonians. All you +socialists need is one little excuse of body—just these fool words: +‘Defence of homes.’ Spokoine noche—_good_ night!” + +And having called each man a fool without disturbing any, Saadi went to +Jaffer’s rooms, threw himself on Jaffer’s bed, and burst into deep sobs +that no man heard. + + + + +X + + +It was eleven o’clock that evening when Trench got away from his last +consultation. Having no car of his own, he dropped off the trolley-car at +his corner, and stood fanning himself with his straw hat. Theatre crowds +were going home, and Halsted was alive with young folks. Opposite his +house a screaming woman was being put into the patrol wagon. Down the +side streets everybody was out of doors. Babies were sleeping on steps +and pavements, and passersby were careful not to tread on them. On the +porch of a synagogue men were lying like the dead on a battlefield. + +Halsted Street runs for thirty miles north and south over the level bed +of an ancient lake. Trench thought of the St. Mary’s, that stream of +melted glacier, and wished that such waters once more rested here. If the +lake were back again, it would reach to the top of his house. His eye +travelled upward, and he saw a light in Jaffer’s room. + +Burglars? No. Ameen had probably found a tenant. He would go up and see. +He let himself in by the side door, ascended wearily to the third story, +and knocked. There was no answer. He turned the knob, and was driven back +by a burst of gas. The light he had seen came from an electric bulb in +the study. He groped his way to the hall window, pushed it up, and stood +gasping. Then he took a long breath and went through the rooms, turning +off the gas and opening windows. + +In a few minutes the rooms cleared, and he switched on the light at the +head of the bed. What greeted him was apparently the body of a young and +oriental Bonaparte, dead before he had won a victory. The shaded white +ray fell on both their faces when Trench bent above the body, as some +pitying Girondist might have bent above the Corsican, had he died as a +cadet. Then down on his knees went the doctor, with ear pressed to the +boy’s chest. What he heard reassured him. + +He took the pulse now at the wrist. As he sat on the edge of the bed he +loosened the high collar, for the stranger was fully dressed, and in so +doing noticed at the nape of the neck a long scar, faintly flushed, and +apparently the work of a sword. Still holding the wrist, Trench shifted +the shade of the electric bulb till the ray fell squarely on the closed +eyes. In a few seconds the stimulus was effective. The eyelids quivered, +opened, and closed again. Trench shifted the shade back, and took his +seat at some distance from the bed. + +In a few minutes Bonaparte stirred, moaned, and began to mutter +incoherent words of some stock unknown to Trench. The incoherence passed, +and the boy lay still. Presently a low voice began to speak English. + +“Is it Dr. Trench?” + +“Yes. I apologise for interrupting the experiment.” + +“I am damn fool configuration of energy called Saadi Sereef, and I am +sick in solar plexus.” + +“Your stomach will be all right in a little while, and you will find me +in the next room.” So saying, Trench went into the study and began to +consider his appointments for the next day. + +By and by the low musical voice called to him. “It is better now, but my +head will split.” + +“In a minute,” said Trench, and slipped downstairs for a sedative. When +this was administered, Saadi lifted himself in bed, and the doctor +propped him with pillows. + +“Before I died I was going to ask you, doctor? Are you Christian?” + +“No.” + +“Do you believe in Bog?” + +“What is ‘Bogue’?” + +“Excuse me. I mean gaseous vertebrate called Allah. Do you believe?” + +“No.” + +“That is good. Do you believe Saadi has ghost?” + +“No.” + +“That is good again. It is bad enough to die with Dr. Trench’s perfectly +good gas, but it would be too much if perfectly good gaseous vertebrate +should lecture ghost. Half hour ago I was happy nothing. But now I am +same old fool something. Too—bad! Why you wake me up?” + +“I don’t know.” + +“You do not care if I should die?” + +“No.” + +“If I would have typhus, would you nurse me?” + +“Of course.” + +The low pleasant voice summed up conclusions. “You care not one damn if I +die, but you would die for me.” + +Trench smiled. “It does sound rather absurd.” + +“It is not absurd, doctor. It is deep.” + +Trench was silent. + +“Doctor does not ask questions, and Saadi is much obliged. What is in +medicine?” + +“Only bromides and codein.” + +“Of course. It does business. By and by I will sleep.” + +“You can’t begin too soon, Mr. Sereef.” + +“You will call me Saadi. You have saved my damn fool configuration of +energy. It is kismet to be grateful. When you call I will answer.” + +“Thank you,” said Trench dryly. “Meanwhile, what assurance have I that +you will be alive to answer?” + +“Well, I could go down and sleep on divan in doctor’s office.” + +“Are you afraid of yourself?” + +“Yes, doctor.” + +For answer, Trench gently pulled a pillow from under his patient’s +head, and settled him in bed. He let a light hand rest for a moment on +the boy’s temples. Then he darkened the room, and lay down on Jaffer’s +leather couch. + + + + +XI + + +Trench was awakened by a noise, but not that of Halsted clanging into +its sweltering day. He sat bolt upright, and saw Saadi Sereef. Saadi was +studying a map in the Britannica, while he unconsciously tapped the desk +with a nervous finger-tip. + +“Good morning, Dr. Trench. It is five o’clock, and my head does not ache +much, and I have bathed damfool body.” + +“I usually get up at five,” said the doctor, proceeding to the telephone. +“Is coffee ready? Will you bring some to Jaffer’s room?” + +While the doctor was absent for his bath, Wu entered with a tray. There +was a steaming coffee-pot. There were blue grapes in a blue dish, hot +rolls wrapped in damask, and a tiny Chinese hen sheltering boiled eggs in +a porcelain nest. Wu held up a salt-cellar. “Not pink,” he said, “like +salt of Karshi, but equally good for purposes of friendship.” + +Wu placed the tray on Jaffer’s desk and moved the desk to the window. +“If you sit here you can see down Halsted Street and imagine the +people—Austrian, Belgian, Bulgarian, French, German, et cetera.” + +Saadi caught up the refrain. “Greeks, Hindus, Irish, Poles, Russians, and +all other slaves. Bog milui—God help us.” + +The doctor presently returned, and the two sat down. Saadi sipped his +coffee and looked out into a sunsmitten vista. + +“Why they call it Halsted?” + +“The Halsted brothers of New York bought a frontage up by Goose Island. +Dr. Halsted of the Hopkins is a son of one of them.” + +“And why does doctor live here?” + +“My father’s first house stood here.” + +“Why you did not build house in Lake Shore Drive and doctor babies of +too-busy rich?” + +“Couldn’t afford to.” + +Saadi cocked one eye and then the other, like a dog who much desires what +is withheld. “Are you philanthropist?” + +“Oh, lord, no.” + +Saadi waved his hand and selected a small bunch of grapes. “I know all. +Doctor has some big internal wound, like Saadi, and doctor is naturalist +without courage. To Halsted he comes, same as monk goes in desert. Here +in desert doctor would cure all diseases if they would permit. But when +baby machines go wrong, parent machines call in gaseous vertebrates to +help. Now is doctor waiting for Halsted Street to outgrow all gods and +bogs and allahs, and get down to business, which is metabolism. Do I know +part?” + +“Yes.” + +“If races will get together in Halsted and be civilised, it must be on +atheistic bottom. What makes foreign boys come in Dr. Trench’s house? +Is it Mirza Ameen standing on roof and calling ‘Come to prayer’? It is +not. It is nice smell of clean hospital. It is microscope and Trench +kymograph. And it is Dr. Trench, who did not give one damn if I died.” + +“I bow, as Wu would say.” + +“I bow back, Dr. Trench, for I think you are awful strong man, because +you are not person; you are machine. One machine gun can lick whole army +of priests and mullahs. But even if races get together on atheistic +bottom, they will fight. By and by it will be war in Halsted Street. +Industrial Workers will march down street under window here, and it will +be much blood in gutters. I will like it if I am here.” + +Trench set his coffee cup down exactly in the middle of the saucer, and +addressed it. “First a suicide, then a maximalist.” + +Saadi lost his sprightliness. “No, doctor. It was what you say vice +versa.” + +Trench had no further remark to make to his coffee cup, and presently +Saadi resumed his former tone. + +“Dean gave me credit for four years in Vienna.” + +“Ah! That makes you a junior with us. Is Wurtz alive and well?” + +“Yes, doctor, and this is way he lectures.” Saadi put one hand behind +him, elevated his glance toward the ceiling, and changed his soft voice +to a high nasal: “‘Meine Herrschaften! Wir kommen jetzt zur Besprechung +Darmkanals—’” + +Trench interrupted. “Talk English, Saadi.” + +Saadi sighed and began again.—“‘Gentlemen, we now approach subject of +alimentary canal. Length of life depends to very considerable extent +on length of alimentary canal. In your case, gentlemen, I could wish +length greater. If you had canals which would permit you to exist for +ninety-five years, I could perhaps instil a few facts which I am now +about to state, and you are about to forget.’” + +“Capital!” laughed Trench. “You are a born actor.” + +“No, I am born fool. But I can speak German. Listen, doctor, it is not +six o’clock yet, and if you will let me speak language of bloody Teutons, +you will know how bad man I am.” + +“Fire away, if it will ease your soul. But no German. In Halsted we speak +Halsted.” + +“Soul? Did devil bring me ghost in night-time?” + +“Well—we are talking Halsted.” + +“First, will you give me physical examination?” + +“Not now. You are in good shape, except for the wound that bothers you. +You might tell me how you got that.” + +Saadi became very grave. “Doctor has sharp eyes. My father gave me that.” +He rose abruptly and paced the room. + +“It was such little thing to begin with. It was my brother’s fourteenth +birthday. When Karoul was twelve, my father promised to give him best +horse in Bokhara when he was fourteen. But Karoul did foolish thing—he +played with Jewish boy. Karoul loved to put on mask and go to bazaar +with Isaak Chaim. My father found it out. He sent for Karoul, and dog of +mullah brought him in.” + +Again the speaker paced up and down, like a wild creature. + +“My father cursed Karoul, and ordered him to be whipped. Karoul said, +‘You will not whip me. You will give me horse and maybe I will give him +to Isaak Chaim if I wish.’ Doctor! you do not know what such words would +do to my father. My father struck, but he is fat, he cannot move quick. +Karoul cries to him, ‘You beast of tyrant. Sunni boys will smash your +windows soon and it will be revolution.’ Then my father draws talvar and +runs him through. It was such long sword—such little boy.” + +Trench involuntarily put his hand to his side. + +“I was not there,” continued Saadi. “Dog of mullah told me. They put +Karoul away in night. Where? Nobody dare ask. Then I went to my father. +‘Where is Karoul?’ ‘Karoul is gone to country to my villa in Kermineh.’ +‘That is lie, my father. Go in Galerie Tretiakov and see how shamed looks +Ivan Fourth with dead son in front of him.’ Then my father flung talvar +at me, and zip, I got it in neck. I picked up talvar and gave back. +‘Now,’ I said, ‘I will leave Bokhara-i-Sherif. I will not come back till +you say you are brute. When you are shamed, you will send me word. My +mother will know where to send. You can open her letters—you can open all +letters in Bokhara—you will not know from letters!’” + +“It is a ghastly story. We must help you to forget it.” + +“You cannot help, doctor. All times I see Karoul’s face. I know where it +is. It is in bottom of Zerafshan, with stone round neck.” + +Though the morning was warm, Trench gave a shiver. + +“I have spoiled doctor’s breakfast. I have been bad guest.” + +“Forget it, Saadi. But I must say that a brother’s death doesn’t often +drive men to suicide.” + +“No, doctor, but it can help. My thoughts were enormous mixed. I did not +intend to give you what you say surprise party.” + +“I see. You received it yourself.” + +“Doctor is keen. Biggest surprise was to see what is in Dr. Trench’s +house. All boys of different races seemed best of friends, way down deep. +Always I have preferred war. This morning again I prefer war. Last night +I thought maybe science is enough.” + +Trench pondered this. “Your reasons seem curiously impersonal.” + +“I try awful hard, doctor, to be what you say impersonal. Persons are +only damfool configurations of energy. I ought not to yelp with sorrow +for Karoul’s atoms in Zerafshan. But my head hurt very bad, and I thought +maybe I will go crazy. And I thought if I stay in Chicago I will get some +baby and kismet will make me kill him. I said, one like my father is +enough, and one like me is too much. All off. This is as far as we go.” + +“I see. It was your fear of being cruel.” + +Saadi hesitated, and his voice sank lower than ever. “I can tell no more.” + +“You need tell nothing. But I was interested in Karoul.” + +“Well, doctor, it was eight years ago when Karoul went down to feed +filaria in river.” + +“Wait a minute. Let me look at that wound again.” + +Saadi knelt, and Trench inspected the scar. “Go on.” + +“I went first to Kabul to see my older brother, Ali Khan. He is doctor—he +studied in Riga. Why is Ali Khan in Kabul? He is spy for Nicky. I found +out and went away quick.” + +“To Vienna?” + +“Oh, no, not so soon. To Russia. Same month was general strike in Russia, +and everybody was happy in hopes. I took tutor with me and kept studying. +I went in Moscow, waiting for letter from Papa. No letter—only letters +from Mamma Ila with money and sad words. In spring I went to see her, +and boys in Tashkent said, ‘Come on, Saadi, we will make revolution in +Turkestan.’ So I fired tutor and went in revolution with boys. I was only +seventeen. I wanted to forget Papa and be alive, and we broke down wall +of prison in Tashkent, and gendarmes caught me and put me in unbusted +part of prison. It was then so bad for six months. Often I wished it was +gas or gun. When I came out I knew it is no use of anything. Revolution +had failed, revolution will always fail, and parents do not love +children. It is all blind chemical push that drives men to have children. +It is no sooner done than said—and then what you say makes no damn +difference.” + +Trench was plunged in thought—his own thought strangely given back to +him. It dawned upon him, like a differential diagnosis, that this was his +own style exaggerated. + +“I said,” continued Saadi, “I will never marry any woman, but I will have +hell of good time and forget all fool dreams. But I could not. Other boys +did. It was strange in Russia to see way schools went. Government almost +taught freedom. Government wanted boys and girls to be free with each +like animals, and forget politics. Boys and girls had all night parties +in woods, and parents could not stop them. + +“So I went in Vienna and took Matura exam. and entered University to +study damn chemical machine called human body. In winter of 1910 what +Karoul said about Papa came true. You see, Papa was Vazee, what you say +prime minister. All Sunni boys hated him for taxes. He took one-third of +cotton crop. So boys in secret societies sent committee in 1909 to Emir, +with demand to fire Papa, or we will yell ‘Yar charyah’—which is warcry +of Sunnis. Emir would not hear, and boys smashed Papa’s windows, and beat +up guard, and Emir was scared. He fired Papa in exile to Petersbourg. Now +no more sits Papa every morning in Gate to settle all fool questions. +Where is Papa? Shaitan belade—devil knows. But in Tashkent is still +his business office, and money from cotton lands goes to him, maybe in +Petersbourg or Yalta.” + +Saadi paused. “Well,” said Trench, “that brings us up to 1910.” + +“Yes, and next year Emir died, and all were glad in Bokhara. Last year +came war with Turks, and I went to Belgrad and got in hospital corps and +went to Kumanovo. So little amputation you never saw, but thousands of +wounds without first aid.” + +“You will go back, shall you not, and practice?” + +“It is no use. In Turkestan we cure dysentery with blood of sheep poured +with prayers on feet and hands. They would kill me if I used modern +method.” + +“What of it, Saadi! A bullet in the neck is pleasanter than gas in the +throat.” + +Saadi pondered this, apparently fixing the words in mind.—“It is true, +doctor. But I do not love human sheep. Did I go in revolution to save +sheep? No. I went for thrills in nerves. Paradise is only pipedream of +thrills in nerves.” + +“You are strictly selfish?” + +“Yes, Dr. Trench. I will kill, I will be kind, I will lie or steal or +seduce girl to please myself. When I say self, I mean body. Me is body. +Person is body. Soul is just excuse of body, or else streak of phosphorus +long side of body. You see how bad man I am.” + +“No, Saadi. But I see how bad your English is.” + +“I can say in three four languages, doctor. I am devil come to visit you. +I am just body, without apology.” + +“Saadi, when people talk like that and mean it, we lock them up.” + +“Lock me up, doctor.” + +“I don’t think it will be necessary. Just remember that language, like +most other things, is no use. The world’s atmosphere is composed of spent +breath, but life is the great miserable unrecorded fact, and sane people +let it stay such. People who are too brave of speech get into trouble—as +I did lately.” + +“I understand doctor, and I did not think he was so what you say +conventional. Life is only metabolism, and I do not see what is +difference between clean words and dirty words.” + +“That’s a lie, my dear boy.”—The words came promptly, and Edith Bridgman +was responsible for them. A month earlier Trench would not have spoken +them. He would have preserved a cold silence. + +Saadi stopped, and tried to reflect. “Well, it is nice to have great +man call Saadi liar, because I sure am liar. But Bismillah! What use is +medicine if body is not me?” + +“Well,” laughed Trench, “you are right enough there.” + +“Well, then, I will again talk English. Body is self, and I am ended with +good habits. It will be only little time to live before body will succeed +to kill itself. Nothing is left but thrills in nerves, and soon I will +bust loose.” + +He watched to see how the doctor would take it. He saw the fine brow +slowly contract till a great bunch stood out over the eyes. + +“Saadi, it would have been better if you had died.” + +“Yes, much better.” + +“Frankly—why do we feel so?” + +“Fear, doctor. Doctor is afraid of some woman. We will see if he has +courage to fire Saadi if Saadi gets gay.” + +“Of course I’ll fire you. If I know of your wronging a girl—well, as +between murder and seduction, I prefer murder.” + +“Same here, Dr. Trench. But I will do both if I damn please.” + +“Saadi, we seem to be a bloodthirsty pair, but I have no doubt we are as +much under social control as if we believed all the commandments to be of +divine origin.” + +“Speak for self, Dr. Trench, but do not speak for Saadi. You are +naturalist without courage. I will not go through fool ceremony with +girl. I want rich-coloured, hot-blood girl, and if she wants lover, I +take her. When I get tired of her I leave her.” + +Trench smiled one of the sardonic smiles which children never saw on his +face. “You are like all the rest, my son. You are more or less grateful, +and the next week you return to the propagation of cannon-food. The other +day I saved an arm for a child named Elsie. If she were older and had +the right dermal tint, she would be your proper prey. It would serve her +father right, and serve me right.” + + + + +XII + + +Saadi was registered for pediatrics, and Trench found him quick to learn. +During lecture he was always a bright-eyed listener, smiling every now +and then. This was odd, because Trench never made a joke, and had a way +of imbuing—almost of impassioning—his men with cool attention to detail. +Trench in lecture was impersonal as a formula, but when he was fixing a +point, his eye would travel from man to man like the fire of the machine +gun to which Saadi had likened him. + +During quiz Saadi was demure and accurate. It soon became clear that +he had anticipated a good deal of the junior work. Furthermore, Trench +permitted him to assist at an operation, and Saadi demonstrated that he +had seen service in surgical wards. + +The leisure thus commanded he was sometimes at a loss to spend. He smoked +great numbers of cigarettes in Jaffer’s study, brooding over the view +down Halsted. In general he kept out of the other fellows’ rooms, because +none of them smoked, and in Saadi’s curious makeup there were various +little considerate habits. But when the boys took him out for excursions +he showed no consideration. He tried every man’s patience to the breaking +point. + +Ameen was the first to act as guide. He proposed that they go up the lake +front to where Halsted, disguised as Clarendon, begins. They did this on +the afternoon of Saturday, October 4. Arrived at the head of the street, +they dodged through the belt of motors which steadily moves along the +Lake Shore Drive, and looked out over the hazy lake. Then they walked +down to the car, and stood up in the front of it beside the motorman, +and Ameen pointed out things as they clanged along. District succeeded +district. It was as if every nation had sent its peaceful contribution to +this experiment station. After two hours they were left at Eighty-fifth +Street, and walked till they reached open prairie. + +Ameen selected a seat on the anticipatory wooden sidewalk, and a startled +rabbit sprang out. “Bismillah!” he exclaimed softly, not at the rabbit, +but as an invitation to his friend to be seated. But Saadi threw himself +on the ground and plucked some of the tall sweet clover with which the +prairie was redolent. + +“Ameen Jan, what you will be when you go back?” + +“An oculist, Saadi. And what shall you be?” + +“Military surgeon. I will not stay here long.” + +“We shall miss you.” + +“What for you tell lies, Ameen Jan? I am looking up in sky, where you +will never go if you tell lies.” + +“We shall miss you, Saadi. I shall say, Oh, Halsted, Halsted, thou garden +without a rose. Or I shall see you lying as you now are, smelling those +crushed leaves, and I shall remember that Saadi of Shiraz called that +sweetness the breath of Issa of Galilee.” + +“Boro, little Ameen! Go way back and sit down. Saadi of Shiraz said, ‘To +pardon oppressors is to injure oppressed.’ But every damn Persian licks +boot of oppressor.” + +Ameen glanced at the sun. “It is rather late to begin a discussion. But I +wish that my father were here.” + +“Your father is old man?” + +“Yes, and few men have suffered more than he.” + +“Then I will not what you say lambast papa. You may tell about papa.” + +As he spoke, Saadi let his left hand fall, and it lay resignedly in the +sweet clover, clasping a tuft of it. + +“Well, Saadi, I have learned two great things from my father. And the +first is that peace begins at home. When there is no oppression in the +family, there will be none in the world. Every man must do what he can to +prevent war.” + +Saadi’s hand gave a convulsive jerk that uprooted the tuft of clover. But +he said nothing, and still stared into the limitless blue. + +“The second thing,” continued the Persian, “is that sectarian religion +foments war, and that therefore every city ought to have a school of +comparative religion, where a man may choose what fits his nature. Every +man is incurably religious, but—” + +Ameen stopped, for he saw that Saadi was not listening. Saadi’s hand was +crushing the tuft of sweet clover till it exhaled the breath of Issa, +and his eyes were straining into the blue as if seeking an omen. But at +the cessation of Ameen’s voice, the fingers slowly relaxed, and Saadi +presently turned his head. + +“I am not in it with Sufi dreamer to speak pretty words. But oh, you +Ameen Beg, son of gun and joy of my liver, listen here. We live in +twentieth century, but it is only dawn of world, and it will be damn +bloody dawn.” + +Ameen arose and dusted off his clothes. “Saadi, you enhance the gaiety of +nations. But we must be going back, for Saturday’s sun is declining.” + +“All right. I will get up and swear by declining sun, same as prophet in +Koran. ‘Oh, you declining sun!’ I swear that Mirza Ameen will answer Yes +to Saadi’s next question.” + +“Put the question.” + +“If damn Jew outraged your sister, would you outrage some Jewess?” + +“No!” + +Saadi spat on the ground. “You lie, Ameen Beg. You would do same as I +will do—first chance I get.” + +Ameen looked at the blazing grey eyes, and answered steadily. “Saadi, I +have been put to the test of non-resistance, and I have seen it met by +others. When I was a child, in Meshed, I saw Babis burned at the stake. +It made me faint, and I fell from my horse. Not one of them but his +family had suffered outrage. Not one of them but could have escaped by +renouncing his faith. And yet they were singing in the flames, and all +had given gifts to the executioners, if only a flower.” + +Saadi was staring, speechless, at the sublimity of Ameen’s +self-deception, but Ameen was thinking of Saadi’s terrible threat. + +“Saadi, it is written in Sura eighty-one that a Day shall come when the +stars shall fall, and souls rejoin their bodies, and innocent girls shall +ask why they were slain. I suppose it is not a scientific statement, but +I suppose it to be in some profound sense true. You will see your little +sister again, Saadi Jan, and see her divinely revenged by love.” + + + + +XIII + + +The fact that before Saadi’s arrival there had been no discussions in the +Caravansery, much less any quarrelling, was due to a happy constellation +of forces. Each of the five students was a picked man, and Trench +evoked each man’s best. Each wanted to master the master’s method and +Trenchify some bit of the world. And peace was strengthened by the very +differences of temperament. Ameen was peaceful because it was simply not +in his nature to give pain to any living creature. Becker was peaceful +on principle, having resigned himself to the tedious march of economic +evolution. Wu, whose interests were strictly terrestrial, had a perfectly +celestial capacity for minding his own business. Chatterjee was peaceful +because nothing terrestrial was permanent enough to quarrel about. And +Deland was peaceful because he was a Christian, and would have peace even +if he had to fight for it. + +All these types, from Trench to Deland, were new to Saadi. He reacted to +them as naïvely as a cat reacts to a dog, or a fire to powder. But there +was neither bite nor explosion. + +Wu and Chatterjee were well-nigh inseparable, like earth and heaven. They +and Trench were having lunch on October 7, when the doctor remarked that +they might take the afternoon off, because the one professor who claimed +them that afternoon had been called out of town. + +Wu suggested that it would be a good time to take Saadi to the +stockyards, and invited Chat to come along and see the sights. The +invitation was purely formal, for Wu was well aware that nothing would +induce Chat even to glance and pass. But Chat said that he would show +Saadi the region known as Back of the Yards, and deliver him later at the +portal of the inferno. + +Saadi fell in with the plan, and by three o’clock was inspecting the +Slovak district. School was out, and Chat exhibited some scores of +children in the street before a single block. The crowding of that block +was beyond belief, but Chat explained how the children came to survive. +It was due, he said, to the destruction of the garbage dumps. And the +Augean task had been accomplished single-handed by Miss McDowell, who +kept after the city for nineteen years. + +“It shows what one person can do. One person can clean up a garbage dump, +or some such thing.” + +“Well, Chat, we will make bronze statue of Miss McDowell and set up here, +and it will say: ‘This is woman who saved all you damn rabbits.’ But I do +not see what is use of rabbits—” + +He was interrupted by a boy who pointed at Chat and called out, “Nigger, +nigger!” The boy darted past, but he was not quick enough. Saadi had him +by the collar and into an alley before any one noted what was up. The lad +was perhaps fifteen years old, and made a struggle, but he was like wax +in Saadi’s hands. He was set against the wall, like a prisoner about to +be shot. + +“What is your name?” + +“None of your business.” + +“Look into my eye.” + +The boy looked, and saw murder.—“My name is Gavro.” + +“Gavro is Gavrilo. You know what Gavrilo means?” + +“No, I don’t, and I don’t care.” + +“It means Gabriel. Gabriel is angel by whom Bog speaks to men. You know +Bog?” + +“Yes.” + +“You are hell of nice angel for God to send message by! Are you hell of +nice angel?” + +“No.” + +“Say, no, sir.” + +“No, sir.” + +“You think Bog yells, ‘Nigger, nigger’?” + +“No, sir.” + +“Have you got sister?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“You know what some niggers do to white boys’ sisters?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“You do not, you hell of nice angel boy.” + +“Yes, I do. I ain’t no kindergarten kid.” + +“Well, Gavrilo, you think it makes negro nice toward your sister to call +him nigger?” + +“No, sir.” + +“Gavrilo, you are damn liar. You would stand still and see nigger insult +your sister. Your father came over here to get away from Black Austria, +but he has black coward for son. Who is little girl standing in front of +alley shaking in shoes?” + +“It is my sister.” + +“Oh! I think I will go kiss your sister.”—Saadi turned away and +approached the child. The boy hesitated a second, dashed after him, +headed him off, and struck him in the face. An enraged boy of fifteen can +strike a hard blow. Saadi reeled, got his balance, and smiled. + +“That is better, Gavrilo. You are not black coward. May I have pleasure +to speak to sister now?” + +“Yes.” + +“Say ‘Yes, Your Highness.’” + +“Yes, Your Highness.” + +Saadi stooped and looked into the frightened face. As he spoke, his voice +was softer than a summer wind. + +“What is your name, little Slav woman?” + +The child managed to moisten her dry lips and answer, “Sophie, ma’am.” + +“Well, is your papa’s name Ferdinand?” + +“No, ma’am.” + +Saadi smiled.—“Why you call me ma’am?” + +“I forget. I call teacher ma’am.”—Sophie began to smile back. + +“Do you like teacher?” + +“When she ain’t cross.” + +“Cross! Teacher is cross with little woman like you? Sophie, do you know +what I will do when I am Vazee?” + +“No, sir.” + +“I will hang only school teachers! Here is silver dollar, dear Sophie. Go +away buy big doll.” + +Sophie took the dollar and looked into the grey eyes.—“Please, sir, you +said you would kiss me.” + +“So I will, if brother permits.” + +Gavro grinned and nodded, and Saadi touched the little forehead with his +lips. + +Gavro went up to Chat. “Please excuse me, mister.” + +“Jak!” said Chat. “It is nothing.” + +The children departed, Gavro with an arm about Sophie’s shoulders. Chat +and Saadi proceeded down the street. + +“Well, Chat, it is very kind to bring Saadi down here to complete his +education. If I was mean, I would ask why you don’t go after India for +nineteen years till she cleans up garbage dump called British Raj, +or some such thing. But I won’t. I will think how I can be like Miss +McDowell and do something for Bo—” Saadi stopped short. + +“For what?” + +“For Bokhara. It is no damn use, but I will go through motions, anyhow.” + +“That remark pleases me, Mr. Sereef. Gita says that we have a right to +action, but not to the fruits of action. Who can guess how far away his +motions register!” + +“Maybe Chat doesn’t know what motions Saadi means. It was one brave +man in India little while ago—he chucked bomb at viceroy in Delhi. But +damfool only hit elephant. He needed Saadi to teach him motions—five, +like this: One, take off coverlock; two, strike cap with lock; three, +chuck lock away; four, raise arm very slow, not excited; five—throw, by +golly! And throw straight. If at automobile, don’t throw underneath like +damfool who threw at Shah in 1908. Drop it inside—bang!” + +“It is illusion,” replied Chatterjee, calmly. “You do not know yourself.” + +“Self? What is self? I am piece of nature. When I see enemy, blood +vessels dilate, respiration comes quick, arm goes up,—biff! More I biff, +faster burns oxygen, faster comes sugar out of liver, faster pours out +adrenalin. I am not tired. I yell ‘Na nosch! Na pred na nosch—give ’em +bayonet!’” + +“It is illusion,” repeated Chat, even more calmly. “It is māyā. You can +slay or starve the millions, but they are safe within the One.” + +“Oh, ho, Chat, I get your little system now. God is big Bokhara rug, very +rich and red.” + +“Yes,” smiled the Hindu, “and the coloured threads of our little passions +only enrich the pattern of God’s impersonal love. You are a part of God, +but you do not know Him.” + +“You know him? Will you introduce me?” + +“Naham manye suvedite no na vedite vedacha—I do not think I know Him +well, or that I know Him, or that I know Him not.” + +“I thought so. Chat’s exposition of acquaintance with gentleman is clear +as Ganges mud. It would be better if Chat was Kali-worshipper. Bloody +Kali I understand.” + +“I doubt it, my friend. Do you know what this day may be?” + +“It is October seventh. Five years ago to-day damn Thronfolger Ferdinand +annexed Bosnia.” + +“No! It is the happiest day of the year! It begins our Pooja, the feast +of the Mother, whom you choose to call Kali. The shephâlika blossoms have +fallen, and the children have cried, ‘Mother is coming!’ And now she +comes, and families are joyfully reunited. She is the energy of all the +gods. She destroys all demons and some such things that terrify humanity. +To her bosom she tenderly gathers all the slain, as some day she will +gather you.” + +“Pooh, pooh, Pooja! Take me quick to stockyards. You bring me down here +to show what one person can do, and then show me it is not necessary to +do anything. All is done already. It is what Deland sings, Jesus paid +it all. All distinctions of right and wrong are merged in Absolute. +Bismillah! I will now go see butcher merge all distinctions of blood in +absolute red.” + +Chatterjee was silent, withdrawing his vexed soul from the life of the +senses into the central peace. In the process he walked clear across +Halsted at Forty-seventh, whereas he should have stopped on the west side +of the street and turned north. He would have gone on still farther east +had not Saadi’s quick eye analysed the situation. So, at the last, it was +Saadi who guided Chat to the portal. + +Wu was waiting for them. He was gazing at a window full of neat packages +to which living beings had impersonally been reduced. Chat boarded the +Halsted car, and Wu stepped forward—like a yellow Vergil to guide a new +Dante. + +The yards seemed to fascinate Saadi. He occasionally shuddered, but, +gladly quaked, saw more. + +They came to the man who stands like a machine all day and opens the +throats of the imploring hogs that pass him. Through such a din as +Herod’s soldiers heard, Saadi shouted to his leader. + +“Does it make you sick in stomach, Mr. Wu?” + +“No. Pork is excellent food.” + +“Well, most things that go round and round make me tired. Every morning +same old sunrise. Every morning same old bath and shave. Every afternoon +same old clinic. Every dinner same old meats—animals do not give any more +kinds of meats. Every day Dr. Trench fixes up same old baby. But this +repetition—do you hear me, Wu?—gives me thrill in nerves.” + +Wu bowed, and spoke close to Saadi’s ear. “On the first occasion when I +had the pleasure of receiving Mr. Sereef, I suggested that repetition is +the secret of success.” + +“I accept amendment,” yelled Saadi. “Reason why this butcher butcherises +so good, he is jolly old repeater. He is essence of revolution. Always +revolution has revolved, but always more hogs are born. Watch history +repeated now before Mr. Wu’s honourable eyes. Here comes Stolypin!” + +“You will not find our last emperor in the procession,” said Wu, and led +Saadi away from the ghastly pageant. + +“It is true, but Yuan Shih-Kai will come along. Yesterday he was elected +president for life, and pretty quick he will be emperor, and then he will +have to join line of assassinated pigs. But to change conversation, how +is starvation prospect in China?” + +“Mr. Sereef, we shall never have famine after we get transportation +between the valleys. When my father was a child, nine millions starved in +three years. We of the republic will change all that. One good engineer +can prevent the repetition of nine million deaths.” + +“One?” + +“One.” + +“It is pipedream, Wu. Republic is form pipedream takes after opium joints +are shut up. I am what you say inconsolable for nine millions.” + +Wu did not even shrug his shoulders. Like a machine he said: “They have +mingled with the weather.” + +“That is good answer. Very damn good indeed. From fruitless pity may +Allah deliver all us children of Hassan Sabah. But I am not satisfied +with China.” + +“We exist only to please you, Mr. Sereef.” + +“What I mean is this, Wu. For four five thousand years China has been +jolly old repeater of teacups and babies. What is result? Nine millions +mingled in weather without starting drop of rain from Wu’s eyes. And +same eyes saw fifty girl babies thrown in one field in Yunnan. It would +be better to raise all girls and breed them to soldiers, and leave fifty +khaki kids in one field in Nippon. Japanese are going to lick you, Wu, +because it is what you say psychological moment. Every son of gun wishes +to die for Mikado, because Mikky is son of gaseous vertebrate in sky.” + +The imperturbable Wu replied to this lecture by taking Saadi’s elbow and +politely guiding him out of the building. As they waited for the Halsted +car, Saadi perceived a very thin cat in the street. + +“See cat? Cat appears to be one of nine million. About to-morrow cat will +mingle with weather. You think cat has owner?” + +“I am agnostic on that point. But in Mr. Sereef’s present mood he is not +bound to respect ownership. Cats are carriers of Klebs-Loeffler bacilli, +but even bacilli are frequently captured in war.” + +“Mr. Wu, you have most levelest head of whole damn family. Look! I will +take cat prisoner and name him Jaffer. I will wash cat, and feed cat, and +swab out cat’s mouth with listerine in honour of Lister College, and put +cat on shoulder, same as Prophet in paradise.” + + + + +XIV + + +Becker took Saadi to one or two socialist meetings and introduced him to +several men, but to no women. + +For socialism in general Saadi had only contempt. “What you want, Becker? +More meats in walking sepulchre? Real life is to fight with cold steel +and not care one damn what is in esophagus. Only kind of socialism which +is any good is in Servia. Everybody owns nine acres, and nobody is +allowed to sell. It is hardly any cities in Servia. But Jews must get in +big smoky city and lift up voice and wail like jackals.” + +“Nitchevo!” said Becker. “I don’t care to discuss it. Socialism is +the one thing that has come to stay. But what you say about Servia is +interesting. Tell me more.” + +“You do not read Sunday paper, Becker.” + +They had been walking home from Hodcarriers’ Hall, Sunday evening, +October 19, and had stopped in Harrison Street to have tea from a samovar. + +“What was in the paper?” + +“Little piece about Balkans. Yesterday Austria sent ultimatum to Servia +to yank troops out of Albania.” + +Becker dropped a third lump of sugar into his glass. “That means nothing +to me. How did the Balkan war begin?” + +“How begins anything? Everything begins with Jews. It is only thirteen +millions on whole football of Shaitan, and they are more nuisance than +all rest put in one bunch.” + +“Oye, oye! And now the insults begin.” + +“Suremike. I will explain. Young Turks were dreamers in Paris, all about +liberty, fraternity, equality, which are damfool notions of kids. But +it was no money to make revolution. Salonika was Jew town, with lots of +money, but Greeks were grabbing trade. Salonik Jews and Vienna Jews gave +young Turks money for revolution. Well, revolution revolved. Then Jews +said, ‘Shut eyes while we boycott damn Greeks.’ Young Turks said, ‘All +right. Maybe they will give back Crete.’” + +“It sounds possible,” admitted Becker reluctantly. “But who was the +builder of the Balkan League? Who was the one man most responsible?” + +“Beck, is this what you say conspiracy? Ameen and Wu and Chat have been +telling Saadi Arabian Nights about what one man can do. It is no such +thing as one man, Beck. Every damn thought is stolen, and every damn +finger is moved by nature, same as moon across sky. Your nice personal +Jew nose is public thing as moon in sky.” + +“Saadi, you are a quaint proposition.” + +“Beck, little bit scientific commonsense is so rare in world it seems +what you say quaint to idiots like you. But I will talk Halsted about +Balkan League and you will not believe. Jimmy Bourchier did it.” + +“Who is Jimmy?” + +“He is deaf Irishman. He is journalist. He wrote article on Balkans for +Encyclopedia Britannica—you can read it in Jaffer’s room.” + +“I never heard of him.” + +“Of course not. You will never hear of anything till it is all over and +I have run off with your pocket-book. But Jimmy went to Venizelos in +February of 1911, and suggested Greece, Bulgaria, Servia, and Montenegro +to get together and lick Turk. Venizelos said: ‘Haidee, James! Go +chase self. My folks are Bulgar-eaters. It is impossible.’ Jimmy said: +‘Nothing is impossible with Shaitan. I will come back when May blooms +on Pelion, and you will say yes.’ So he went back in May and they walked +up mountain, and came down with Balkan League under hats. Then Jimmy got +Bulgaria ready, and Servia ready. Montenegro was ready anyhow. Nikolas +cannot eat breakfast till he has taken shot at somebody.” + +“An Irishman, eh? And deaf! Maybe you can do as much for Bokhara some +day. I see you getting Bokhara and Khiva and Afghanistan together to swat +Russia with a Central Asian league.” + +“Why you leave out Persia?” grinned Saadi. + +“I did not mean to. It was an oversight. But tell me more about your own +share in the Balkan game. You came away before the second war, didn’t +you?” + +“Yes, in March. You see, it was fifth year in medicine, but I lost +October and November. On December third came armistice, and Savoff and +Nazim hugged each and drank champagne with each, and I said war is over. +So I went back to make up work. But no professor would help Saadi little +bit. All were mad because he went to help Servia. It was awful days in +Vienna. It was no Christmas trade, and every day Jew paper _Neue Freie +Presse_ had bankrupt notices. I began to be watched.” + +Becker gave a wink, and listened for revelations which did not come. + +“All winter I expected Austria would jump on Servia, and Russia would +jump on Austria. I thought so in January when Nazim was shot because it +was known he would surrender Adrianople. I thought so in February when +war began again. I thought so in March when I gave up bad job and started +for New York to go out west young man and grow up with country. When +I got in New York, King George had been shot and Adrianople had been +gobbled. I said, Austria will sure jump now. Then Nikolas took Skutari, +and warships of powers made fool blockade off shore, and old Nik lay on +cliff on belly with spyglass and laughed till sick. But at last he let +powers have Skutari, to save peace of whole world.” + +“Grey was some help, wasn’t he?” + +“Suremike. Well, I have been waiting still for war to begin. In May, +boys in Bosnia were so anxious to bust loose from Austria that whole +country had to be chucked into state of siege. Bosnia is still in state +of siege. In June Mahmud Shevket was shot in automobile because he let +go of Adrianople. For Mahmud twelve boys were hanged. They were buried +on June 28, day when Bulgaria jumped on Servia. Black Austria told her +to jump, but Black Austria had Servian surprise party coming. Bulgaria +got awful licking. Becker, when you hear about only Turks raping and +mutilating, you can say it is damn lie. What Christians did to Christians +this summer—it is no words—Dr. Trench says I must not try to tell such.” + +“I believe you, Saadi, but I thought you preferred war to peace.” + +Saadi sighed heavily. “It can be what you say too much of one good thing. +It is not sin to wear buttons, but it is crime to wear nothing but +buttons.” + +“Oye, oye! You are just whistling to keep your courage up.” + +“It is good word, Becker. I will remember. I need to whistle all time, +same as peanut-roaster.” + +“Well,” laughed Becker, “I have my grouch against Nicky, but he will keep +the peace. A man wrote me from Moscow that when the Panslavists made a +demonstration after Adrianople, the Cossacks stopped it with the lash. +The Tsar does not want war.” + +“It may be, Becker,” said Saadi, dreamily. “I will not know unless I go +to Petersbourg, where it is big strike coming soon. I would give four +microbes to know, and maybe I would give five. It would depend on size. +If they were small, like little devils Dr. Trench was telling, maybe I +would give six. What you think about those chlamydozoa? You think they +are microbes? They go through all filters. What you think?” + +“I think you are trying to ditch me, Saadi. But there is another good +reason for not fearing war. The Crown Prince of Austria will prevent it. +He married a Slav. He loves the Slavs.” + +Saadi was smilingly inspecting the sugary bottom of his glass. “I love my +cat and my cat loves me, I feed my cat on green bay tree, my little cat +goes mew, mew. It is song Deland sings. You should pay me visit, Becker, +and get acquainted with my cat. My cat is named Jaffer. Of course he will +be fatter sometime—what Deland says ‘some sweet day by and by.’ I love to +hear Deland sing on mandolin. It is like old blind men in Servia making +music on guzla. But Deland is not blind. He made picture of me and my +cat.” + +“Ditched again, Saadi! What has your cat to do with the Crown Prince of +Austria?” + +“Becker, you are Nick Carter, price ten cents with coloured picture on +front. My cat loves Slavs. My cat goes down in cellar and makes love to +Slavs.” + +“Be serious, Saadi. Franz Ferdinand is not only a Slavophil, but he hates +the Kaiser.” + +“Suremike. That is why Willie is so sorry his oldest kid did not behave +like gentleman at table of Franz Ferdinand’s duchess. That is why Willie +is telling all Berlin what nice wife Ferdy has got, and how nice empress +she would make, by golly, no matter how much Magyars hate her and Ferdy +too. Also it is why Willie goes to visit Ferdy in Konopischt. Next time +he will take Tirpitz with him. Behold whole damn Teutonic bunch in +Ferdy’s rose garden, singing _M’r san M’r_, We are Us!” + +“You seem to know a lot about it.” + +“Suremike. I do not read newspapers—that is why I know so much. What I +know about Ferdy is first-hand, same as Chat’s acquaintance with God +Almighty. I will now say ‘Piffle!’ like girl I met. We must go home, +Beckerovitch. Doctor will lambast me for not to know composition of +breast milk. You suppose Sophie and Maximilian and Ernest were brought up +on bottle?” + +“What?” + +“Nothing, Becker. I am talking in sleep about clinic.” + +“Saadi, I’m a proletarian Jew and you’re a Moslem noble, but you needn’t +walk on me.” + +Saadi’s manner changed. “Becker, if you ever again accuse me to have race +feeling, I will what you say knock block off. I will give you proof I +respect you.” + +Becker waited. + +Saadi set down his glass and gazed at it, while sadness stole into his +eyes. + +“On ninth day of August—day before Bukarest treaty was signed—Vienna +privately informed Rome and Berlin that she would move against Servia +very soon.” + +“How do you know that?” + +“Becker, if I tell you it is sign of Jew to ask one question too much, +you must not blame me with to be Moslem noble.” + +Becker flushed. “I withdraw the question.” + +“Of course you withdraw. And it is pleasure to tell one more thing. Rome +has refused to back Vienna.” + + + + +XV + + +It is clear from the preceding narrative that Saadi reacted in much +the same way to all the boys of foreign birth. But with Deland he was +different. + +Deland had taken him to several of the small parks, and these filled him +with delight. He loved to see young creatures at play, loved to see their +freedom, loved the games which gave them discipline without their knowing +it. “We will yet have some soldiers in Halsted,” he cried. + +They were returning late one afternoon from a small park when Saadi +suddenly stopped. + +“What for are dagos coming out of church? It is not Sunday.” + +“Hello,” said Deland, “we’re right in little Sicily, and I’ll bet it’s +the funeral of the two brothers that the sawed-off shotgun got. Wait till +I ask the cop.” + +He loped off across the street, and Saadi saw the officer nod. + +“Come on in,” said Deland, returning. “I never saw a Catholic funeral.” + +“St. Vitus was Sicilian,” said Saadi irrelevantly, “but the Prussians +have his bones at Corvey.” + +“What?” + +“Nothing. I was just wondering if it would be expensive funeral.” + +“Well, let’s just slip in and see how things look.” + +They advanced along the edge of the crowd, up the side of the steps, and +into the church. No Sicilian paid the slightest attention to them. All +the passionate, dark faces were preoccupied, all the voluble tongues +silent. Every brain had but one thought—who would be the next? + +Passing through the vestibule, the boys pushed through the leathern +doors, which swung behind them like a bat’s wings coming to rest. +Darkness met them—but it was the darkness of a starry night. + +In the distance were tall candles—and beyond them the lights of the +altar. Fifty tall candles, rising as high as a man’s head from candelabra +as high as a man’s waist. Fifty tall candles, forming a hollow square of +tardy defence. And there within the ineffectual fortress rose two high, +architectural shadows, along the lines of which the unearthly radiance +glinted. + +Deland left the shadow of a pillar and led Saadi to a pew, standing aside +to let him enter. Saadi knelt, folded his arms on the oaken rail, and +gazed. There were still a few persons in the church—perhaps presently +the coffins would be taken out—in the front pews mourners were kneeling, +three children among them. + +Ten minutes went by. “Come on,” whispered Deland. But Saadi did not +hear him. Deland rose and tiptoed out. At last Saadi appeared, and they +descended into the street. + +“Sorry to disturb you, old man, but I’ve got three things to do. I’ve got +my supper to get, and a prayer-meeting to attend, and the blood vessels +of the neck to grind.” + +He led the way to a restaurant, and ordered spaghetti for two. + +“Vino!” added Saadi. + +“Thought you didn’t drink.” + +“I have never drunk glass of wine in whole life. But now I will drink.” + +Beyond this remark, Saadi said nothing during the whole meal. He did not +touch his spaghetti, but tasted the wine, made a wry face, and fell to +consuming cigarettes. + +“Well, old man, I don’t wonder the funeral took away your appetite. The +worst thing was those poor children in the front pew.” + +Saadi turned a dreamy eye. “Do you know names of children?” + +“I don’t remember, though I saw them in the paper.” + +“I can guess names: Sophia, Massimiliano, Ernesto.” + +“Perhaps. People ought to remember that they have names, and aren’t just +orphans in the bunch. Their dads put up as good a fight as they could.” + +“Bog dal srecu yonacku.” + +“Go easy, old man. Say your little piece in United States.” + +“It is Bokharan, Deland. It says that their dads were brave and lucky.” + +“Gee! I’m glad you think they’ve gone to heaven. But it must be hard for +their families to feel like Christians.” + +Saadi ignored the reference to heaven. “Deland, I asked doctor is he +Christian.” + +“Is that right? Did you have the nerve? What did he say?” + +“I will not tell you, because I do not know what is Christian. I know +what is Orthodox, and Roman, and Uniate, and Bogumil, and what you say +fifty-seven varieties, but I wish to know what is Christian without +varieties. You tell poor Saadi.” + +“What do you take me for, old man? a theological professor?” Deland +coughed, and fanned away some of the smoke which, steadily pouring from +Saadi’s cigarette, drifted away with difficulty, like sectarian fancies. +Then he proceeded. “You can go to prayer-meeting with me, if you like.” + +Saadi looked doubtful. “Has real Christian different prayer from all +varieties?” + +“In my church we have no forms at all.” + +“I do not understand. In Moslem prayer-meeting all pray together at one +time. So it is in Orthodox and Roman. Maybe you are like Bogumils.” + +“You can search me, Saadi. But I promised my mother that I would always +go.” + +Saadi laid aside his cigarette. “Your mother is alive?” + +“No, old man. It’s all I can do to please her now.” + +Saadi laid his hand on Deland’s in silent sympathy. Then he sighed, +beckoned the waiter, and paid the bill. Deland tried to prevent him, but +Saadi caught his wrist and held it as in a band of steel. + +They took to the cars and went to prayer-meeting. Saadi listened +respectfully to it all, and after meeting they walked in silence to +Halsted Street. + +Deland settled down to his neglected work, and ground steadily till +eleven o’clock. Then he laid aside his tasks, read a favourite chapter in +the Book, and dropped on his knees. As he prayed—silently using a blend +of Elizabethan archaisms and Halsted vulgarisms—it crossed his mind that +he was not doing his whole duty. Might not the grace of God have touched +the heart of this strange wandering child? He would tiptoe to Jaffer’s +room, and see if Saadi had gone to bed. + +He found a pencil of light emerging from the keyhole, and knocked softly. +No answer. Evidently Saadi had left the light burning. He would go in and +switch it off. + +He opened the door. The room was blue with tobacco smoke, but there by +Jaffer’s couch knelt Saadi Sereef. Deland’s heart gave a great leap of +joy. + +Saadi arose, and Deland apologised. + +“It is all right, Deland. I am finished with bad job.” + +“Don’t say so, old man. It was no bad job to get down on your marrow +bones and thank God you’re alive, and ask him to overlook a few things +and make a doctor out of you.” + +Saadi spoke with measured utterance. “I prayed, Deland. I hunted for +person I heard about in Deland’s Bogumil prayer-meeting. He was missing. +He was absent on leave. He was gone to visit ghosts and vampires.” + +“Old man! My dear old man, you are plumb wrong about it. He is here, +Saadi. He’s the whole thing, and all there is. Don’t chuck it, Saadi. +Hold on! Get a grip on Him!” + +Saadi shook his head. + +Deland collapsed into Jaffer’s arm-chair. “Oh, gee! I’m so sorry. I’m +so sorry I don’t see how I can stand it. Say—this is too much for a +chucklehead to figure out, but I’m dead sure that you wouldn’t try so +hard unless you had already got there. I don’t know how to say it.” + +“Bedouin said it long ago, before Pascal or Deland. If thou has sought +Me, thou hast already found Me. But it is not true.” + +“I’ll give you the Book. I’ll show you the places in it. It would be +the best that ever happened if you could go back as a Christian doctor +to poor old Bokhara. What I know about your country could be put in a +two-ounce bottle, but if Bokhara is anything like America, it needs Jesus +Christ, and needs him bad.” + +“It may need Issa, my good Yankee boy, or it may not. All it will get is +fire and sword.” + +Deland saw he was making no headway. “You called our prayer-meeting +Bogumil. What does that mean?” + +“It is name of dead Christian sect. Bogumils said world is so bad nobody +ought to have any kids. Good many didn’t get married. But then Catholics +jumped on them, and they had to get kids to fight back. Bogumils +believed there is big scrap on between Bog and Shaitan—god and devil.” + +“Then they were dead right, Saadi. I’m glad we struck you that way. +‘Onward Christian Soldiers’ is some song.” + +“I liked it, Deland. But I liked other songs better.” + +“What ones?” + +“One that said that I’m pilgrim, I’m stranger, I can tarry, I can tarry +but one night. Also they sang about ninety and nine. I understood. Men +are sheep. I am sheep. I am one that is off on hills astray.” + +Tears sprang to Deland’s eyes. “For cramp’s sake, old man, can’t you +hear the Voice that is calling you? I’m not much on the gentle shepherd +racket, but when a sheep is lost, why, he’s lost. Jesus is mighty to +save, but you’ve got to repent. You’re a lost sheep, Saadi, and you’ve +got to bleat a little, so that he will know where you are.” + +“I cannot repent, Deland. I am liar and thief and man with sawed-off +shotgun. I know about sheep. I have been with shepherds in night +on hills. I have sat by fire and heard of ghosts and vampires and +paradise—where no Christian can go. But what I most know about sheep is +this. It must be big wolf-dogs.” + +Saadi was still standing, stroking the purring creature that he had +rescued from starvation. His eyes were sad, but very calm, and Deland saw +that the battle was lost. The man from Salem arose. + +“Shall I make Deland little cup of Bokhara coffee with copper toy I +bought of Greek?” + +“No, old man, it would only keep us awake.” + +“Not me, Deland. I would like to do something for Deland.” + +“The only thing you can do for me is to believe on the Lord Jesus Christ +and be saved. And I think you will. I think the time will come when you +will feel Him closer than your carotid artery.” + +The cat nestled on Saadi’s shoulder, and Saadi held it against his neck. +“You ask me to believe in Bog, and I have to say no. Always it will be +so—my last word will be No.” + + + + +XVI + + +Edith found her new studies confining. There was no more revelry in the +riches of the sand dunes, where the fringed gentian hides its glory. +Invertebrates and embryos, microscope and microtome—such was the new +order of the day. But she often dreamed back to her botany. + +God’s love had spoken to her in the plants. The very breath she drew +was sweetened for her by the leaves; girl and tree live by exchanging +breath; you cannot feed lovers so. And what fair thought had she ever +known but it grew fairer in the presence of flowers? She was wont to read +the very skies in terms of a blossomy spectrum—violet, dahlia, hepatica, +forget-me-not, larkspur, crocus, poppy, rose. + +When God’s sunshine reached earth, love sprang to meet love. Into the +thin leaves the earth sent up three elements, and His red and blue rays +transformed them into food. Then, by admitting the stream of nitrogen, He +transformed the leaf-sugar into living tissue, and at last into bodies +like her own. The elements of her body would some day rejoin the circling +streams, but she who followed His art could never die. + +It was Trench who had unconsciously made her feel the sacredness of all +this. And now what was suddenly happening to her under his conscious +influence? He had talked about looking at things impersonally. Well, she +had always so looked at food; she had never eaten her bread with tears +because it was the defeated offspring of wheat-plants; but now even bread +began to taste of blood. And now she could not look at living plants +without recognising the terrible overcrowding. Death among plants, from +the heartless oak to the hooked liana, was a systematic asphyxiation of +infants. + +When she turned to the insects, she could no longer rejoice in the +little marriage-priestlings of the flowers. Once she had thought how +wisely their unseen Bishop had assigned them—butterflies for the red, +bees for the blue, moths for the white. But this was fancy; this was +nature-faking. Trench would explain all that fertilisation in terms +of equations. But when you got down to scientific bed rock, there was +no language left. There wasn’t a verb along that path, and the result +was that instead of regarding the flower-marriages in noble Ruskinian +fashion, she now regarded them ignobly. Elsie, for instance, was a +passionate red flower, and any passing butterfly like Edith might +irritate her into unhallowed union with the nearest reckless red. + +So much for the insects that live on nectar. Looking now at the rest of +the two million species, she saw them as assassins. Their instinctive +methods were diabolically ingenious and cruel. They presented a closed +system of hunger, assassination, and rape. + +Nor was it only the male that was inexorably and innocently hungry. The +female scorpion and mantis eat the whole of their mates, during or after +pairing. Even the cricket mutilates her mate. No wonder that Trench had +evaded the discussion of crickets on the hearth. + +She began to understand him. He regarded life as a unit, from bees to +priests, and flowers to girls, and crickets to matrons. And it was to +avoid becoming an utter misanthrope that he called it fate or machinery. +But if she ever came to such a conclusion, life would not be worth +living. That kind of view would paralyse her will. It would make all +effort a farce. + +The case was no better when she came to study the sea-animals. From the +barely visible slipper-animalcule to the shark, it was an unrelieved +system of assassination. And the formula of sea-water was nearly that of +her own blood. She was the descendant of these assassins—before birth +her neck had actually shown traces of gills. Of course in theory it made +no difference who her ancestors were, if she had attained decency. But +how could she be sure? She had a maw like the rest, and she liked small +oysters alive. Was her spiritual life but a self-deceptive egotism? +Was her anxiety over Bobbie merely nature’s way of providing a future +defender of her appetite for expensive shell-fish? + +“Nature” distributed claws and teeth and protective devices quite +impersonally, and left the rest to chance. As things had worked out, +the heavy-armoured trilobites were a failure, as heavy-armoured vessels +might prove to be, in the war Trench thought so close at hand. The alert +and active destroyers had inherited the earth. The especially triumphant +tribes were three: the cricket-tribe, the bacteria, and man. Well, people +didn’t worry about it. Preachers assured their audiences that Darwin was +a back number. + +How hard her heart was becoming. But she had not come to the university +to harden her heart. Whatever God was, she must trust Him. Had He not +guided Dr. Trench’s hand to the saving of Bobbie’s life? Yes—though now +it was piteously necessary to look more closely into the process of that +salvation. Bobbie had been saved from the membrane in his throat. And +the membrane was only a bed of foliage; the poison was a secretion of +little stems. The diphtheretic bacillus was merely a colourless plant +with a vicarious method of blooming. It turned a rosy cheek to violet, +and a carnation lip to iris, and triumphed at last in one great heavy +white blossom. If God made that plant, Dr. Trench had saved Bobbie from +God. But perhaps God was not a physical cause at all. Perhaps he was like +heaven or Elijah—yet to come. She felt a bitter sense of the ludicrous. + +Plunged in her new troubles, she saw but little of her new friends. But +when Elsie’s summaries of Westermarck suddenly ceased, she decided to +go and ask why. On a crisp Sunday afternoon in the middle of December +she was starting out for this purpose when Clara Narcisco came round the +corner. + +“Giorno, madonna mia! It feels good to little Clara, this nice coat that +Edith said was too small for her—and Edith had better go to confession +for telling a whopper. Invite me in to your palazzo, si piaca.” + +“Clara Narcisco, the colour on your cheeks is too rich for words. I’m +going to kiss them so hard that I’ll leave a white spot on both of them. +There! Come in out of the cold.” + +When they were snug in Edith’s room, before the glowing grate, Clara +began: + +“Madonna mia, I’m worried sick.” + +“You’re a good friend, Clara, and here you are. Is it your father?” + +“No, it’s Elsie. Last night I had a call from her mother. Just think of +it—that poor old Sheeny coming to see a Catholic girl, and hardly able to +speak two words. I don’t know which she thought was worse, the plaster +shrine with the bambino, or the newspapers I had down to keep the floor +clean, or me alone with two kids. I was putting Maria to bed, and Maria +didn’t want to go to bed when she saw Mrs. Shaviro; she wanted to run +away. Mrs. Shaviro has the biggest black eyes you ever saw.” + +“I’ve seen her. What did she want?” + +“She wanted to know if I knew where Elsie was. She had to tell there was +a heavy scrap at home. Mrs. Shaviro was talking to Elsie about never +going to church. She called it School, or something like that. Aloro, +Elsie got mad and said she would lead her own life, and she just packed +up and beat it. Wasn’t that fierce?” + +Edith reflected. “It was fierce—certainly. But I don’t understand. I +can’t see her getting angry about nothing.” + +“Well, I’ve heard her call the sheeny prayers nonsense. But I ain’t +through yet. I says, ‘Mrs. Shaviro,’ I says, ‘why don’t you send one of +the boys to follow Elsie and see where she’s living,’ and Mrs. Shaviro +says she done it and Elsie give the kid the go-by. Then she asked me to +find out, and I said I would, and was going to talk to Elsie about it, +and ecco! Elsie don’t show up at the shop.” + +“She may be sick.” + +“She ain’t sick. I went straight to Ischl.” + +“That was right. You and I have the same idea.” + +“I’ll bet we have. I says, ‘Mr. Ischl, why ain’t Elsie Shaviro here? +Have you been saying something to her that makes her feel insulted?’ He +takes something out of a pigeonhole and shoves it over to me and it was +two weeks old and in it she says she appreciates the fair way Ischl has +treated the shop, but she is going to quit after two weeks because she is +not going to work any more in a factory and she is giving him notice.” + +“Clara, this is serious. What do you make of it?” + +“Cosi Iddio mi aiuti! I ain’t got no more idea than you have. This last +two or three weeks she was the happiest I ever seen her, and now it’s +just like she was killed by a street car.” + +“Clara, did you ever know of any other girl’s disappearing this way?” + +“Oh, yes. But it don’t seem possible Elsie has gone wrong.” + +“Don’t good girls ever take rooms for themselves, so as to avoid mothers +that don’t understand them?” + +“It may be. I shouldn’t wonder if there was girls that had the nerve to +do that, but oh, dear—that don’t help us none. I wish I could just forget +it.” + +“We can’t, Clara! Did she ever go with anybody, so far as you know?” + +Clara shook her head. + +“Well, Clara dear, there is only one thing I can think of to do. There +are plenty of young socialists in the university, and to-morrow I will +find out what girl among them is most worthy of our confidence. And I +will tell that girl what our trouble is, and ask her to keep a quiet +lookout.” + +“I knew you would know the answer.” + +“Let’s not be too sure, Clara, but we three girls must stick together. +And we won’t think evil of her.” + + + + +XVII + + +Such was the interruption of Edith’s studies in December. She did as she +had promised Clara, and easily found a sympathetic ally, who agreed to +inquire casually about Elsie. Edith did more. She went to Hull-House, and +laid the case before a woman who knew the young idealists of the West +Side well. This lady also sent out casual inquiries, and sent them with +system. The casual inquiring went on for two weeks, but with no results. +It did, to be sure, reveal the fact that at least twenty acquaintances of +Elsie Shaviro were wondering what had become of her. She had taken part +in the work of a certain local, and her vivid personality was one to be +missed. + +Christmas came, and the Narciscos spent it with the Drummonds. Edith and +Clara did not speak of Elsie, but they both felt the hovering of a shadow +above the merry-making. When Edith had deposited the sleepy children and +their motherly sister at the Narcisco rooms, and carried up dolls and +Noah’s arks and Christmas mangers and a whole railway system, the two +friends parted rather sadly. + +During the holiday vacation Edith got into the habit of walking in +places which she had never before visited. Her steps turned to regions +where flimsy apartment buildings had sprung up like mushrooms—plants of +saprophytic origin, able to explode their way through building laws. +Often she would step into a vestibule and scan the names under the row of +speaking tubes. But she never found Elsie’s name among them. + +Fear is a great breeder of convictions, and Edith gradually made up her +mind that Elsie had done what she had threatened to do. Elsie—she felt +sure of it at last—had now a paramour. The right man had come along. He +might be a man unhappily married, but with money enough to support a +mistress. Or he might be some struggling young unmarried socialist. + +In either case, Edith’s venture in philanthropy had come to grief. This +was the result of setting herself up to instruct a brilliant physician. + +Apparently it was the end of something. What did it matter whether life +was photochemistry or divine handicraft? The laws of it were rigid, +and it did not help to call them spiritual. In Elsie’s case the mating +instinct had got the better of commonsense. Did it help matters to call +the mating instinct human and commonsense divine? + +She knew very well what Elsie would do if brought to account. She would +quote her Westermarck. The Wahabies regard smoking as a mortal sin, +adultery as a trivial one. Albanians feel that shooting a husband is +nothing as compared with eating an egg on Saturday, and Osage Indians +declare that an illegitimate is not a person. In short, Elsie would say +that morality is only custom, and often silly custom. + +All of which would be Elsie’s afterthought. The mating instinct had swept +through her as something imperceptible to human senses sweeps through +insects and brings them to each other across miles of perfumed air. But +once irretrievably mated, she would find excuses to quiet her conscience. +If now Edith were to consult Dr. Trench, he would say, “You are beginning +to see things without prejudice. If Elsie’s child dies, she will revert +to the faith of her fathers and say that it has gone to heaven.” + +She felt a great need of blaming Elsie, but in the light of her +recent studies she was tempted to regard her as an animal pure and +simple. That passionate dark-eyed creature was once a single cell, +and the chromosomes of it had settled her conduct from the moment of +its fertilisation. This was fatalism, but Edith was on the point of +accepting it, all for love of Elsie. How different from her first study +of chromosomes, when she had rejoiced that Easter lilies have the same +number as Easter brides. How different from her former assurance that +chromosomes assure progress, because they refuse to transmit bad traits +produced by bad surroundings. + +Was it so terribly easy, then, to be warped by personal feeling from the +scientific attitude? She would not yield without a struggle. How hard +she tried in the next weeks to face the facts and live down her sense of +helplessness. How earnestly she prayed to be delivered from the power of +metaphor. + +She had been as good a reader of the daily paper as the average woman, +but now she did not open it. In January she did not know that German +officers were acquitted of abusing civilians in Alsatia. In February she +did not know that William of Wied accepted the throne of Albania, or that +Mr. Carnegie gave two millions to the Church Peace Union, or that the +Senate ratified treaties of arbitration with eight nations. + +Nor was there any news from God. Every hour in the laboratory seemed to +be closing the fetters about her. Under the microscope she found life +all of one texture. Cells divided and sub-divided, death and life going +hand in hand, neither quite distinguishable from the other. She saw the +terrestrial web of life renewing itself automatically. It would continue +to do so until a lowering temperature or a whiff of starry gas should end +it. + + + + +XVIII + + +Good Friday came, and with it the car to bring Edith home. As she was +whirled through the parkways toward the West Side, she felt very unready. +Easter had always been a great day in the family, and now she was +reluctant to meet it. + +Finally she directed the chauffeur to take her to Hull-House in Halsted +Street, and leave her there, and explain to Mrs. Drummond that she would +be home in time for dinner at seven. + +As the car drove away, Edith stood at the corner of Polk and Halsted +and looked at the scene. Her thought had been to enter the settlement +and inquire of her friend for any news of Elsie. But there was no use +in doing this, and at that instant she was willing to let Elsie go. An +animal must have its fling. + +She boarded a street car and went north. She passed Trench’s house, and +longed to see him. How beautiful his lips were. How endearing that little +twist of rough hair at the top of his forehead. + +She left the car at Division Street and turned her steps westward across +the bridges and the smoky mysteries of Goose Island. This was Chicago—and +Mr. Kipling had declared that he knew a wretched crossroads in India +which was a better place to live in! She walked west and then south +again, coming down through the great Polish district to little Sicily. + +Near a church—it was the same which Saadi and Deland had visited—shops +were selling religious gear. A little girl who reminded her of Clara’s +sister darted into her father’s shop and came out with a crucifix, which +she offered for sale. For little Maria’s sake Edith bought it. + +Then she looked at the church. She had done no thinking during her long +walk. Perhaps she had better go in and rest. + +She found the interior very dark. She could see a few lonely worshippers, +but where was the altar? There was no ruby gleam from the shrine, and no +towering mystery such as had enthralled her in European churches. With a +shock she perceived that the altar had disappeared, and that in its place +was the tomb of Christ. She beheld the domelike roof of the rock-cut +sepulchre; and there beneath, lighted by the pale reflection of candles, +was the ashen body of the Son of Man. + +For a moment she stood breathless. Then she reasoned it out. A great +painting had been stretched over the altar. Rome did not stop at mere +poetry. Yonder knelt Sicilian pagans gazing at Adonis in his grave, as +they had knelt long before Jesus lived. + +She sank into a pew, unconsciously holding the crucifix against her +breast. She leaned forward against the rail of the next pew, and gazed at +the apparition, as Saadi had gazed at the two coffins. + +What was the world of her studies? It was a closed system of environment +and response. The same energies within the body as without, so that on +close analysis the body disappeared in the general atomic tissue of the +universe. The same general structure for each organism, from lily to +bride. And to produce a lily or a bride, the same number of tyrannical +chromosomes in the impregnated cell. The lily was supposed to be an +unconscious creature, the bride a conscious. But the researches of Bose +showed them doing much the same things, and though the morning stirred +the bride to a sense of being a bride, it never showed her the inexorable +chemical processes within her body. And in all scientific probability, +the death of lily or bride was merely so much dissipation of energy. + +If a spirit returned to animate that ashen, immobile mass of dead cells +yonder, why, the pattern of every cell that ever lived would return. +The case had only to be stated to be seen absurd. There had been no +resurrection of the cell, and therefore none of the body. And if the +resurrection of the “spirit” was true, biologists must believe exactly +as savages believe. Ghostly birds of paradise were restlessly walking in +asphodel meadows, unable to mate, and therefore refusing food—the ghostly +psyches of butterflies. + +It was all derisible nonsense. The simple fact was that birds of paradise +were mottled by the earth they grew on, and carried their human origin on +every feather. So-called spirits of the dead were indeed half angel and +half bird, and all a wonder and a wild desire. These things were merely +secondary sex-traits made to float away from the organs that generated +them, and fancied to exist in a limbo of their own. In such bodiless +creations ecstasy is very cunning. + +The pale cell-colony in the distance had its structure like the rest. The +jaw had fallen, and no longer crunched the flesh of other animals. It was +dead for good and all. But self-deceiving hominidæ had used it to serve +their own desire for survival. They had taken the grave-clothes of this +Jewish specimen and flung them over the whole earth, an enchanted veil of +false hope. The mechanism of desire had manufactured the risen Christ. + +So she had come at last to Dr. Trench’s position. She would never be +able to win him to the fairy tale of immortality. She would never be +able to win him—she paused at the words, and something struggled into +consciousness. She loved him! + +The thrill of it led her automatically to the next step. If she admitted +his point of view, might not she win him for herself? And if they had a +child, let it take its chances like the rest. Let it take its chances! +Let it be content with such brief joy and passion as earth could afford. +She would drink deep of this sweet cup, and then sleep forever. She +believed she could win him—she gave new meaning to the trembling of the +hand which once had lifted her own nearly to his lips. + +For a minute she dreamed. She saw the twenty-eighth of June approach, and +herself awaiting him in the conservatory. She saw the feathery moss of +the orchids’ bed, where pink-veined bosoms lay revealed. “Yes,” she would +say, “they are but mechanisms, and do not know their own love.” And she +could hear him reply as she wished him to reply, “But, dearest, do we not +know ours?” + +Then the reaction set in. She scanned her conclusion. It was free from +superstition, but was it free from stain? Suppose that Trench did come +in June, though still determined not to marry; suppose he did lose his +self-control—for her words would lead him as the lines of colour on the +cypripedium lead the insect to the stigma. How much would their conduct +differ from that of two uneducated persons whose excuse was that they +couldn’t help it? How much would it differ from Elsie’s running off with +a married man? + +The reaction grew sharper. They were taking her Saviour from her, and +she knew not where they had laid him. God help her! What thoughts had +she entertained? Men had idealised that man in the tomb, but in doing so +they had thought nobly of man. In the pathos of their desire to be freed +from the remora of desire, they had shown confidence at least in Him. He +had been tempted without sin. They had called him the Prince of Peace, +because he had mastered the passions which are the cause of war. Though +he had felt the blind chemical urge of hunger and anger and love, even +as the machine called the scorpion feels it, he had shown men how to +control and refine their instincts. Whole races had been less beastly for +thinking of Him. These things she long had known, and yet she had been on +the point of tempting impersonal passion. + +She had read in books of the “necessity” of love. She had read of lovers +who spoke of something stronger than they. But in the name of the Prince +of Peace, was there no necessity still stronger? She pressed fiercely +against the oaken rail, and the crucifix hurt her breast. The pain felt +good. It was as if she were a mother, and her baby were hurting her. +There welled up within her an overwhelming pity for the mothers of +millions untimely slain—and she knew once for all that she could never +abandon the hope of heaven for mothers and children. + +Thus her faith returned on the wings of a single moral decision, and as +the price of giving up the man she loved. Whether God or chemistry had +compelled her made no difference. + + + + +XIX + + +All the next day she kept testing herself to see if that decision was +final. By evening she was satisfied that she had found the deeper +necessity. And now what could she do for the girl she had lost, and the +man she had given up? There must be active and disinterested sympathy for +both. + +As for Elsie, she must find her before she could stand by her. And when +she had found her, she must show an interest in Westermarck on marriage, +and no fear of Marie Sukloff. A personal in the newspapers would be the +simplest method, but this had not occurred to her while she had been +bewailing scorpions and crickets. That evening she wrote out a personal: + + Elsie.—Simply must resume Westermarck. Not afraid of Marie or + anybody like her.—Edith. + +As for Trench, Elsie’s words about the socialists came to her aid. +Socialists were trying to make earth a reasonable sort of heaven. Their +disbelief in a future life helped them to work at this task not less +cheerfully, but more cheerfully. Doubtless many a scientific man was +working in exactly that way. She must grasp this point of view at its +best, and present it to Trench on the twenty-eighth of June, instead +of quarrelling about a hopelessly technical problem. Incidentally she +must read some current history, and try to dispel his absurd fear of an +impending war. The days of great wars were over. + +Easter morning dawned glorious, and she thanked God for it. The Easter +after her mother had died had been so raw and rainy that it was no fit +symbol of the resurrection, and good dry bones would have preferred to +stay underground. But this morning, this twelfth of April, 1914, was +everything that it should be. She could reflect calmly that she was not +anxious about her new clothes, though she had some, and no longer worried +to death about her soul. + +At breakfast she found by her place a glorious lily with a blurred +card—“From Clara to her best friend, and I got one for Elsie, too.” + +Bless her heart—that good red little heart, to which no theory of +physiology could ever do justice! An idea! Edith would add that message +to the personal. She did so, after breakfast, and when later in the day +her druggist telephoned the personal to four papers, it read: + + Elsie.—Simply must resume Westermarck. Not afraid of Marie or + anybody like her. And Clara has a lily for you.—Edith. + +At half-past ten the whole family descended from the car and entered the +church. It was an old building, rich with autumnal glass. It was a church +of gentlemen for gentlemen, as Cardinal Newman would ironically have +said, but social problems were not bothering Edith Bridgman this morning. + +At the opening of the service, Guilmant’s “Marche Funebre et Chant +Seraphique” was played, and she yielded gladly to its spell. “The rest +may reason and welcome; ’tis we musicians know,” she quoted to herself, +and wondered if Trench ever heard any music. She laid a plot to get him +to the concerts of the Symphony Society. + +She had come intending to get a good deal out of the sermon, but she +heard nothing after the first words of the exegesis. “We shall be +changed, in a moment”—and the Greek for moment was the Greek for atom. +Instantly she recalled Trench’s contemptuous designation of himself. She +would take him at his word for a few atomic moments and note the result. + +Flowers and preacher vanished. Light-years rolled back. Out of nothing +but unguessed energy arose innumerable centres of it—ethereal but +ponderable. They combined, but not by impersonal passion or personal +command. They melted into two great drifts of stars and nebulæ. One of +the whirling spirals spun till its core shone independent, and the rings +condensed into eight planets. She watched the third from the centre as +it whirled and grew. Planetesimals fell into it with flash and shock, +and at last it held the atoms which would some day be Trench and his +students, and Elsie and Clara and Edith. Then it gave off gases which +formed an atmosphere, a great delicate bubble rippling with storms. This +in turn distilled water, which spread like dew on a grape. The ever +revolving flash of sun against the earth had power at last to gather from +lithosphere, atmosphere, and hydrosphere the elements of a third sphere, +the film of life. It pulsed faintly opalescent. It was green, with flecks +of red, and tiny white scars. Every millimetre of that tissue bore some +wound from which it had recovered. If now she shut out the green and +heightened the aurora-red to carmine, she could see all the blood. To +her it seemed a ruby, and for her it obliterated the scars triumphantly, +as the blood of the Lamb obliterates sin. But Trench was bound not to +object if that rich, meaningless, unvalued stuff was bought and sold. He +was bound not to flinch as he saw the currents pass from body to body +by agonised birth or pitiless crunching of teeth. And the teeth and +bones were calcium, caught up from the rock to support the flesh tints +of the bubble. But the hot life pulsed and shock, and the calcium fell +like snow. Life clung to the rock, depositing death at every pore. It +damascened smooth surfaces with fossils, it floored the sea with chalk +and limestone and marble. It fell on fields of battle from pole to pole. +Had these bones cost no more to the breeding than to impearl a rifle ball? + +Trench would answer no. But how could he live by such a view? No +man could hold the impersonal focus steady—she herself had felt her +eye-muscles shorten and lengthen as her human interest inevitably drew +some spot of the picture nearer. And if Trench really insisted that the +only reality was atomic energy, he would face a blank field in which +there were only equations, mass having vanished like Shelley’s skylark, +lost in the light of heaven. Of such a universe he could say nothing, and +yet he was doomed to express himself in the system of faded mythology +which goes by the name of the English language. + +What was more, he was in that web of life to stay. If he thought he could +lessen the pain of it by leaving no child, he was just plain stupid. The +minute his calcium fell, the sunlight would laugh at him, pick up his +atoms, and put him back into the web. He would begin as plant food, but +presently he would be back in human bodies. + +She couldn’t tell him so, but she could tell him that he was fated to +stand as he stood, touching the web with steel or medicine, to make it +rosier. If—when he banished pallor with oxygen, or with tincture of fern +flicked out canker from the roseleaf tissue, or with a moonlight trace +of silver brushed a foul film from a baby’s eye—he could not see that it +was worth while, he must at least see that it was fated. He was himself a +part of the web, and every red cell that emerged from the marrowy caverns +of his bones was literally breathing, and almost as literally breathing +hope. + +She could not leave the vision till she had drawn him closer and +analysed him. She did so, dissolving him into a dozen impersonal +Trenches—muscular, arterial, lymphatic, boney. But she could not find +his very self, even in his nerves—that shadowy seaweed ghost, swept by +ethereal tides. She could not find him in his brain—starred with all +children but hers—where between the centres flashed a lacy midnight +of orderly pale lightning. And when at last she reduced him to atoms +and peered among his shining electrons, he faded and was lost in the +light of heaven. She loved him still, but she understood no atom of +what she loved. Never mind! The sciences which yesterday had frightened +her, to-day cheered her. He was apparently linked with everybody and +everything in the universe, and she would have to show courtesy to all +his brethren. Why! that was the theory of God, wasn’t it? In spite of +all the bloodshed of life, God loved the world with a love more than +personal, more than impersonal. + +Oh, she would open his eyes on the twenty-eighth of June. She would +operate on them as he had operated on her throat. That was a mere +metaphor, but she had a right to all the metaphors she wanted. To express +her new faith she would even say that God’s personal love pulses to the +very star-tips of the universe. To crown all, Trench would some day be +the most surprised man that ever waked up in heaven. For herself she +asked no better heaven than to see him kneel and kiss little Mildred. + +When the Hallelujah Chorus burst forth, she was ready to join in. When +the benediction had been said, and all stood for a minute in silent +prayer, she prayed that Elsie might be found and Trench might be changed. + +And when she turned round, she saw Trench. + +It was impossible. Yet there he stood in the rear of the room, no vision, +but real as hope or heaven. He was waiting, and the crowd began to pass +him on its way out. He spoke to nobody, though many directed well-bred +glances at him as they passed. + +John made his way forward to shake hands with the minister. And now +through the thinning stream she saw Trench advancing. + +“Good morning, Miss Bridgman. Good morning, Mrs. Drummond. Hello, scout!” + +“We’re terribly glad to see you, doctor,” said Helena. “You have given us +the most blessed Easter we have ever known. Where do you usually worship?” + +“Nowhere, Mrs. Drummond. I am a wandering sheep. This is the first time +I’ve been to church since I used to go with my mother.” + +“You poor man! You poor overworked faithful doctor. You must come home to +dinner with us.” + +Up to this time Edith had said nothing. She had been standing there with +strange new sensations—a shyness she had never felt before. Helena’s +invitation made her panicky. She simply couldn’t have him accept. + +“Were you in at the first, Dr. Trench?” + +“I followed you in. I heard it all.” + +“Did the music please you?” + +Trench lifted his eyes, and a curious tenderness seemed to stream from +their grey depths. “Yes. Somehow it made me think of this rascal here. +You put up a good fight, scout.” + +Bobbie swung the hand he was holding—“It’s only two more years before +I’ll be a really and truly.” + +“Good business! Here comes your father.” + +John was indeed coming, and he struck Trench like a planet. + +“Hello, Director! Did you think I had forgotten?” + +“Am I to be honest?”—Trench’s hand was being squeezed too hard. + +“Always be honest with your banker.”—John only tightened his grip. + +“Then I did think so. I came here with the base design of finding +out.”—Trench managed to free his hand. + +“You are a wise youth, doctor. You deliberately picked out the one day +when you thought I might possibly loosen up.” + +“I’m not denying it. It was a shabby trick.” + +“Nothing of the sort. Perfectly justifiable. But you don’t know what a +time I’ve had getting the land.” + +“You have bought? You have it already? I offer the most abject apologies.” + +“I’ve got it—the whole block south—quit claim—all straight, and back to +the Indians. But the owner held out for impossible figures.” + +“Mr. Drummond, you are what I call a normal man, so far as a man can be +who is entangled in our present financial system. I offer you a health +certificate from our faculty.” + +“What on earth are you two men talking about?” + +“Sh! not so loud, Helena. There’s just a little matter that I haven’t +mentioned to you and Edith. But while nobody’s looking this way, let me +present Dr. Isham Trench, Director of the Drummond Children’s Pavilion of +Lister Hospital.” + +Helena looked at him—looked at him hard, and thought at first that she +saw him, but everything disappeared as the April rose to her eyes. + +But Edith stepped up to her brother and kissed him before everybody. +“John, I’m a cypripedium, and Dr. Trench is an atom—he told me so +himself—but you are a dear. Doctor, you must accept my sister’s +invitation.” + +“That’s right, Director, and we’ll talk business. I feel an inch taller +already.” + +And this time Drummond had him by one arm, and Bobbie by the other. + + + + +XX + + +By Monday, Trench was all in a glow about the pavilion. He forgot that he +was an atom. He swore to himself that if the Massachusetts General could +get constructive work done, Lister could. + +But Monday evening his glow was chilled by Saadi Sereef, who came into +the library holding the evening paper in his hand. Trench, having had one +consultation with Drummond, was awaiting another, and was turning the +leaves of a medical journal. + +“Doctor, why they call it Easter? Dictionary says Teutonic goddess of +spring. But were human sacrifices offered?” + +“I don’t know. What excuse for mischief are you seeking?” + +“Excuse for New York, by golly! Look, doctor. Here are names of four +boys. This morning New York offered all to goddess of Easter.” + +“Ah! the gunmen.” + +“Not men, doctor. Boys. Kids.” + +Trench nodded. “I daresay they died game. Here in Chicago I knew Ewald, +Frank, Phil, and Tommy. They too died game.” + +“What! No remorse?” + +“Not a bit.” + +They looked at each other. Saadi’s eyes were misty, and the doctor’s +fingers had closed around the medical journal as if holding a severed +limb together. + +Trench spoke, slowly and softly. “Tom was one of eleven children, as nice +a little boy as you ever saw. His mother couldn’t—really—with eleven +to look after. There was a fine school across the street, locked for +seventeen hours each day. There was a saloon around the corner, and +a hole under the viaduct. He had those two resources, and he had us +around him—a million miles away. They killed a truck-farmer with no more +compunction than we had killed their souls. But perhaps we had better not +say souls.” + +“I guess doctor had better say it. In Halsted we talk Halsted.” + +“All right—killed their souls. And—you’d better forget them, like the +rest of us.” + +Saadi gave a muscular twist which was half shrug and half shiver. +“Chicago is not afraid? Even Black Austria would be afraid.” + +The bell rang, and Saadi rose to go. + +Drummond came in as Saadi went out, and banker and physician got down to +business. To quote words once applied to a less humane plot, the great +consult began. After it was over, Trench sat up most of the night making +drawings. Tuesday morning the sheets were in the hands of an architect +with a demand for clean blue-prints within twenty-four hours. Trench +telephoned for a reservation on the Limited for Wednesday afternoon. He +was going to New York, for a talk with one or two hospital men. + +The prints were delivered early Wednesday morning, and Trench was looking +them over when Saadi dropped in again. + +“I do not wish to intrude, doctor.” + +“You are most welcome, Saadi. I’ve seen very little of you this year.” + +“Well, doctor, I see plans of building. Doctor will not build one more +Menagerie. Doctor will sure not build Mosque. Therefore doctor will build +hospital for kids.” + +Trench laid the plans aside. “And Saadi,” he said, “will keep his mouth +shut for a month or so.” + +Saadi bowed. “What doctor says to Saadi is more binding than laws +of Shariat. But on St. George’s day, Saadi will celebrate. April +twenty-third is doctor’s birthday, and in Balkans April twenty-third, +old style, is birthday of St. George. St. George is patron of kids. St. +George was fond of lilies of valley, and in this room on this table it +will be one dozen dozen.” + +“Thank you, my son. But you and I aren’t much on symbols, and I am +already enough in your debt.” + +Saadi stared. “You—you Schwabski hakim! You save my life, you give me +home,—and you dare say thing like that!” + +“I mean,” said Trench, “that during these months in which you have been +mostly absent from me in the spring, you have taught me something. I have +been shivering lest you should carry some of our common ideas farther +than I carry them.” + +“Doctor means Saadi is awful warning?” + +“That’s too strong, but let it go at that. Well, I’m talking like a man +of leisure. Fact is, I’m not going to college to-day. I’m off to New +York.” + +“So? Doctor will miss one day of Surgical Congress.” + +“I’m not going to the Congress.” + +“Well, doctor, I hope Trench hospital kids will not have to fight Wu’s +kids.” + +“I hope not.” + +“It will come, doctor. Panama Canal settles it. But I much prefer peace.” + +Trench surveyed him quizzically. “I seem to note a fall of temperature.” + +“Doctor thinks I have passed crisis? Doctor thinks I may get well?” + +“I hope so. What serum have you been using?” + +“Oh, mixture. Trench and Jew mixture.” + +“Ah, Becker has been good for you.” + +“I did not say Becker. I have been reading New Testament. It is wild +Jewish book, all about Bogs coming down as doves, and prophets born +without influence of centrosomes. It is not so much commonsense as Koran, +but I am sick of commonsense. It is full of wild dreams about all men +must stick together in peaceful love, because Bog sent down son to die +for all. That is craziest pipedream in world, worse than what Chat says +legend of Buddha turning self into rabbit to feed brown men in famine. +Oh, much worse. But, doctor, think of nerve man must have to get off such +yarn as that. I like Issa of Galilee. He sure had nerve. Doctor, I did +even go once with Deland in prayer-meeting.” + +It was impossible for Trench not to laugh. “I hope—” he began, but had to +stop and smother his amusement. + +“Well, doctor hopes. This is third time he has hoped to-day. Hope is most +terrible of all passions. I think most likely hope is body itself. You +could say heart of hope, esophagus of hope.” + +Having laughed again and recovered his poise, Trench assented. “I have +been discovering the same thing, Saadi.” + +Saadi pulled out his watch and looked at it. “This walking rose which +Ameen calls Saadi will be late to class. Oh, gosh! I am tired of +medicine!” + +“Tut, tut! You have stuck to it admirably.” + +“Thank you, doctor, but I will never be consulting physician.” + +“Why should you be? Such fellows as I are already out of date. Why not +spend a few years in my laboratory here? If you can find out what the +exact cause of rickets is, every negro in Chicago will bless you.” + +Saadi was much amused. “I see Dr. Saadi Sereef analysing chemistry of +nigger-baby, world without end I don’t think.” + +“Well, what do you really want to do?” + +“Be surgeon in war, doctor, if it comes this summer. If not, get +acquainted with Ewald, Frank, Phil, and Tommy.” + +“I told you,” said Trench in a low voice, “to forget those boys.” + +“Doctor tells me things I cannot forget. It is not proper to hang boys +who are not twenty years old. Even in Black Austria it is not done. +Even in Black Austria—” Saadi was staring as if he saw a vision. Months +afterward, Trench remembered that look. + +“Well, so long, doctor, and have nice trip. At last I go to college.” + +But Saadi did not get to college that day. As he was descending the +stairs he was met by a youth in uniform, who removed his cigarette long +enough to ask if any guy named Sereef lived there. Saadi signed for the +message, took it to his room, and locked the door before reading it. +It was very short. It whitened his face and stretched him on Jaffer’s +leather couch. But he did not turn on the gas this time. + + + + +XXI + + +In those April days the boys were already thinking of the end of the +semester. Becker was resting on his laurels. Ameen and Chatterjee were +not exactly resting on their oars, but each in his own way was serene, +feeling that whatever we fail to be intellectually, we are still immortal +souls. Wu was grinding like a mill, slow and sure. Deland was cramming as +if the devil were at his heels. + +At ten minutes past five, Thursday, April 16, Becker, the man of leisure, +found his leisure interrupted. Saadi strode into the room, and laid a +note on his desk. It was written on the paper of the Congress Hotel. “Mr. +B. Rosenvine,” it read, “requests the honour of seeing His Highness, Agri +Sodde, at the Russian Consulate, to-morrow, Friday, at ten o’clock.” + +“Apparently a gentleman of my race,” said Becker. “And somebody who knows +what they call you in Bokhara. Highness sounds pretty elevated for a good +mujik like you.” + +“It is my father’s agent,” snapped Saadi. “He will be registered at hotel +as Roskoff. Damn him up and down and upstairs and downstairs.” + +“Oh, I see. You and he are not exactly pobratims, as they say in Servia.” + +“We? We elective brothers? If he speaks to me I will kill him.” + +“Then you had better let me write a polite declination for you.” + +“I have already written and sent by District Telegraph kid. I said, ‘His +Highness presents compliments to Pig of Jew and will he please go to +hell.’” + +Becker laughed. “The gendarmes were very wise to lock you up in Tashkent +prison. Now, I don’t want to butt in, but why are we so hard on Mr. +Rosenvine?” + +Saadi stamped his foot. “I cannot tell Becker. I wish Dr. Trench was +here. My father is murderer. I have sworn I will not see him till he has +called himself brute.” + +“Bozhemoy, bozhemoy,” murmured Becker. “A social democrat enraged about +a trifle like murder! Well, this gentleman may be bringing your father’s +apologies for removing your friend, whoever she was.” + +“Cut it out, Becker. It was my own brother. My father is worse than +Fourth Ivan. It is me that he wishes to bend. But he cannot.”—Saadi began +to emit tears of rage. + +“What does he want to bend you for?” + +“Becker, you are still damn fool. Can’t you see he wants me to come +back? He wants me to strut round streets of Yalta, so he can brag he has +educated son, and say Saadi sides with him against my mother Ila.” + +Becker’s telephone rang. Chat was talking. “Becker, some lady desires to +speak to Dr. Trench, and I informed same that the doctor is on his way to +New York, and the answer does not satisfy. I will put you on the line.” + +The person proved to be the operator at the Congress Hotel. She said +that a gentleman named Roskoff had left a message for Dr. Trench. Well, +telephoned Becker, what did the gentleman want of Dr. Trench?—He wanted +Dr. Trench to call on him that evening. “Tell him,” said Becker promptly, +“that Dr. Trench’s oldest student will call.” + +As Becker hung up, Saadi whirled on his heel in disgust. “You are Jew all +right. You will go when anybody calls.” + +“It is true that I am a Jew, your Bokharan Highness, but I am also Dr. +Trench’s friend, and I do not intend to see Rosenvine’s red count +go trickling all over the library rug. I propose to do business with +Rosenvine.” + +“Well, go to it, and damn both sheenies. When you want to speak to me, +you won’t find me.” Saadi slammed the door. + +Nothing daunted by his friend’s sarcasm, Becker kept his appointment. At +eight o’clock he was shown up to Mr. Roskoff’s room. Mr. Roskoff rose to +meet him, and proved to be a dapper gentleman of fifty, with grey hair, +eyeglasses, and a closely trimmed beard. He glanced at Becker’s card. + +“Es ist ein deutscher Name. Does Herr Becker speak German?” + +“Not very well, Mr. Roskoff. I understand it, but I am a Russian Jew. I +changed my name for good and sufficient reasons.” + +“Ah, ha,” said the suave, high voice. “I confess to you, my friend, I +also am of Israel, and am called Benjamin Rosenvine. But German is my +Muttersprache, and my business in Chicago is delicate, and if it is your +kind permission, I now speak German.” + +Thenceforth he proceeded in German. He had the honour to be the European +business agent of His Highness Astanakoul-beg-biy-Kushbegi, sometime Vasi +of Bokhara. His agency consisted chiefly in looking after investments +and the sale of cotton, and negotiating the purchase of machinery for +His Highness’ cotton mills at Kermineh. Latterly he had purchased far +more machinery than His Highness could personally make use of, the reason +being that the present Kushbeg, Nasrulla, was in constant communication +with the Personage whose representative Rosenvine had the honour to be. +He would not conceal from Herr Becker that his distinguished principal +was technically in disgrace, but added that His Highness was almost as +influential in exile as he had been in office. + +Becker politely inquired where Mr. Rosenvine bought his machinery. + +“In New London chiefly. Do you by any chance know a Mr. Gardner, with the +Brown Gin Company?” + +“No, Mr. Rosenvine.” + +“Mr. Gardner has invented a wonderful machine which picks cotton from the +bolls. His Highness is much interested, for a certain reason. Taxes are +farmed out in Bokhara, and the government is dependent on the assessors. +The assessors come when they choose. If American cotton is grown, the +bolls fall open and are ruined before the assessor arrives. It will be +easier for His Highness, through Nasrulla Beg, to introduce Mr. Gardner’s +cotton-picker than to control the assessors, and I have just placed a +large order with the Brown Gin Company. But I must not talk of these +things. You will wish to see my credentials.” + +Mr. Rosenvine brought a French document in which the name of Rosenvine +was prominently displayed, his duties and powers were briefly specified, +and the signature of His Highness was written both in French and in +Persian. + +Now to the point. His Highness had a son named Agri Sodde Sherif Hadji, +who had long resided in Vienna, but whom Mr. Rosenvine had easily traced +to the United States. Through his letters to a certain Bokharan girl, +Prince Agri was known to be continuing his medical studies. Inquiry in +New York had revealed the fact that he had tried to enter the medical +school of Columbia University, but had been rejected on account of +insufficient acquaintance with English. He was known to have started for +Chicago. + +“You may already have guessed, Herr Becker, that the young man who is +living at Dr. Trench’s is no other than Prince Agri. He applied at +Columbia University under the name of Saadi Sereef, and on my arrival +yesterday I telephoned to one or two medical colleges. I found him +registered at Lister College under the same name, and his address was +given me as in the care of Dr. Trench in Halsted Street. I am sorry not +to find Dr. Trench at home, but am exceedingly glad that he has an able +representative, because I have a certain communication to transmit.” + +“From his father?” + +“Yes, Herr Becker. I left Yalta with a message. His father has never +despaired of seeing this headstrong youth take his position in the world +of affairs. Prince Agri is a young man of considerable ability, and is +a great friend of the present Emir of Bokhara. His Highness has never +abandoned the hope that Agri would succeed Nasrulla Beg as vizier.” + +Becker smiled. “The young man does not strike me as being of a judicial +temperament.” + +Rosenvine answered somewhat sharply. “In the Orient, Herr Becker, the +arrogant judicial temperament is unknown. As a Russian, you should be +aware of that fact. Cold pretence of justice is a mark of England and my +own country, and I do not admire it. In Bokhara mercy is shown, and the +occasional severe judgments are justified.” + +Becker returned to his muttons. “Would it be indiscreet to inquire the +nature of the message?” + +Rosenvine sank deep into his arm-chair and joined his finger-tips. + +“Herr Becker, there was a disagreement between father and son about a +certain affair that I am not at liberty to disclose. His Highness is +not prepared to admit himself to have been in the wrong, but he desires +Agri to return to Europe, to join him at his present place of residence +in the Caucasus, and to make himself master of his father’s political +experience. In consideration of Agri’s doing so, His Highness is prepared +to make him a large allowance—a matter of twenty thousand roubles per +annum.” + +Becker shook his head. “The Prince, if I am to call him so, is a very +emphatic man, and I should hardly expect him to look upon such a +proposition favourably. The Prince is sensitive about money matters. If +the misunderstanding was of a serious nature, Saadi would regard the +offer as little short of an insult.” + +“You are very diplomatic, Herr Becker. I know Prince Agri. On a given +occasion he struck me across the face with his cane. Permit me to say +that I am glad not to have met him. I sent him a courteous request +to meet me at the Russian Consulate, and he replied in—well, rather +intemperate terms.” + +Becker smiled. He recalled the intemperate terms himself. + +“I do not hold it against the boy, Herr Becker. What difference does it +make? As the Talmud says, Mah nafke minoh?” + +“That is hardly a correct use of the Talmud phrase, Mr. Rosenvine. ‘Mah +nafke minoh’ is what these Americans call pragmatism. It means, ‘Find out +what is the practical difference.’ Excuse me for correcting a brother in +Israel, and let me say that you show a spirit worthy of Hillel.” + +“I accept the correction, Herr Becker. Fortunately or otherwise, the +message which I now have to convey to the Prince is quite different, as +you shall hear. On my way to Chicago I stopped in Detroit to look at the +automobile industry. His Highness has an excellent German car at Yalta, +but he asked me to investigate American cars. The automobile is popular +in the Caucasus, and even in Samarkand, though it has not yet reached +the city of Bokhara. At Detroit I received a telegram relayed from New +London.” + +Becker listened intently. + +“It contained the very unfortunate news of the death of the Princess Ila.” + +“Who is the Princess Ila?” + +“She is Agri’s mother, and he has always been devoted to her. I violate +no confidence in saying that she has not for years resided in Bokhara. +Bokharan standards of masculine morality are not the same, my dear Herr +Becker, as prevail in Israel. You are well aware of this.” + +“Of course, Mr. Rosenvine. Are you about to ask me to inform Saadi of his +mother’s death?” + +“If you will kindly do so. And I fear I shall have to trespass upon your +kindness still further. The Prince must return to Turkestan at once. Not +to Bokhara—that is unnecessary and unadvisable—and perhaps he should not +go to Yalta until he can see the reasonableness of his father’s wishes. +But he must go to Tashkent, and I should like to place in your hands a +sum of money sufficient for his needs—say four thousand roubles.” + +“Very good, Mr. Rosenvine. But he needs no such sum to reach Tashkent. I +came from Moscow on a tenth of it.” + +Rosenvine smiled sarcastically. “Some of our brethren have done it for +even less. But the boy will be wealthy now, and it is proper that he +should travel as befits his rank.” + +“He does not care for rank.” + +Rosenvine waved a bland declination to argue. “God knows what Prince Agri +cares for. He is the most baffling mixture of arrogance and democracy +that has ever come into my somewhat varied experience of life.” + +“That is correct! Well, you will place the money in my hands now?” + +“To-morrow, Herr Becker, as soon as the banks open. As soon as you are +good enough to telephone me of the Prince’s consent to return, I will +send cash by messenger. He can catch a steamer on Saturday if he is +prompt.” + +“Is this money from his mother’s estate?” + +“I wish that it were, but that is impossible. Agri is his mother’s heir, +but until he reaches Tashkent and qualifies as executor, no more money +can reach him from that source. No, the money is his father’s—or, let us +say, I will advance it myself. If the sum strikes him as insufficient, +I will increase it, though I hardly feel justified at present in going +above five thousand roubles.” + +“But will he accept his father’s money, or yours either?” + +Rosenvine emitted a mild exclamation. “Quatsch, quatsch, Herr Becker! If +there were half a million roubles awaiting you in Tashkent, would you +long entertain scruples as to railroad tickets?” + +There was evidently no more to be said. Jew had met Jew and been +answered, and Becker took his leave. + +He walked slowly down Michigan to Jackson, and so west. The whole affair +seemed like something out of the Arabian Nights. In common Jewish +prudence he ought to check it up. There was no use to see the Russian +Consul in a matter like this. If there was any screw loose, it would be +political, and the Consul was the last person to consult. Becker’s fear +was that Rosenvine might be an agent of the secret police to get Saadi +back on Russian soil. + +As he passed the Western Union Building, a thought struck him. Rosenvine +had mentioned the Tashkent office of Astanakoul Beg. He would wire that +office. He concocted several queries in Russian, but they were pretty +long, and he tore them up. At last he got one to suit him. It merely +asked whether the Princess Ila was dead, and ended with “Answer ten words +paid, Becker, care Western Union, Chicago.” He sent that wire and it cost +him more than fourteen dollars, and it left him no carfare. So he walked +home. + + + + +XXII + + +Becker awoke on the morning of the seventeenth with the sense that he +had a hard day’s work before him. He was a thoroughgoing agnostic, and +he did not fancy the task of informing Saadi that his mother was dead. +The proper man to tell such news was Deland. At least, he wanted Deland +around when the operation was performed. + +He bathed and dressed, and went to Deland’s bedroom. That youth was +yawning, but not yet risen. + +“Deland, you can’t go to college to-day. I want you here.” + +Deland shied a pillow at him. “Get out, you husky brute. Soon as the +Doctor goes away, you’ve got to boss me.” + +“Well, turn it around then. I want you to stay at home and boss me. I’m +in trouble.” + +“I should worry. I’ll be in trouble myself if I don’t get to quiz this +morning. Did it never occur to your lop-sided senior cerebrum that we +aren’t all vamoosing the ranch in a few weeks?” + +“Deland, are you religious?” + +“Well, in a weak and feeble way, I guess so. What’s the matter?” + +“Saadi’s mother is dead.” + +Deland emitted a long whistle, arose from bed, stripped off his pajamas, +and began to splash his six feet of leanness, so that the sprinkled +Becker hastily retired into the study. + +In five minutes the Yankee emerged, still damp from his ablutions. + +“Tell me about it.” + +Becker narrated the whole affair. Then they went together to Saadi’s +room, but Saadi was absent, and his bed had not been occupied save by +the sleek cat “Jaffer.” Then they went out to breakfast together, and on +returning, took up their position in Saadi’s study. The news had driven +all thought of work from Deland’s mind. He brought in his mandolin and +strummed minors on it as they waited. + +It was ten o’clock before Saadi appeared. Deland was playing a tune +called “I’m just a-wearyin’ for you,” and Saadi sat down to listen. +Nobody said good morning, and Deland played on till the tune was +finished. But “Jaffer” came out and rubbed himself against Saadi’s ankles +and finally jumped upon his shoulder. + +“It is beautiful piece, Deland Chucklehead. Was Becker telling you about +pig of Jew?” + +“Yes, old man, I know the whole business.” + +“Well, Becker, it was no letter from papa with apology.” + +“No, Saadi.” + +“Becker is awful sober this morning. But I told him it would be so. My +mother told me my father would never send. She is wise woman. My mother +is wisest and best woman in Bokhara. All people call her Ila Lala, which +is Ila the Blessed. Poor people have about my mother a song.” + +He began in his softest voice to chant, but stopped suddenly. + +“It is wonderful! Still they sing, though she lives not now in Bokhara. +She is in Troitsky near Tashkent.” + +“Old man,” said Deland, “have you heard recently from your mother?” + +“Yes, I had letter with money week ago to-day. Friday is good luck day +for Moslems, even if wandering kids go not in mosque.” + +Saadi opened the drawer of his desk and lifted a neat package of square +blue envelopes. He took the top letter, sat down, and murmuringly ran it +over, stroking the cat as he did so. + +“Does she speak of her health, old man?” + +“She is well. My mother would always be well if my father would be kind +to her. Listen here, Deland. Here is joke in mamma’s letter. ‘I am not +allowed to eat sweetmeats, because doctor says they make gas press on my +heart. But it is not gas which presses on my heart—it is happy bahlul of +other days.’ It is little joke with tears in it, for bahlul means spirit; +Ameen would understand. Poor mamma, to make joke with tears in it.” + +“Saadi kid—I can’t throw any airs about your being a prince and all that, +I ain’t used to it yet—but say, boy, don’t you know that tears always lie +close to jokes? We never know when sorrow is coming our way.” + +Saadi stared. “What is matter, Deland Chucklehead? Is this another +Bogumil prayer-meeting? Do not be gloomy with me. I am gloomy enough. I +wish I could once again see mamma, and you will make me cry. In letter +she says, ‘Come home to me—it is not necessary to come through Russia.’” + +“Oh, gee, old man, I’ve got something to say to you, and I don’t know +how, because I’ve been through it myself and it just knocks you over when +you hear it. I wish you were a Christian, it would be so much easier.—I’m +terribly afraid you won’t ever see your mother alive again.” + +Saadi turned violently, and the cat fell to the floor. “Do not carry joke +too far.” + +“It is no joke. Becker had it from your father’s agent.” + +“If he had it from Rosenvine, it is sure no joke. It is damn lie.” + +At the same moment, however, he began to tremble. He arose and paced the +room, his teeth chattering. “It is lie. Can’t you see through lies, you +two chuckleheads? My father says to pig of Jew, ‘Tell him his mother is +dead; that will bring him.’ I will go now and kill Rosenvine.” + +Saadi dashed into his bedroom, emerged with a formidable revolver, and +snapped it open to be sure it was loaded. But before he had got the +barrel back into place, Deland made a football slide which caught him in +the knees, and Becker had the gun out of his hands. + +“We don’t like to rough-house you, old man, but we can’t let you go off +your trolley, you know.” + +For answer, Saadi threw himself on the floor and grovelled like a madman. +The cat scrambled out of the way and retreated to the bedroom. Weeping, +choking, rolling, the man seemed totally bereft of his senses. The other +men did not know what to do. Becker sat quietly in Jaffer’s arm-chair, +Deland stood gazing down on the maniac. The two of them were strong +enough to tie him, but would that help matters? + +Deland, of course, was depending entirely on Becker’s judgment. But +if Saadi’s hypothesis was correct, Rosenvine’s message was the last +refinement of cruelty. + +The force of the attack spent itself in a few minutes, and Deland +helped Saadi to the leather couch, where he lay in comparative silence, +occasionally muttering to himself. + +Lunch time came. Deland had telephoned down to Wu, and Wu now appeared +with a smoking trencher of soup, and rice, and vegetables, and a plate of +pork chops. Saadi stared at him in silence. The situation was different +from that first situation, eight months before. + +But Wu held up the salt-cellar and said exactly what he had said on +the former occasion—“Not pink, like salt of Karshi, but equally good +for purposes of friendship. Also I have brought souvenirs of the Stock +Yards—fourth to sixth lumbar inclusive.” + +Saadi sat up, pressing his hand to the back of his head. Trench had +radiographed that neck and found the vertebræ intact, but the emotions of +the morning had brought back the old pain. + +“Mr. Wu, you are gentleman and mandarin and good judge of liquor. I will +leave instructions in will for descendants to go easy with all little Wus +when war comes.” + +Wu departed without asking questions, and the three men essayed the meal. +It was Wu’s supreme culinary effort, for he had easily guessed that Saadi +was in some serious trouble, and his undemonstrative good-will took the +only form it was permitted to take. Saadi touched nothing except the +soup, but saw to it that Deland ate the chops. + +After his soup, Saadi lighted a cigarette. Apparently it gave his brain +a fillip, for presently he exclaimed, “It is all clear what to do. It +was clear all time, only I was crazy. I will cable old man in Tashkent +who was once servant of House. He cannot read or write, but he will find +help, and he will send me true word about mamma.” + +“Good business, old man! You’ve got the best bean of the bunch after all.” + +Becker said nothing. He was waiting for an answer to his own wire. + +Saadi wrote his message, telephoned for a District Telegraph boy, and +counted out the money for message and answer. + +“Deland, play more on mandolin. Sing something funny.” + +Deland tuned up and twanged Jaffer’s favourite song: + + “Oh, du lieber Halsted Street, Halsted Street, Halsted Street, + Oh, du lieber Halsted Street, alles ist hin! + Magd is weg, Geld is weg, alles weg, alles weg—” + +“That is enough,” interrupted Saadi. “That is German. Also it is about +money which I am short of, and girl which—is verboten. Play American +tune.” + +Deland played “Old Kentucky Home,” and Saadi listened appreciatively. +“It’s fine. It is what makes boys go in war. When you want to raise army +in America, play Kentucky Home in all brass bands. How did Balkans send +such big army against Turkey? I was in hospital corps and I have seen. +It was always Kentucky Home. Especially it was brothers. In Balkans, +brothers are dearer than fathers, and sisters are dearer than wives. Oh, +yes, much dearer.” + +“That’s queer,” said Deland. + +“Man is queer animal, Deland. He lives in many places besides Halsted and +Salem. He has swept over world like accidental fire of slow combustion. +And among hills of Balkans, man lives for brothers. Man swears to be +elective brothers. Becker knows about that—he asked me sarcastic am I not +pobratim with pig of Jew. When army smashed Turks at Kirk Kilisseh, did +it yell, ‘Lick damn Turks for love of Cross?’ It did not. Whole battalion +heard one kid named Jivan was captured. Every damn Serb yells out, ‘Go +in after Jivan!’ And they went in, by golly, and came back with Jivan, +but only few of battalion came back with him. I saw Jivan in hospital. He +was little sawed-off-son-of-gun. Why should whole damn battalion die for +little sawed-off-son-of-gun? No reason. They were pobratims with Jivan.” + +“Awfully interesting,” said Deland, glad to see Saadi back in his old +vein—too glad to protest against the volley of oaths. + +The messenger boy came and took Saadi’s message and money, but still +Becker and Deland stayed on, unwelcome guests. Becker had the big +revolver in his pocket, but there were others in Chicago, and Becker was +taking no chances. + +They made him talk more about his hospital experiences. They made him +sing a Servian song which he thought he remembered, though he broke down +and could not carry it through. + +It began, + + “Shto Morava moutna tetche, + Da li Pasha konye poyie + Il Pashina voyska brodi?” + +When they asked him to translate, he said, “Why does Morava flow all +bloody? Why do not Pasha’s horses drink it? Why do not his soldiers cross +it? It was sisters who were bathing. It was soldiers who were killing. +Poor Todora lay there bloody. She was dead, but lips were speaking. +‘Dearest sister, Olivera, tell our mother not to sorrow. Say to her that +I am married. Say a big stone is my bridegroom.’” + +“I guess you like those folks pretty much, old man.” + +“Yes. It was best people in world. They were gentle and brave. They +did not make impersonal war-machine like German army. They fought for +brothers and sisters. When they swore oaths, they did not break. They +loved their mothers, too. Oh—” + +Saadi was wringing his hands and walking up and down the room. + +Deland racked his brain for something comforting, but his brain was +mostly full of statistics such as he had shown Saadi at their first +meeting. Finally he blurted out, + +“What’s the percentage of illegitimacy in the Balkans?” + +“Zero, Deland.” + +Becker himself looked surprised. “Is that a fact? Russia is Slav, and our +percentage is therefore low—only about twenty-seven in the thousand, +where Germany has ninety, and Austria a hundred and forty. But I didn’t +suppose—” + +He broke off and answered a knock at the door. It was that of an A. D. T. +boy, with a message for himself. Becker broke the seal. The note was in +German, to the following effect: + + Mr. B. Rosenvine begs to inform Mr. Becker that he has this + minute received wire from Tashkent office of Vasi that a + message was received signed “Becker” requesting confirmation + of news of death of Princess Ila. Tashkent office instructs + Mr. Rosenvine to inform Mr. Becker that in accordance with + instructions received from the House, it cannot communicate + with strangers. All information may be had from the agent of + His Highness. + + Mr. Rosenvine regrets that he does not seem to command the + confidence of Mr. Becker. Under the circumstances, Mr. + Rosenvine is leaving Chicago this afternoon by the Pennsylvania + Limited Express. Up to five o’clock Mr. Rosenvine’s offer + will hold good. He now has in hand the sum of three thousand + dollars, American currency, which he will despatch to Dr. + Trench or Mr. Becker, for the use and benefit of His Highness + Agri, on receipt by telephone of Agri’s promise to proceed + without unnecessary delay to Tashkent. The message need not be + telephoned by His Highness personally. Mr. Becker’s word will + be sufficient. + +Becker read it through twice. There could not be the slightest doubt that +Saadi’s mother was dead, or that money was ready for him if he would take +it. Becker laid the open message on Saadi’s desk, as Saadi had laid the +message of the day before upon his own. + +Saadi picked it up and read it. Then he crumpled it into a small wad, +and went into his bedroom. They heard the iron bed sing out sharply as +he threw himself upon it. They heard the muffled choking. They looked at +each other helplessly. + +Ten minutes went by. It was three o’clock, and time was flying. “He’s got +to call the man up,” said Becker. “We may as well tackle him.” + +“Wait a minute, Beck.” + +Deland picked up his mandolin, and softly played Kentucky Home once more. +Then he changed the key, and began to sing the song he had been humming +when Saadi arrived: + + “Just a-wearyin’ for you, + All the time a-feelin’ blue—” + +He sang the song through softly, went into the bedroom, and sat down +beside his unhappy friend. + +“Did you hear me hitting up the music, old man?” + +No answer. Saadi’s face was hid in the pillow, and “Jaffer” was purring +beside it. + +“Do you know what I think, old man? I think your illustrious old dad is +lonesome for his wandering kid. I think he’s just a-wearyin’ for you. +And I’ll bet he’s a-wearyin’ for her too. He may not have done the right +thing—and he’s proud, because he has had too much power. But you are his +boy and her boy. Think of it. We want you just to take your nose out of +that pillow and say yes. Becker will pass the word along, and your Ikey +at the Congress will shuck out the simoleons, and we will let him fade +away on the Pennsy. The doctor will be home Monday morning, early, and +you can wait and say good-bye. We’ll see you off in grand style, and brag +about you for the rest of our natural lives. Be a good kiddo.” + +Saadi answered nothing, but he lifted his tear-stained face from the +pillow and slowly got up. He walked into the study, and Becker thought +that the day was won. But Saadi merely locked the door leading into the +hall and put the key in his pocket. + +That was the end of Rosenvine and his propositions. The three men sat +there till half-past five—the time at which the Jew’s train departed—and +nobody said a word. Saadi pretended to be reading the encyclopedia. +Becker looked out of the window. Deland gnawed his fingernails and +reflected on the difficulty of bringing the unregenerate soul to Christ. + +At half-past five there was a knock. Saadi unlocked the door and Wu +handed him the evening paper. “Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes. +Will the Triumvirate eat with us?” + +Nobody answered. Saadi was glancing at the paper. “Jivio! Good for +Mitchell,” he remarked. “Mayor of New York did just miss to join line of +assassinated pigs, Wu. It was damn shame to try to kill good man like +Mitchell.” + +“Who tried, Mr. Sereef?” + +“Oh, Irishman, of course. If Irish or Slav cannot be king, he wishes +nobody to be king. Good night, you Chuckleheads.” He took his hat, bowed +profoundly to Wu, and went out. + +Presently Jaffer’s room was deserted, but for “Jaffer” on Jaffer’s bed. + + + + +XXIII + + +Becker and Deland declined Wu’s invitation, went out to dinner together, +and ate in silence. But when he had finished his meal, Becker spoke up. + +“Do you regard this business as finished with?” + +“Gee, I don’t know. What do you suppose the doctor will say?” + +“The doctor will say nothing. He will hardly spare us time enough to tell +him.” + +“Oh, I don’t know, Beck. He’ll be pretty busy, but the doctor is an +awfully good friend.” + +“Of course, Deland, but he doesn’t waste any pity. He will think Saadi is +a fool, and let it go at that.” + +“But how’s the kid going to live? His revenue is all off.” + +“Very likely the doctor will pay his bills till the end of the year, and +then kick him out to shift for himself.” + +“Say, Beck, you’re a good deal more commercial than the doctor is. If +Isham is willing to pay Saadi’s bills here, I’ll bet you a large red +apple he says to Saadi, ‘Here’s a steamer ticket; now go to your dad +and take your medicine, and go to Tashkent—if that’s the name of the +place—and get what belongs to you.’” + +“He might,” admitted Becker. + +“You feel that the Ikey was sure enough authorised, don’t you?” + +“Oh, yes, Rosenvine is straight enough. At first I was afraid he had a +political reason up his sleeve, but the message from Tashkent straightens +that out. I notice that Russia is not following up her bad boys very +closely.” + +“You ought to know.” + +“I do know. As for the doctor, it seems too bad that he should have to +pay Saadi’s way out of the country. I should like to see Rosenvine offer +_me_ six thousand roubles for a pleasure trip.” + +“Same here. I should admire it. Does it take that much to get to the +jumping-off place where Saadi ought to show up?” + +“I should say not. Give me a tenth of it and I’ll go, and have tea at +every station on the trans-Siberian.” + +“How much _is_ a tenth of it—in plain United States?” + +“Three hundred.” + +“That isn’t such a much. Look here, Beck, a great little idea has just +floated across me sensorium. Three guesses.” + +“I guess you would like to beat the doctor to it. But you haven’t got +three hundred. If you have, you may pay for this dinner.” + +“Thanks awfully, my fat friend. But there are five of us, and we ain’t +any of us sore on Saadi.” + +“I am, Deland. I could kick him from here to Tashkent for missing a +chance like that. But I won’t stand out if the rest want to play the +loving brother.” + +“Beck, you are not so stingy as you look. Come on home and help corral +the bunch.” + +At seven o’clock they had the whole family assembled in Trench’s library. +Becker acted as chairman. He laid the situation before them with great +pains, but said nothing about Deland’s proposition. He wanted to see if +the other fellows would have the same thought spontaneously. When he had +finished, he called for suggestions. + +There was silence for a minute, while the tall old clock that had once +stood in the Trench mansion ticked steadily. The reader will remember +that Huxley likened the mind of man to the noise of a clock. It reports +what is going on, but is powerless to move the wheels, so Huxley +thought, or so he thought at one time in his life. + +Ameen was first to speak. “I am sure that we all grieve with Saadi, and I +am sure that we all love him. He says terrible things to us, but he does +not mean them, and everybody here has had the good sense not to be drawn +into a quarrel. I have my own reasons for thinking that at some time in +the past he has lost a sister as well as a brother, and now he is called +upon to lose his mother. We must make him feel that he is in his own +family. I told him that in Persian, the day he came.” + +Deland spoke next. “The kid has a heart. Once I referred to my own +mother—you know that she died when I was a little shaver—and Saadi +reached over and put his hand on mine as gentle as a woman.” + +Chat bore testimony. “He is kind to children. On one occasion I observed +him reassuring a little girl, and bestowing a dollar to buy a doll or +some such thing. Wu, what is your mature judgment?” + +Wu bowed, remembering what Saadi had said to him at the stockyards. “It +is my mature judgment that His Highness is too complimentary to the +Japanese, but kind to cats.” + +Everybody broke into cheerful laughter. + +“Gentlemen, these remarks are interesting, but they are not suggestions. +We are face to face with a problem. What is to become of our prince? He +is not prepared to practice. Perhaps some of you can suggest employment +for him in Chicago.” + +Ameen again took the lead. “Saadi cannot earn anything in Chicago. It +is a very great pity if he must abandon his course. He would be a great +power if he could return to Bokhara with a modern medical training.” + +Deland again followed. “Bet your boots, Ameen. A real fighting prince +with a medical training would be a hummer of a health officer. If the +politicians got in his way, he would jug the bunch.” + +Chatterjee agreed. “There are uses for a disposition of Saadi’s nature. +Gita says it is our duty to fight on occasion, and Bokhara would offer +excellent occasion. I am sure we should like to hear Wu’s mature +judgment.” + +Wu bowed. “My mature judgment is that if Boxer indemnification money +is to be spent in Chicago, His Highness’ money, which is probably of +the same sanguine appearance, should also be spent here. I move the +honourable chair that an assessment be levied on all present for the +purpose of importing blood-money from Tashkent to Chicago.” + +“I second the motion,” said Ameen. + +“It is moved,” said Becker, “that we offer to lend Saadi the sum of three +hundred dollars, the amount to be raised by assessment, share and share +alike. But before putting the question, the chair will remind you that we +are poor men, and that Dr. Trench is a rich man.” + +“Question!” said Ameen. + +“Question!” said Deland. + +“Question!” said Chatterjee. + +“Question!” said Wu. + +“Before I put the question I wish to remove any misunderstanding as to +my own position. As you all know, I received a Christmas present from +the doctor. That kit of instruments never cost him less than a hundred +dollars. I have never paid him a cent for room rent. He has paid my +tuition. Now all in favour of the question will say ay.” + +They said it, and the clock ticked on. + +“I wish,” said Chatterjee, “that some gentleman would advise me where I +am to secure sixty dollars.” + +“Borrow of me,” said the Persian. + +“Say, Ameen, you don’t want to buy a mandolin, do you?” + +“Certainly, Deland. I know a Turk who will help me out.” + +“I was just kidding you. I’ll be all right by to-morrow noon. I shall +spout the mandolin, and I’ve got the balance in my jeans. How will you +get out of this scrape, Wu?” + +“I shall easily save my face, Mr. Deland. Presently I shall telephone an +importunate Japanese gentleman that he may have my contemptible prints.” + +“Not presently, my highborn Daffodil! If Saadi has come in, we have +something to say to him.” + +He rang up Saadi’s room, and got an answer. In a few minutes the door +opened, and in walked His Highness, cat on shoulder. + +“It is council of war? What does bunch want of Saadi?” + +Everybody looked at Becker, and Becker looked at Deland, and Deland +looked at Ameen. “Old man,” said Deland, “we want to talk to you about +cats. Ameen will address you on Persian cats and their superiority to +yours.” + +Ameen rose. “Saadi, we have been hearing about your troubles, and we know +that you are brave to bear them. We want you to go home and come to us +again. The Caravansery would not seem right without you. You are somewhat +thorny, but we take the thorn with the rose, and are grateful to Allah.” + +“Where does cat come in?” + +“The cat is named Jaffer, and if Dr. Jaffer were here he would vote with +us in our little question of house-administration. To-morrow we shall +hand you three hundred dollars, which will see you to Tashkent if you +don’t give it away to children and cats. If you need it to-night, I have +no doubt the druggist will help us.” + +Saadi stood perfectly still, looking from one man to another. The tears +overflowed and ran shamelessly down his cheeks, as it is possible tears +flowed down Bonaparte’s in his boyhood. At last he spoke. + +“I am sorry Becker is not damn German.” + +Everybody looked at Becker, as if his appearance might elucidate the +remark. + +“If Becker was damn German, I would believe race-hatred is pipedream, +and I would scratch arm and mingle blood with all of you in elective +brotherhood and pobratimstvo. But I will never forget. Jaffer I shall +never see, but when you write to him you will say Saadi Sereef sent love.” + +“Then it is all settled,” said Becker. “When shall you sail?” + +“Settled? Yes, I settle it. I cannot take money from men that need it +more than I.” + +There was silence, while the tall clock ticked loudly, as if to say that +effort is nothing. + +“Oh, gee!” burst out Deland. “Won’t you discuss it a little bit?” + +“No, Deland. I have eighty dollars. It will last long time. I will write +to lawyer in Tashkent. Good night now, all dear boys. I go again to +Chicago Beach Hotel to spend night and see waning moon on water. Same +moon is looking down on ziarat where Ila Lala lies very quiet, with April +flowers on breast.” + + + + +XXIV + + +Thus failed the effort of the boys to help. They spent a sad week-end, +for Saadi did not come home till Monday morning, shortly before the +doctor arrived. + +Becker went to meet the doctor’s train. Trench was looking very well +indeed, and assured his student that it had been a most satisfactory +flying trip. When they reached home, Becker told him the story, which the +doctor heard without interrupting. + +“And now, doctor, he has been spending two or three days at the Chicago +Beach Hotel. You can easily calculate how long his eighty dollars will +last.” + +Trench nodded. “I like the way you have handled it, Becker. I will see +him at once, alone.” + +Becker departed. Trench wrote a check, and rang Saadi’s room. + +“Are you there, Saadi?” + +“Yes, doctor.” + +“I should like to see you a minute in the office.” + +Saadi presently appeared and shook hands. + +“Let me examine your tongue.” + +Saadi obeyed. + +“Now your wrist.” + +Saadi held out his arm. + +“The one is dry as a bone and the other feels like a trip-hammer. Forget +it, Saadi. You are among friends.” + +“I know it. I am not afraid of doctor.” + +“That is good news, and I see that the cause lies deeper.” + +Saadi was silent, and Trench studied him for half a minute. + +“You want me to lend you a thousand, don’t you?” + +Saadi looked him in the eye. “Yes, doctor.” + +“How soon?” + +“I would like to leave Chicago at two o’clock to-day.” + +Trench touched a button and summoned Chat. “Get this cashed at once, in +gold, and give it to Saadi. Go to the bank across the street.” + +Chat gasped at the amount, but showed his splendid white teeth in a grin +of pleasure, and was off like a shot. + +“You believe all that Becker told about, doctor?” + +Trench laughed gently. “My dear man, I paid not the slightest attention +to him. But you are in terrible anxiety of some sort, and you can count +on me.” + +Saadi broke into a choked sobbing that was nerve-racking to hear. “You +are best man in all world, doctor. You are sure to get money back for +babies. I am taking away twenty thousand pints certified milk.” + +“Always right at heart—” said Trench, reflectively. “Shall you return to +us? Or is that asking too much?” + +Saadi did not answer for some time—perhaps a full minute. He seemed +battling with himself about something. Trench waited patiently till the +words came. + +“God knows, doctor.” Saadi spoke with great solemnity. + +“I see that in your hour of trial you draw on the old vocabulary.” + +“Yes, doctor. I cannot live by mechanical vocabulary. I do not believe I +have free choice—I must return. I do not believe you have free choice—you +must lend. I do not believe there is God—but I must say God. If in all +world there is one ounce of ghost in machinery, I want ghost to back me +up.” + +“I understand you, my friend. It hasn’t much to do with going to claim a +fortune, has it?” + +“No, doctor.” Saadi arose. “My address will be Grand Hotel, Tashkent.” + +Trench also arose. He stood silent for a moment, then reached out both +hands and put them on Saadi’s shoulders. “This is our good-bye, my dear +fellow. Becker will help you catch the Lake Shore. God bless you, boy. +You see, I partly accept the vocabulary. It is no worse than to wish you +good luck.” + +It was Saadi’s turn now. He took the doctor’s head between his hands and +kissed him on both cheeks, a most un-Moslem performance. “Good-bye, dear +man. If I am dead, papa will send money back to you. If I am alive, I +will be in Chicago next September.” + +At this moment Chat approached unseen, and heard the words. He paused, +and then entered with the money. Saadi put the bag in his pocket +unconcernedly, thanked his brown friend, walked into the library, and +held the door open for Trench to pass out. Chat followed and went +upstairs. But as Trench was stepping into the street, he heard Saadi +speak. + +“Doctor!” + +“Yes?” + +“Please come back! Please ’phone Dean to start lecture with story of how +nephritis baby was killed with drinks of water because graduate did not +remember what Dr. Trench said. I cannot say good-bye.” + +Trench came back with a smile, and did indeed telephone a colleague to +keep the crowd busy a few minutes. Then he sat down, and Saadi laid a +trembling hand on his shoulder. + +“It is much to lend Saadi thousand dollars. But again it is nothing.” + +“Quite right. I follow you.” + +“But if damfool configuration of energy called Saadi was allowed to ask +big favour of great person called Trench, all for sake of imaginary +patient called humanity, it would be something doing.” + +“Well, ask away. Something can be done about those boys, if a little +method is used.” + +“My God, doctor! I do not mean boys—only boys of your own body.” + +“What!” + +“Son of Beg did not mean to knock wind out of son of Halsted. Saadi +offers one thousand apologies to his big brother, and begs him to get +married. Doctor is very perfect carcass. Doctor is scrapper that never +had good chance. Doctor is only democrat in Chicago. Doctor is only man +who will die for wandering kids and say don’t mention it little thing +like that. Doctor is one of three four best men in whole damn world! He +should have three sons! If one does not succeed to clean up West Side, +but will get shot by white-slavers, it will be two more to finish job!” + +“Saadi, you astonish me.” + +“Oh, wonderful son of gun than can so ’stonish pediatrician! That is +Shakspere. I heard in Haymarket.” + +“Saadi, you know perfectly well that no three Trenches or three hundred +can clean up the West Side.” + +“Yes, it is so. Nothing is completed, but it is artistic to draw line +somewhere. It makes mothers feel better.” + +“Mothers!” + +“Sure, doctor. If my mother was alive she would say, ‘My Saadi may die +pretty quick now, but he will make good job of it, and it will please +me.’ If doctor’s mother was alive she would say, ‘Isham, I want to see +you married before I die.’” + +Trench was silent. He sat looking straight through Saadi, and Saadi knew +when to stop talking. At last the older man spoke. + +“I never thought of it before.” + +“Mothers last long time here,” answered a quivering voice, as Saadi laid +his hand on his heart. “Your boys will forget you, but they will not +forget one who carried them and took big chance to die. Well, it is +enough about mothers. You will promise?” + +“No, Saadi.” + +Saadi reflected. “It is because I have not saved your life.” + +“I’m not sure that you haven’t. But I ask you whether any woman would +marry a cynic like me.” + +“Cynic? I think cynic is man who does not like folks. Doctor likes all, +same as sunshine, but doctor would be ’shamed to say so. Doctor is like +Issa. Issa was so ashamed when any kid was sick or hungry, he would not +let one hand know what other was doing when he did operation for him or +gave him handout. Issa did not wear sandwich-board to say he liked folks +what Deland says pretty much. Now we will not hear doctor again say +cynic.” + +“Saadi, you have become a shameless flatterer.” + +“Doctor, you have become damn liar. Dear doctor, you will promise?” + +“No.” + +“Doctor, in this fool world it is all accident whom we know, where we +live, whom we marry, by golly. It is not scientific to make promises or +keep promises. But we make and keep, for some fool reason which is awful +strong. I guess it is just because those about us are those about us.” + +Trench nodded. “I’ll promise you one thing. Never again, so long as I +live and have my reason, will I say ‘What’s the use?’ Will that help?” + +“You bet! If you say that, pretty quick I will get invitation to +wedding. Maybe invitation will not reach me in time. Maybe I will pass +in checks first. But it will be all right. Thoughts of Saadi will come +to Dr. Trench like pigeons flapping round head. They will say, ‘Cheer +up, doctor, worst is yet to come.’ Well, I guess Dean has begun about +nephritis baby, and boys will be ready to give you Lister yell when you +come in. So long, doctor! See you in heaven—I don’t think.” + +It was not Becker alone who saw Saadi off. The five fellow students were +there, and Saadi seemed in high spirits. + +“In six minutes special train of My Highness will get move on. Now it is +to shake paws quick with all dear animals of Menagerie. Good-bye, old Red +Beckerovitch.” + +“Good-bye, Saadi Mujik. Skoro! Go to it! And don’t blow it all in the +first week.”—Here Becker, who never smoked, handed the departing guest a +Lord Lister perfecto. + +“Good-bye, Mirza Ameen Djan Beg. Pray for me on general subject of bombs.” + +“I will, Saadi. Take this rose from me, and upon Your Highness be the +peace of God.” + +“Good-bye, Wu, you yellow old grandson of Expectant High Mukky Muk.” + +“Good-bye, Altesse. Eat Karshi salt and remember me.” + +“Good-bye, Deland Chucklehead. Pray for wandering sheep with sawed-off +shotgun.” + +“Saadi, you can bet your last Bokharan cent I’ll do it.” + +“Good-bye, you brown man. Tell Jaffer to come to Tashkent, Grand Hotel, +and I will show him hot time in old town to-night.” + +“Good-bye, Saadi. Shall we see you again in September?” + +“Chat, in all inhuman probability you will never again discuss red rugs +with me once more. Go home offer thanks to Kali.” + +When the luxurious train drew out from the La Salle Street station, Saadi +stood on the rear platform of the observation car and waved Ameen’s rose +till he was out of sight. Becker was waving his cap. Ameen had a hand +uplifted as if in benediction. Wu stood at military attention, his hand +touching the edge of his spectacles. Chatterjee’s palms were joined, the +finger-tips touching his chin. Deland wildly flaunted a pennant on which +L I S T E R appeared in large letters. + +“He was a good scout,” said Deland. + +“Let us not use the past tense,” said Ameen. + +They turned away to take the car, but Chatterjee drew Ameen aside. + +“Ameen, Saadi invited Jaffer to visit him in Tashkent.” + +“Why, that was just a pleasantry.” + +“Well, do you not think it would constitute a compliment or some such +thing if Jaffer were to accept?” + +“That is a clever idea, Chat. Jaffer is starting for Chicago very soon, I +suppose. Would it greatly increase his expenses?” + +“I think not. It might cost him twenty-five dollars more, but we could +share that. Let us cable him, and not inform the rest. Can you lend me +ten dollars?” + +“Certainly. But let me bear the expense.” + +“No. It is my own responsibility, but I will take the ten now, if it is +totally convenient.” + +Ameen gave him the ten, and Chat proceeded to the telegraph stand. +He wrinkled his smooth brow for a minute, and then—oh, let it not be +regarded as the first rift in the lute of friendship—sent the following +message: + + R. R. Jaffer, M.D., Peshawar, India. + + If convenient go Tashkent Grand Hotel remind Prince Saadi owes + doctor thousand dollars. + + CHATTERJEE. + + + + +XXV + + +“If convenient!”—Jaffer stared at the bombshell. + +It had chased him through the alleys of his native town to the little +hospital, and exploded exactly when he needed a steady nerve. This +came of almost never writing to Chat. Not once since Christmas had he +entertained the boys with a letter about the conditions of things in +Peshawar. The hill-tribes had kept the cantonments busy all winter. After +four years of docility they had begun their old owl-tricks of swooping +down by night to carry off silver and guns. Everybody in Peshawar lived +in fear. Dean’s hotel had been guarded every night, and so had every shop +that could afford it. + +It was Tuesday, April 21, the sixth day of the second month of Jomhadi. +Jaffer had risen that morning from happy dreams of travel. In a week he +would be starting for Chicago, and in six he would be shaking hands with +Dr. Trench. Consequently the Caravansery had seemed sublimed in a golden +haze. Why, then, when one was so anxious to get back to one’s friends, +should one’s friends arise and smash the whole illusion? + +Had the cool Bengali the slightest notion of what he was asking? Did Chat +suppose that Tashkent was an island where Jaffer’s steamer would stop? +The expense of turning aside at Bombay, sailing up the Persian Gulf, and +visiting Tashkent by railway could not be an anna less than three hundred +rupees. + +Oh, this was an absurd intrusion on a perfect morning. To the north arose +the eternal barrier, which he, a born Peshawari, had never crossed. He +had once been up the Khyber Pass, as everybody had, but not beyond the +limits of English supervision. He and his father had proceeded in a tonga +as far as Ali Masjid, and had driven back the whole distance at top +speed, before their permit should expire. + +As he stared out of the window at the sunlit mountains, a certain +boyhood feeling returned. What lay behind them? How often he had heard +the stories! But he had been away to school so many years that he had +grown to manhood without a single adventure in the land of his nearest +neighbours. Perhaps he had better borrow the camel on which he had been +exercising all winter, and cross the Amir’s country. It would not be +safe, but it would be cheap, and if there was any real reason why he +should go to Russia, the trip might be considered. + +He stood by his chief till they had taken out a ryot’s appendix, and then +he got excused. He went home and told his mother that the message was +nothing to be alarmed at. He went to his room and got out all of Chat’s +letters, and read them over. + +So this Bokharan chap was a prince. The wire used the phrase, though the +letters only referred to him as a vizier’s son. Here was a photograph +of the fellow, with the cat named “Jaffer,” taken by Deland. And, +apparently, Saadi had a brother in Kabul—a doctor, not a prince. + +It was a pleasant proposition—this asking a man to travel a thousand +miles and back to dun a prince. At the same time, Saadi had evidently +stolen a thousand dollars from the doctor. Chat was a careful fellow, and +would not make such a request unless he felt certain that the man was +guilty. + +The trip by rail and steamer was out of the question. But he might +possibly afford the trip if he went by Kabul, and moreover he would have +to go to Kabul to make inquiries from that brother. But he would need +careful instruction. In this his father could not help him, for his +father was merely a minor government official. Who then? Some Peshawar +merchant, preferably an Afghan. + +Immediately he thought of Umar Khel, wholesale and retail tea-merchant, +whom he had known all his life, and whose fleetest camel he had been +riding for exercise. Umar was an Afghan, a Gilzai, untamed by age or +sorrow. Umar had a cousin in Kabul who acted as his correspondent there. +Jaffer presumed that there was also a correspondent in Bokhara, though +the caravan trade with Bokhara was small. + +Jaffer lighted a cigarette, strolled out, and made his way to the bazaar. + +Umar Khel’s shop was open, but he had not yet appeared, and Jaffer sat +down to await the master. He presently arrived, tall, thin, and gloomy, +with beard of snow. He had never stained it black, as so many Asiatics do +at the first onset of age. + +Jaffer rose and salaamed. “I am going away, Umar Khel.” + +Umar gave him one sarcastic look. “Allah be praised!” + +Jaffer took the rebuff silently. + +“Allah be praised!” repeated Umar Khel venomously. “Rasul will be able to +walk freely without keeping his hand on his pocket-book.” + +“It is a thought which had not occurred to me, Umar Khel, but I perceive +the source and sense of it. Your guards are expensive.” + +Umar Khel glanced at him. “Afreen!” he snarled reluctantly, which was as +much as to say that he approved the saucy answer. “And whither goes my +Rasul? To Velait?” + +“No, not to England, thou friend of my father. I had far rather go to +Germany. In fact, however, I return to the land of the free.” + +“Go in the safety of God, and beware of freedom.” + +“Freedom, Umar Khel, is as the breath of my nostrils.” + +“Freedom, Rasul Rahim, is as the breath of a hillman. Freedom is the +breath of a thief. Freedom is a djinn. Freedom is an infidel sect.” + +Jaffer let him bubble a moment, and tried a new tack. “I venture to +repeat that freedom is sweet to me. I long to be out of the sight of +Englishmen. Nay, why should I not speak out? I weary of these busybodies.” + +“Silence, Rasul! The British Raj is just, according to its knowledge and +nature.” + +Jaffer was silent. + +“It is not needful to be so suddenly tame. The Raj has its faults.” + +“I come asking favours, Umar Khel, and I must not speak my mind.” + +“Now, by Allah, thou shalt! I will not have it said of me in my old age +that I muzzled the young camel, for the Khaneh is dead, and my sons are +far hence, and I am lonely.” + +But Jaffer held his peace, thinking of the aged La-aal, the Pearl, the +wife whom the Afghan would not name, but referred to as “the head of the +house.” And Jaffer turned his head away, that he might show some sympathy. + +The old man regarded that profile keenly. + +“Rasul has the eagle nose. He is like an Afghan. He resembles my cousin’s +son in Kabul.” + +“Then in Kabul I should like to see your cousin’s son. I should like to +mount the pass and see the world.” + +“Bah! The frog mounted a lump of mud and said he had seen Kashmir. Your +duty is to the sick of Peshawar. You are too young to remember the father +of Amir Habibullah, but when Abdur Rahman came into the kingdom, no man’s +life was safe. Did Abdur Rahman hold durbar with justices in wigs? No. +He made every man his brother’s keeper. If men desired to escape that +duty, he struck off a hand. But Jaffer longs for freedom, not for duty. +Tauba! Tauba! for shame!” And Umar spat on the ground. + +“Umar Khel, the freedom which I most desire is the freedom of +Afghanistan. Will you lend me the swift she-camel as far as Kabul? +Perchance your nephew would bring the Houri back and visit you here.” + +“Perchance! It is what Abdul of all things most desires, and what the +Amir will not grant him. They that are in shall stay in, and they that +are out shall stay out!” + +“And does Umar Khel approve such tyranny?” + +“Yes! Habibullah follows wisely in the steps of the old lion. He does not +want his best young men contaminated by Stamboul.” + +“Contaminated, Umar Khel?” + +“Verily, thou fool. All Islam waxes soft save in the land behind +the mountains. Stamboul is full of ether for the body, and ether of +materialism for the soul. It is not strange that the infidel has stolen +certain provinces away from them. Softness, ever softness! Habibullah +will have none of it. Too soon he must face the Russian in a struggle for +life.” + +“Nevertheless I must go, Umar Khel. I must start with Thursday’s caravan, +for yesterday’s has gone.” + +“My guest is speaking folly, and I shall attend to my correspondence +while he digests what I have said. Amar Singh, bring me paper and reed.” + +While Amar Singh was getting the writing materials, his master proceeded. + +“Does Jaffer recall why melons are not to be had in the fruit market in +Kabul?” + +“No.” + +“Does he not recall that they are sold in Mandi Kalan near the charcoal?” + +“I have never been in Kabul.” + +“Ah! Jaffer has not climbed the mulberry tree, yet now he girds his loins +to climb the kikar thorns. Don’t you know that you cannot get to Kabul +without the special writ of the Amir?” + +“I had forgotten. I have been away six years.” + +“Rasul, I marvel that you tell it. Not all the asses have followed the +camels this day. One remains, and if he tries to follow, he will eat the +stick.” + +“Far be it from me to dispute my father’s friend. Behold, I am an ass.” + +The writing materials came, and the old man slowly began to write. When +he had finished his first letter, he looked up. + +“You have a passport?” + +“Yes.” + +“You have ocriti lista—special permission from the Russian minister of +war to ride on the Central Asian Railway?” + +“No, Umar Khel. I have said that I am an ass, and behold, Umar Khel is +wise and of many years. He will tell me how long it will take to get +these things—the Amir’s firman, and the Russian writ.” + +“The first,” said Umar Khel, as he took another pen and deliberately +began another letter, “you can get in one month. The second you can never +get. British subjects living in Peshawar can never hope for ocriti lista +in Russia. Rasul will now forget that he is the foolish son of a wise +father, and Amar Singh will bring us some tea.” + +Jaffer sighed a drop of his heart’s blood, and lighted another cigarette. + +By the time the second letter was finished, Amar Singh had brought a +steaming infusion of the best Kangra, with cakes and strawberries. +Jaffer accepted a very sweet cake and a cup of tea, though he would +much have preferred coffee. Three weaknesses had Jaffer, and these were +cigarettes, coffee, and sweet cakes. Three weaknesses—yet a month later +they served him well. + +“How soon, my ignorant son, do you leave for America?” + +“I don’t know. I had expected to start this week. But What you tell me +breaks my heart.” + +“Wait till it is healed. Peshawar is pleasant in May, and the raiders +are quieting down. With whom do you lodge among the godless be-iman of +Chicago?” + +“With Hakim Trench. He is my revered master.” + +“Do not speak like a Hindu. But you may speak to me of Trench.” + +“He is a great physician, Umar Khel, and young, and especially he has +compassion on the sickness of children. I thank the Compassionate One +that I was permitted to study with Hakim Trench in the book of the body.” + +“Peace be upon him. He is only a Christian, but in Sura second it is +written that the Christian who believes in the last day shall never be +grieved. Well, you have been to me as my own son this day, brave and +foolish. To-morrow I have new and wonderful teas due from China. Come +after two days, I will give you a gift for Trench.” + +“I will come, and I will say many thanks in his name.” + +“A trifle! Wretched stuff! But it is for the friend of my friend, and we +will choose a good canister.” + + + + +XXVI + + +The morning after Easter, Edith returned to her studies with a light +heart. She was full of joy about the new hospital. Furthermore the +personal had begun to run in the newspapers, and she would keep it there +till it met Elsie’s eye, if it took five years and each year cost her an +Easter dress and a summer vacation. She would see this thing through. + +Once more, as she bent above her microscope, God seemed to be answering +her. The nucleus of every cell divided with a purpose, even if with +no other than that of distributing the chromosomes equally among the +daughter cells, and beyond that she was willing to trust God. She even +became rather enthusiastic about pushing the physico-chemical theory of +life to its logical conclusion. Even if somebody should actually find the +formula, somewhere among those frightfully complex colloids, no formula +could explain the spiritual effort by which it was found. + +Tuesday evening, April 21, she was at home, and reading Haldane on +respiration. He thought it inexplicable by mechanics, and she agreed, but +she was looking for flaws in the argument, and quite willing to trip him +up. + +Then the door opened, and Bobbie bowed with exaggerated politeness. +“Aunty Highbrow, telephone wants you.” + +Five minutes later, Drummond’s excellent Swedish chauffeur was startled +out of his evening smoke. And thirty minutes later he had been dismissed +by Miss Bridgman, with the information that she would not be home till +morning. + +They were sitting together—Edith and Elsie—on the couch in Elsie’s front +room, and their arms were intertwined as completely as the mechanics of +the situation would permit. + +“I’ve read that personal every day for nine days and I just couldn’t +stand it any longer.” + +“I’m terribly glad that you couldn’t.” + +“He’s a foreigner, Edith. And enough like Marie to be her brother.” + +“Most of us are foreigners. Has he gone back home?” + +“Yes, he went yesterday.” + +Elsie disengaged her left hand and held it before Edith’s eyes. “You see, +I haven’t disgraced you. That ring is as real as anybody’s.” + +Another kiss, ending with a sigh of relief. “I’m not heroic, Elsie. I was +perfectly certain you had no ring, and I couldn’t make up my idiot mind +whether to blame you or not.” + +“Now don’t you scold yourself, Edith Bridgman. I’ve just been living on +your convictions.” + +“Why, didn’t he want to marry you?” + +Elsie laughed. “It was too funny. I had refused to promise you, and he +had refused to promise a man friend of his. But we talked about you—and +wanted to please you both. We—we knew you two were older. Where do you +think we met?” + +“At a socialist meeting, of course.” + +“No! At a dance hall.” + +“Elsie Shaviro Somebody, I’m ashamed of you. I must kiss you again to +prove it.” + +“Thank you, ma’am. If I can’t be kissed by my husband, you are the next +best. But I was desperate, Edith. I didn’t care what I did. And I went +one evening, and it made me sick. There wasn’t a decent man or girl in +the place. I was standing to one side when he came through the gate and +took a look. I said to myself, Who are you, my young Napoleon Bonaparte? +Then something slid up to him and spoke to him. He reached out his finger +and touched her lips. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I might get some on my face.’ She +slapped him on the cheek and she said, ‘You’re no gentleman.’ He moved +his head up and down and said, ‘You have Browning pistol of eye, kiddo. +You have shot me up for fair.’ She giggled and took him by the arm. +‘Maybe you don’t think I’m onto you. Browning is a poet. Do you think +I’ve got some eyes?’ He looked sober right away. Then he said, ‘When I +monkey with slang, it sometimes turns out buzz-saw. I mean you shoot +straight when you say I am no gentleman; but you, kiddo, are just poor +pitiful she configuration of élan vital. Now go away quick.’ She looked +at him, and moved off. Then he took out his handkerchief and wiped his +forehead, and saw me looking at him.” + +Elsie stopped, evidently lingering over a happy moment. + +“Who spoke first?” + +“He did. He walked straight up to me, and he said, ‘Miss Eyeglasses, I +want to dance. I do not know anybody. My name is Saadi.’ I said, ‘My +name is Elsie, and I want to dance, too.’ We moved out on the floor, and +we danced till we reeled. I don’t think we said one word. We had been +waiting for each other a thousand years.” + +“Didn’t you even discuss élan vital?” + +“No. It was weeks before I understood. I didn’t even know it meant vital +impulse. And I had never seen the word ‘Saadi’ before. That’s a Persian +word.” + +“Yes. Persian and Jewess! It’s a real romance.” + +“He isn’t exactly a Persian, though he speaks Persian as perfectly as +you speak English. He comes from Bokhara. It wouldn’t have made any +difference if he had come from the North Pole. He’s the noblest man that +ever lived.” + +Edith reached out her foot and touched the magnificent red rug. “You +evidently know about Bokhara now. That’s a beauty.” + +“Isn’t it! He ransacked the whole town for eastern things. That coffee +set over there, with the cunning little cups and the long curving brass +spout, came from Bosnia. He knows all about the Balkans. Oh, maybe I +haven’t learned things!” + +“It’s hard to take it all in, Elsie. Does your mother know? Were you +married by the rabbi?” + +“My folks know all about it now. Mother was here to see me this morning. +She can’t get over the fact that I was married by a justice of the peace, +but she’s taking it pretty well. My father is tickled to death that it +isn’t worse. He telephoned me about an hour ago that Moslem is a whole +lot better than Monzerim.” + +“I’m sure it is, Elsie. But ‘monzerim’ is beyond me.” + +“It means illegitimates, Edith. Mother—mother explained to me this +morning why I’ve been so miserable lately.” + +She hid her face on Edith’s breast, and the scarred hand held the dark +head close. “Bless your dear heart, girlie! Bless your dear heart.” + +Elsie clung to her—crying a little—tears of joy. “Just think, Edith—just +think—my dream will come true. It is sure to be a boy.” + +“A fighter for the workers,” murmured Edith. “Have you seen a doctor?” + +“No.” + +“Will you let me send you one?” + +“I’ll do anything you say. I want everything to be all right.” She lifted +her face and brushed away the happy tears. “I want my boy to be strong +and beautiful, like his father.” + +She arose and brought a photograph, and Edith studied it. “It is a very +unusual face, Elsie. But what long eyes, looking out of the corners. Did +you never mistrust him the least bit?” + +“Never! His simplest word—why, I’d take my husband’s word against all the +bibles in the world. He was always joking, and I did enjoy it so, for I +could never make a joke. But when Saadi says he’ll do a thing, he’ll do +it even if the sky tumbles down. Yes, and if it tumbled down, he’d catch +the birds on his shoulder and pet them.” + +“Does he know who’s coming?” + +Elsie shook her head. “He never dreamed. And I can’t telegraph him, +because I don’t know what steamer he is taking to-morrow. But he will be +the gladdest man in Asia when he gets my letter. If I may see your doctor +to-morrow, I’ll write to-morrow night. Who is your doctor, Edith?” + +Edith hesitated. “Bobbie had a specialist. But I will send you our family +physician, Dr. Rowland. I’ll telephone when he can come, and you can have +your mother here to meet him. But for goodness’ sake, don’t wait about +writing. Do it now, and I’ll mail it when I go out in the morning.” + +“All right. But I must go to my bedroom to write, all by my little self.” + +And away she went. She was gone for fifteen minutes, while Edith availed +herself of the opportunity to pull her wits together, and study the +face of Elsie’s husband. Something about the brow made her think of +Trench. But there was no resemblance to the doctor’s clear, steady gaze. +Presently Elsie returned, radiant at a good task performed, and placed +in Edith’s hands the letter, addressed to Mr. Saadi Sereef, Grand Hotel, +Tashkent, Turkestan, Russia. Edith put it in her handbag, and they sat +down together again. + +“Oh, I’m so happy,” sighed Elsie. “And it is so nice to feel that I can +pay the doctor. My husband is rich—that is, he seems rich to me after +what I’ve gone through. He left me five hundred dollars in gold, and I’ve +got a bank account. His father is some sort of nobleman. They call him a +Beg.” + +“Oh!” exclaimed Edith. “Perhaps that is why he is so much interested in +politics.” + +“Perhaps. I’m making a big scrapbook of the clippings he collected, +though I can’t read half of them. He had a dozen foreign papers sent +here, and he’d sit over there and use the shears, and sort of rub his +teeth together in tune with them. I can tell you just how much every +nation in the world spent on its navy last year. I can tell you the gold +reserve in every capital. Saadi is the most practical revolutionist I +ever met.” + +“I inferred as much, my dear. You said he was like Marie. But I supposed +Marie to be very poor.” + +“That’s true, but lots of revolutionist girls are rich, Edith, and of +noble blood. Saadi is the son of a nobleman, but he was in the Russian +revolution. As soon as he gets to Tashkent he is going to take a hand in +politics again. I don’t know just what he’s going to do. It is dangerous, +but I told him I would be ashamed of him if he didn’t do his duty. I’m +not worrying. Nothing will happen to him—he’s too full of resources. And +some day he will probably be prime minister of Bokhara, for he is a great +friend of the present Emir.” + +Edith caught her breath. A terrible suspicion was slowly forcing the door +of her heart, as the veiled figure in Watts’s picture forces its way past +the broken-winged love. + +Elsie did not notice her agitation. “And then,” continued the girl, “we +shall go to Bokhara to live, and I shall be a great lady. Wouldn’t that +make you smile, Edith Bridgman? From Ischl’s clothing factory to the +palace of Kermineh! But there shall be no nonsense. Saadi and I are both +radicals, though he hasn’t much faith in Marx, and we’ll make things hum +in Central Asia.” + +Edith fought the dreadful sinking sensation within her. She rose and +moved round the room, examining here a picture and there a vase, with +little mechanical exclamations, as of pleasure. Elsie rose and joined +her, and took her through all the rooms of the flat. Had the girl been +already a princess in Bokhara, she could have shown no more pride in her +palace. Gradually her friend recovered herself. Whatever her doubts, this +was not the time to disclose them. + +They returned to the front room. “Oh, it’s so good to think that you’re +going to stay all night. Saadi wasn’t here more than half the time. He +is studying medicine, and couldn’t let on to his friends that he was +married.” + +More darkness spreading across the horizon, but Edith held her peace, and +sent up a little prayer for a level head. + +“And now, Edith dear, don’t let’s talk any more for a while, but have +some music. It’s a perfectly splendid instrument, and I’m going to play +you the first two pieces he brought me. You see, I took a little room by +myself right after I first met him, and he had the instrument sent there. +That was when you lost track of me. If I had known you a little better, +I’d have had you come and chaperon me, but I always thought of you as +with me, dear beautiful woman.” + +A lump rose in Edith’s throat, and down went her head on Elsie’s +shoulder, as if she were begging forgiveness for something. But when +Elsie presently proceeded to play Korsakoff’s “Scherazade,” and then +Bird’s “Oriental Sketch,” sorrow returned. She understood only too well +how the spell of enchantment had fallen upon Elsie in those first days. +The man had technically respected her unprotected condition, but he had +led her into a fool’s paradise with that subtle, jasmine-sweet music. As +the strains ceased, Edith felt that Elsie was very unlikely to see her +husband again. + +“You say he has gone to Bokhara, dear. What called him home? Was it the +politics?” + +“I didn’t quite say he had gone to Bokhara. Didn’t you notice the address +I wrote on the letter? Tashkent was his mother’s home, and it is about +fifteen hours’ ride from Bokhara. His mother has died, and he has to go.” + +“Does her dying make any difference to his prospects?” + +“Yes. Saadi gets all her money. The poor little socialist girl is going +to have money to burn.” + +“Why didn’t his mother live in Bokhara?” + +“There was some trouble. She was separated from her husband. Saadi didn’t +seem to think much of his father, but what do I care, so long as he +thinks the whole world of me?” + +She sprang up and brought a half-dozen new records, each in its brown +paper cover. “Select something more to play, Edith. Oh, here’s the thing. +This is the Servian national song, ‘Rise, Servians, Rise.’ It makes you +rise all right. Listen!” + +She slipped the record into place, and the sprightly military music +began. She swayed to it. She began to march alertly through the room. +“You should have seen us do this together! He knew the words, and we used +to march up and down till the people below rapped on the steam-pipe and +we had to be good.—What’s the matter, Edith? Don’t you like such things +Sunday evening? I always forget that you’re a Christian.” + +Edith smiled, at least with her lips. “I suppose I’m tired. I didn’t have +any supper. Will you make me a cup of tea?” + +“Will I? I’m awful to forget a thing like that. Why, you poor little rich +girl, I’ve got an ice box full of goodies for you. And we’ll have supper +right away. No—you aren’t going to help. You sit right there and look +at the new records, and pick out something for a tired girl. There’s a +lovely one over there somewhere—the last he brought me. It’s called ‘Good +night, little girl, good night,’ but I haven’t played it since he went, +for it makes me cry.” + +Elsie disappeared into the kitchen, and Edith sat perfectly still, gazing +at the Bokhara rug, which was red as if with old blood. + +Son of a prince—medical student—clandestine marriage—prime minister—dead +mother—heir to fortune! It was all a clear case of humbug and treachery. +Little had Helena guessed how truly Edith would have to “specialise in +desertion.” + +Elsie’s voice rang out from the kitchen. “Why don’t you play it?” + +“In a minute,” answered Edith. She shuffled the records and found the +one desired. She took it out and carried it to the instrument and set it +in place, though it looked like a great thin passover cake, the charred +symbol of Elsie’s sacrifice. A rich baritone began to sing, “I’ve told +you the story you asked me to tell.” A father was giving his little +daughter a good-night blessing. Edith listened grimly. + + “The world is so wide, dearie, + True friends are so rare, dearie, + Who knows what danger may wait for you there! + No matter how well we have guarded the fold, + The wolves will come in somewhere. + But rest you and slumber, and dream if you will, + You’re safe this night, I know—” + +She shuddered as the tender words were breathed. To have given Elsie that +song as a farewell gift was a bit of oriental cruelty worthy of Satan +himself. She slowly clenched her hands, and became aware that one of +them was holding the slip from which she had taken the record. + +As she smoothed out the heavy brown paper, she extracted from it a piece +of lighter colour, apparently the memorandum of sale. No—no! What stared +at her! She had a quick eye for that word of words. + + Cetinje, April 15, 1914. + + Saadi Sereef Dr. Trench, Halsted St., Chicago. + + bsvd + + MOHAMMED BEG. + +It was but the work of an instant to get to her handbag and hide the +paper within it. She had no qualm of conscience. She had only a queer +little jumble of hope and confidence. + +“The needle’s off,” sang Elsie in the distance, and so it was, rasping +its way toward the pin at the centre. Edith pushed the little lever, +lifted the arm, inserted a new needle, tossed the record to the couch, +and restored the Servian piece. She lifted her head and marched down the +hall to the kitchen. + +“That’s the stuff, Edith. Why, your cheeks are red as fire, and your eyes +are snapping like electricity.” + +“I could dance,” said Edith. “I’ll put on The Blue Danube, and we’ll take +a turn in the kitchen.” + +“You won’t find anything about the Danube in _my_ records, thank you. +Saadi hates the Austrians, and my family doesn’t love them any too well. +Father was born in Galicia.” + +“I was only joking, dear. Dr. Rowland wouldn’t let you dance. How good +everything looks. Let’s eat in the kitchen.” + +“Not much! You’ve got to see all the pretty things I have.” + +“And not one from me among them!” + +“How do you know? Saadi and I had no end of fun buying our own wedding +presents. I bought for all my friends, and he did the same. I have +presents from Mr. Wu, and Mr. Becker, and Mr. Chatterjee, and Mr. Deland, +and Mr. Ameen, and Dr. Trench.” + +“Indeed? Dr. Trench is the man who attended Bobbie.” + +“Well, now, Edith, what do you know about that! Isn’t that the funniest +coincidence? He is the man whom Saadi refused to promise.” + +“Have you met him, Elsie?” + +“Goodness, no. Don’t you understand that nobody knows but you and my +folks?” + +Edith went back to stop the whirling record, and presently returned. + +“What did Dr. Trench give you—by proxy?” + +“The loveliest set of blue china, just like his own. And that +pigeon’s-blood vase that I showed you was from Mr. Wu, and the samovar +is from Mr. Becker, and the ivory paper-cutter like lacework is from Mr. +Chatterjee. Mr. Ameen is a Persian, and he gave me the silk spread for +my table in the sitting-room—only he doesn’t know it. This”—Elsie waved +aloft an aluminum frying-pan—“is from Mr. Deland. Saadi says I must call +it a spider, ‘because that is what Yankee boy calls it.’” + +“And did I really give you something?” + +“Yes, Edith, a book. Saadi and I read the last part of it together. I +told you I wouldn’t take a dare, and I didn’t. We laughed ourselves sick +over some of the things, but Saadi took a great fancy to that third of +John. I told him that a friend of mine called it the boldest thing ever +written, and he said he’d be damned if it wasn’t. Up to that time Saadi’s +favourite author was Haeckel, but he said that Haeckel was insaner than +Jesus. It seems that Haeckel wants the southern Slavs wiped out to make +room for German culture.” + +Edith listened with amazement, but without losing her sense of impending +disaster. “Where is that book, dearie?” + +“In my bedroom. Saadi used to read it there.” + +Edith went into the bedroom and found a thin Oxford bible. Her own card +was in it, and she now remembered giving her card to Elsie that first day +at the factory. Deeply touched, she turned the pages and found a certain +place. + +Then she went back to the kitchen. “I should never have given you that; +you know that I wouldn’t; but I’ve marked a place in it—one that your +people love as much as mine do. It just says, ‘As thy days, so shall thy +strength be.’” + + + + +XXVII + + +Wednesday morning Edith telephoned to Dr. Rowland while Elsie was +getting breakfast. He not only made an appointment for ten o’clock, but +volunteered to go with his car and bring Mrs. Shaviro to Elsie’s flat. + +After breakfast, Edith called up Trench, not without a tremor. + +“This is Miss Bridgman, Dr. Trench.—So am I to hear yours. I want to +consult you concerning a friend of mine. Can I see you this afternoon at +your office?—Thank you very much—three will be just right.” + +And at three she was there. Chatterjee let her in, and she told him she +had seen him at the University, at the Tagore lecture. She introduced +herself, learned his name, and hoped that they might see more of each +other. This pleased him immensely, and in his shy, quiet way, he asked +her if she had liked Mr. Tagore when he spoke about union with nature, or +some such thing. + +“So much, Mr. Chatterjee, that sometime I want to ask you many questions. +Just now the doctor is expecting me.” + +Chat disappeared into the inner office, and did not reappear, having +another way of exit thence. Trench came through into the library and held +out only one hand, though the impulse to extend both was strong. + +“It is a very great pleasure to see you here, Miss Bridgman. I lack +training in the amenities, as you know only too well, but Mrs. Jamison +had a name for you. Do you recall it?” + +“I’m afraid I do. And it is distinctly nice of you to imply that I +brighten the room. When you hear what I’ve come about, you will want to +call me Evening Cloud.” + +“Or some such thing!” said Trench. + +“Or some such thing,” she echoed. “He’s delightful—Mr. Chatterjee is +delightful. One can see that he’s had bringing up.” + +“You could say that of all the fellows around me here—even of one who has +just left us, having scarred us all with frank speech. And now come into +my sanctum.” + +He led the way, and closed the door. She stood looking at the Della +Robbia—that dearest one of the sculptured babies of the Spedalie degli +Innocenti. It had the intimacy of famous things—it seemed like Trench’s +own child. + +“You called this room sanctum,” she said, “and you have that exquisite +little fellow always before you, like something sacred.” + +“Please sit down, Miss Bridgman. You are already tossing me a challenge, +for ‘sacred’ is a word that belongs to a past age. I don’t suppose there +is an animal or a plant that hasn’t been sacred.” + +“And _I_ don’t suppose,” she retorted, “that there _are_ any past ages. +Aren’t the confidences that pass in this office sacred?” + +“I hope so.” + +“And aren’t the relations of men and women sacred?” + +“Yes, subject to reason.” + +“It is not the first time in the history of the world, Dr. Trench, that +an idolater has transferred sacredness from persons to reason. Do you +find that reason carries you far in considering the relations of men and +women?” + +“No,” said Trench, perceiving that she had acquired resources since last +he talked with her. + +Edith smiled at his docility. “I don’t really need to quiz you like this, +because I know how good you are. I know that your bark is a thousand +times worse than your bite. I have been trying very hard this winter to +be impersonal.” + +“Why should you, my dear lady? Don’t become a negation like me.” + +“Being,” said Edith, in as sepulchral a tone as she could command, +“myself a mere atom. Little you know, my dear Dr. Trench, how far behind +the times you are in astrophysics. An atom is as complicated a thing as +the planet Saturn, and looks like it, with its ring of electrons. In +fact, it reminds me of you and your boys, and I shall address you on +that subject on the twenty-eighth of June, in connection with potential +energy.” + +“Heavens!” ejaculated Trench. “Does that appointment really hold?” + +“Hold! It holds like a non-Euclidean equation. For ten in the morning, +sir, in the conservatory. I’m preparing a lecture which will last till +Sunday dinner, and take the place of church.” + +“I’ll be there,” cried Trench, “in spite of all the babies in Chicago.” + +“Good! And now to my errand. Do you remember my using the words +‘impersonal passion’?” + +“I’m not likely to forget it, while life lasts.” + +“And sending me to Ischl’s?” + +“Yes. I apologise.” + +“There is no need of apology. I went, and made the acquaintance of two +girls. One was Italian and one was Jewish. Soon afterward the Jewish girl +married, and that is what I have come to consult you about. Her husband +is not with her now, and I am terribly afraid that he has deserted her.” + +Trench nodded. “The old story. Desertion gives the charities more trouble +than everything else except alcohol. But the law can do something, and I +will help you take the proper steps.” + +“I’m afraid the law can’t help us. The man has gone to Russia.” + +“That is unusual, and makes it worse. Is she very anxious to get him +back?” + +“No, because she is sure he will return. She is desperately in love, and +trusts him completely. But I feel very certain that she has seen the last +of him.” + +“In that case, the best thing to do is to do nothing—not even to destroy +her faith. She will come to believe him dead and send him to the heaven +of Jewish heroes.” + +Edith smiled demurely. “It isn’t every woman, then, who has to be told +the truth.” + +“No.” + +“I had hoped,” she said, “that you had some friend in Russia who might be +asked to find the man and reason with him. I should be very glad to pay +such a friend’s expenses.” + +Trench shook his head. “Reason doesn’t go far in these cases—as you just +now reminded me. The best thing is to let the girl go back into the +factory. Is she a person of any intelligence?” + +“Dr. Trench, this girl is above the average. She is my superior.” + +“What type physically? Heavy?” + +“No—more like a flame.” + +Trench knotted his brow. “The man whom she loves must be above the +average also. Very likely the Jewish type of Russian intellectual. Is +there any reason, however, why the girl should not return to the factory?” + +“Yes, Dr. Trench. If you don’t mind, will you call up Dr. Rowland, and +tell him that I am here, and ask him about my friend whom he saw this +morning?” + +The doctor took up the telephone, got the number, and began to talk. +“Good morning, doctor. This is Trench. Miss Bridgman is here, speaking +to me about a case in which she is interested. It is the young woman +whom you saw this morning. She wants me to know the facts and the +prospects.”—He listened for two or three minutes.—“Yes.—Yes.—October. All +right, and thank you. Good-bye.” + +“Dr. Rowland reports everything in fine shape, and is much impressed with +the girl. He called her Elsie.” + +“Yes, that’s her name. Elsie Sereef.” + +“Sereef!” + +“Exactly, Dr. Trench. She is the wife of your student.” + +It is not appointed to many men in a lifetime to be so surprised. He had +thought that nothing in Saadi could surprise him, but he seemed to be +listening to incredible bad news about—himself. + +But Trench took it in characteristic fashion. He sat in silence for +three minutes, while his mind retraced Saadi’s history swiftly, omitting +little and neglecting nothing. Then he took another minute to consider +the future, while his gaze seemed fastened on the little picture that +Arschiak had given him. She followed his gaze and saw with a start what +the picture was. At the end of four minutes Trench unknotted his brow, +looked up, apologised, and reached out for the picture. + +“Do you remember the scene?” + +“I’m not likely to forget it, while life lasts,” she quoted. “Just about +there”—she touched the foreground—“I wondered whether either of us would +ever see land again.” + +Trench put the painting back. “My boy Saadi,” he said, “will be glad to +know that he is to be a father. I will wire his steamer immediately.” + +“You poor innocent—you poor Della Robbia innocent wrapped in swathing +bands!” + +“Delightful epithet,” said Trench. + +“Why, doctor, is it possible that you think this adventurer cares a rap +about Elsie? It is the most terrible example of—impersonal passion.” + +“Appearances are against him, Miss Bridgman, but I have faith in Saadi.” + +“Why? How is it possible?” + +“If I tell you the truth, you will think me the most arrogant animal that +walks.” + +“Well, tell me the truth. I seem to be the person for whom you reserve +it.” + +“I trust Saadi because he is so much like myself. He has no God, no +standards, no anything.” + +She checked her quick tongue, determined that this time she would not +make the old mistake. “You mean something, my friend. Your confidence in +this Mr. Sereef is entirely personal?” + +“Yes. Personal is the word. Saadi came here with despair in his heart and +strange oaths on his lips. He called himself strictly selfish, and warned +me that he would seduce some girl if he saw fit. It was an attempt to +be honest with himself in the midst of cowardice and hypocrisy. All the +autumn he sang the praises of war—war being to him the honest expression +of human nature. But a change came over him. On the fifteenth of last +month he told me that he had been reading the New Testament.” + +“Yes. His wife tells me that they read it together.” + +“Ah, that completes the chain. Saadi reverted to the ideals of +Christianity, exactly as if he had Christian blood in him. He regarded +them as wild dreams, but resigned himself.” + +“Resigned himself!” + +“Yes. And I know exactly how he felt. I am now quite ready to admit the +importance of certain ideals—the importance of certain illusions, if you +please.” + +“That subject, Dr. Trench, is reserved for the twenty-eighth of June. +But you are ready to admit that Mr. Sereef’s marriage vow is sacred?” + +“Quite ready.” + +“Then will you not appeal to him to respect it?” + +“I shall be glad to wire him that the child is coming. I don’t feel +called upon to lecture him.” + +“I wish,” said Edith, “oh, I do wish that I could share your confidence +in him. But you have surely been deceived. His whole tale about Bokhara +is a tissue of lies.” + +“I confess that I can’t prove the contrary.” + +“Doctor, do you think that this man has any sense of obligation toward +you?” + +Trench studied the lake scene again. “Saadi once said to me that he would +answer when I called.” + +“Then call, Dr. Trench! Call him back! Don’t let him sail.” + +“He would not return.” + +“Ah! You confess it.” + +“Miss Bridgman, Saadi is going out of a sense of duty to his fellow +countrymen.” + +“Pooh! I’d let all his countrymen hang for Elsie’s sake.” + +She said it with emphasis. Her Easter vision, which had grouped all men +as those about Trench, had fled. + +Trench looked very grave. “Mrs. Potter said to me that she would let all +the Indians in the world die for Mildred’s sake. But she did not mean it.” + +Edith flushed. “I suppose that Mrs. Potter and I are petty and personal. +We love the persons we know.” + +“Saadi,” said Trench, “loves those whom he doesn’t know.” + +“I’m afraid you are hopeless, doctor. You are sentimentalising a +scoundrel who has no more sense of duty than a machine. _Why_ is he going +back? _Why?_” + +“Because,” said Trench with a slow sweet smile, “those about us are those +about us.” + +She was silent, wondering at the strange, vague words.—Trench drew up a +pad of paper, and began to write a telegram. Edith laid a hand on his arm. + +“If you are wiring Mr. Sereef, please wait a minute. I don’t want him to +have a week on shipboard to think about it, and cover up his tracks as +soon as he lands. I don’t want him to have information without personal +influence.” + +“I will do as you say, Miss Bridgman, but you are taking a great +responsibility.” + +“Then I’ll take it. I have a great notion to pack my trunk and follow him +myself. But I don’t know him. I should have no weight with him.” + +Trench tore up the telegram, and waited for her to go on. + +“Doctor, let us suppose that this man is not really bad at heart. I +think he is, but let us suppose not. But if he is even faltering in his +allegiance to Elsie, he needs personal influence brought to bear upon +him. Isn’t there some one over there who could go to him as your proxy? +Some one who is true and tried, and knows you both?” + +Trench smiled and answered lightly. “There is my good friend Jaffer. Dr. +Jaffer is true and tried, and he knows about Saadi, though he doesn’t +know him personally.” + +“That would be fine, if Dr. Jaffer lives in Constantinople, or anywhere +near the Balkans.” + +“What do you mean?” + +“I mean this!” She drew the cable message from her handbag. + +Trench took it and read it. + + Cetinje, April 15, 1914. + + Saadi Sereef Dr. Trench, Halsted St., Chicago. + + bsvd + + MOHAMMED BEG. + +“Cetinje, eh? This looks as if he may have gone to Montenegro.” + +“And that fact does not disturb you, after his saying that he was bound +for Central Asia to claim a fortune?” + +“Not in the least, dear lady.” + +Edith, abashed, was silent. She could only reflect to herself what a +power the man would be if he could trust God as he trusted the children +of Satan! But he suddenly seemed boyish as he sat there smiling, and her +love went out to him with a touch of maternal pity. + +“I have always thought of you as so critical, so inclined to discount +everybody and everything. You have talked of men and women as if they +were helpless animals. I can’t exactly call it cynicism—but I guess I +will, because I’ve ruled out every other word. And now you are out of +character!” + +“Dr. Bridgman’s diagnosis,” laughed Trench, “is differential and +accurate. Poor Saadi is not in the same class with you. He sized me up as +no cynic, and therefore as marriageable. It is sad to see a personal bias +in so young a physician. But I suppose you’re dying to know what these +mystic and melodramatic letters mean. Excuse me if I seem graceless—but +they remind me of a certain brand of underwear.” + +“I suppose I shall have to excuse it, but you can’t blame me for +desperate curiosity when my Elsie’s whole life may hang upon those +letters. I did venture to think that some of your students could see some +light in them.” + +Trench took up the telephone, and glanced at his watch.—“This is Dr. +Trench.—I want to speak to Mr. Ameen. You will find him in 36, preparing +some sections. I will hold the wire.—Is that you, Ameen?—I want to ask +you an odd question. Do the letters bsvd suggest anything to you in +Persian or Arabic? Yes, _bsvd_. Think about it a minute, and call me up. +Consider names of cities, common phrases, Moslem proverbs—anything that +enters your mind.” + +“I’m afraid,” said Trench, as he hung up, “that Ameen can’t help us.” + +“Pardon my saying so, doctor, but you don’t give him all the data. He +doesn’t know that these words are addressed to Mr. Sereef.” + +“No, but that’s just what I don’t want him to know. Ameen is prejudiced +in Saadi’s favour.” + +“Perhaps you are right. It now occurs to me that a message from the +Balkans might be couched in some Balkan language.” + +“Yes, Miss Bridgman. And there is one friend of mine who might be of +assistance if he were here. He is Dr. Yukitch, a Southern Slav whom I +knew at Vienna. But I have no idea where he is. Ah—there is Ameen.” + +As he took up the receiver and listened, Trench began to smile and to +make notes on the pad of paper. He wrote for several minutes, laughed, +told Ameen that he was a wonder, and hung up. + +“Ameen gives us a wide choice, Miss Bridgman. For Persian he suggests +three sentences, all beginning with the required letters. They are _Beya +shuma va damad_—You come, and son-in-law; _Boro shuma va damad_—You go, +and son-in-law; _Barayi shuma vajibest daleel_—You must have a guide. For +Arabic he gives us three others, and in one case the inner meaning which +so many Arabic words bear. They are: _Bismillah salimho va dalilho_—In +God’s name greet him and show him the way; _Balad shams va dobab_—Land of +sun and mist—that is to say, Land of trouble and strong government; and +finally, _Baad Saadi vadie Doctor_—After Saadi kill the doctor.” + +Troubled though she was, Edith burst into laughter. “I guess that he +thinks I am here trying to kill you both. Well, I won’t. I give up +trying to find out the meaning of bsvd.” + +Trench handed the yellow paper back. “I suppose I feel about Saadi as you +feel about God. I’ve got to trust him, because I can’t check him up.” + +Edith took the paper, hesitated, and placed it again in the doctor’s +hand. “Send it to Dr. Jaffer,” she said. + +Trench slowly folded the paper. “You are quite serious?” + +“Quite serious. It was you who sent me to Ischl’s. Elsie is our ward.” + +Trench opened a drawer and glanced at his check book. “It will +inconvenience me a little.” + +She laid a hand on his arm. “Dr. Trench, you must let me pay Dr. Jaffer’s +expenses.” + +“That would take too much explaining. I am sorry to be short, however. +You see, I lent Saadi a thousand.” + +Edith opened her eyes very wide. This man, this ideal of cautious +commonsense, was a lunatic. But she held her peace. + +“Joint guardians, eh,” continued Trench. “I’m not sure that we are the +only ones.” He turned to the telephone book, found a number, and asked +for it. “Is this you, Mr. Ischl? This is Dr. Trench. Is your car there? +Could you spare the time to run round to my office?” + +While they were waiting, Trench took from a drawer an album of pictures +of Encampment, and together they seemed to tread again the cedar woods. +“Not Encampment,” she said, “but Enchantment.” + +Presently in came Ischl, a little uncertain in his flat-footed tread, and +thinner than of yore. He had a reeking cigar in his fingers, but, seeing +a lady present, made an effort to quench it and hide it. + +“Miss Bridgman, this is Mr. Ischl.” + +“I’ve heard of you, Mr. Ischl. Your stock went up with your employés last +summer.” + +Ischl strove to hide his embarrassed pleasure. “’Twan’t my doing. This +man here is responsible. You don’t know all my family history, and I +ain’t here to tell it. But I had a damned hard time to make Dr. Trench do +something for me. And now, doc, what can Ischl do for you?” + +“Mr. Ischl, you’ve a little girl named Elsie.” + +“Yes, thank God, I have.” + +“Well, it was Miss Bridgman who interceded for Elsie. Do you remember +what you said to me about some other girls?” + +“Well, I guess I said a good many things. It was a warm morning. But I +remember I says, doc, I says, there’s others named Elsie.” + +“That’s it. And do you remember Elsie—what was her last name, Miss +Bridgman?” + +“Shaviro.” + +“Sure, doc. Best forewoman I ever had. Got a head on her like a man. She +ain’t been with me in close to five months.” + +“She’s in trouble, Ischl.” + +“Damned sorry to hear it. Some man do her dirt?” + +“Miss Bridgman fears so. The man has gone to Europe, and we want to find +him and make him support her—if it’s necessary to make him.” + +“I’ll sit in with you on that deal. Is it money you want?” + +“Yes.” + +“I’ve got my check book right here. I stuck it in my pocket when I heard +it was you. God damn it—excuse me, lady, but I got to swear—I hoped the +time would come when you’d need that thousand.” + +“Too much, Ischl. Make it five hundred. I don’t myself feel sure that I +ever earned a dollar in my life, but I’ll take that much and thank you.” + +“You’ll take a thousand. I’m it, this time, and I ain’t lost no money +this winter. There! There you are, and I hope you’ll find your quitter. +Any time you need a little more for them as needs it, I guess maybe I +could cough up if I tried hard. And there’s one thing more I want to say. +This lady here done a fine thing when she let my girl come first. I won’t +never forget it, Miss Bridgman.” + +He laid the check on the desk, shook hands, and was gone. + +Edith opened her handbag again, but this time it was for her +handkerchief. “You wonderful man,” she said, wiping her eyes. + +Trench was the least bit tremulous himself as he replied. “Mr. Ischl very +properly thinks you the wonderful one. The deeds of Drummond and Ischl +read like a fairy story. But it is certain enough that some ideals do get +realised.” + +“How soon will you telegraph to Dr. Jaffer?” + +“In ten minutes.” + +Trench drew up a pad of paper, and wrote. + + Chicago, April 22, 1914. + + Rasul Rahim Jaffer, Peshawar, India. + + Please proceed Tashkent Grand Hotel inform Saadi child expected + October should cable Elsie intention of returning. Am cabling + expenses. + + TRENCH. + +“Will that do?” + +“It is fine. But is it strong enough? Won’t you insert ‘quickly’?” + +“All right. ‘Please proceed quickly.’” + +“And is ‘should return’ strong enough? Won’t you say ‘must return’?” + +Trench reflected. “‘Should’ seems to me better, but I am glad to defer to +your judgment. It now reads: + + “Please proceed quickly Tashkent Grand Hotel inform Saadi child + expected October must cable Elsie intention of returning. Am + cabling expenses.” + +“That is splendid, Dr. Trench. Splendid! And you are splendid to do this +for Elsie. I shall sleep in peace to-night.” + +Then she took out Elsie’s letter to Saadi, and wrote on it _Aux soins de +Dr. Jaffer_, and departed. She posted the letter and went home happy, +having missed a day at the University. + +Trench bestirred himself to get five hundred dollars after banking hours. +Anybody else would have left that part of the work till next day. But he +happened to know the name of Jaffer’s bank in Peshawar, and he gathered +from one Halsted merchant and another till he had the required sum. By +half-past four the message had gone, and by six the money. + +At dinner Trench was somewhat preoccupied. He had no intention of telling +the boys that Saadi was married, but he greatly desired to know whether +Saadi had ever dropped any word about acquaintances in Tashkent. Luck was +with him, and he was spared the need of questioning. Chat, the quietest +of men, was full of a certain charming experience and had to tell of it. + +“Wu, I have the honour of the acquaintance of a great lady, such as we +call a _burra mem_. She must be one of what Americans call the four +hundred, a—” he stopped. It had occurred to him that he had been guilty +of a breach of manners. + +“Well,” said Wu, “what is the rest?” + +“Nothing, Wu. I do not wish to make a break or some such thing.” + +Trench smiled. “He is showing a fine professional spirit, Wu. The lady +is probably a Miss Bridgman who was here this afternoon. Finish the +sentence, Chat.” + +“I have forgotten it.” + +“The phrase,” said Wu, “was four hundred, a—. A very curious phrase. It +belongs in Tashkent.” + +“What’s that?” + +“Gospitalnaya, 400a. It is the address of a specialist in filaria. Prince +Saadi gave me the numero.” + +Trench said no more, but rested on that slender accident. Before he slept +he wrote a letter to Jaffer, instructing him to call at Gospitalnaya, +400a, as soon as he arrived in Tashkent. Also he enclosed the Cetinje +telegram. Perhaps Jaffer could think of some more odd sentences like +Ameen’s. + +That night he lay awake for hours, living over the events of the +afternoon, and never once did it occur to him that his brain was +repeating them like a machine. If he had loved her with all his heart +before, he loved her beyond measure now, for his heart seemed suddenly +to have dilated. As he dozed off, he saw no reason why he should not ask +her to marry him. And then, rousing himself with great effort, he said +to himself that moments of emotional expansion must not be allowed to +interfere with long settled convictions grounded in reason. + +He would try to think of her impersonally. A woman was only a light and +hollow endoskeleton, cancellated for the attachment of muscles; a somatic +envelope of certain germ cells; a creature of osmosis; a bag of sols and +gels; a cluster of reflexes; a bunch of tropisms. But—he was calling her +names! Such terms St. Anthony would have used, had he known them. Such +terms a jealous husband might employ in his absurdest outbursts. + +A modern man, frankly recognising the facts of sex, must be more +courteous. He would grant her exquisite, with adjustments more delicate +than those of ions, and pressures more subtle than those of light. But it +was no go. She refused to be a mechanism. She declined to be reduced to +her lowest terms. She remained Edith, and doubly dear. + +Well, he could not formulate all those old arguments every time nature +thrilled in him. He could only remember that the arguments were there and +not to be disregarded, save at his peril. + +At his peril. At his peril. But Trench was asleep—like a soldier on the +picket line. + + + + +XXVIII + + +In the morning he awoke to find the sunlight lying white upon his bed. +It did not suggest, as it often had suggested, an incandescent shroud in +a crematory retort. But of what, then, did it remind him? Why, snow, of +course. Snow on the mountains. Snow on the Himalayas, beneath the shadow +of which Jaffer had already read his wire. The difference of time was +such that it was Jaffer’s afternoon—say two o’clock. What was Jaffer +doing? Did the snow on the Himalayas chill him, or did it beckon him to +adventure? The latter, he hoped. After all, why grow old without a little +adventure? + +He sprang out of bed like a boy, took his bath like a boy, plunged +into the study of his daily appointments like a boy. He found himself +whistling a tune—it was years since he had whistled. And on searching his +memory to see what the tune was, he discovered to his vast amusement that +it was called “Precious Jewels.” + +At six o’clock he went out to breakfast, and there, instead of merely Wu +and Chat, he found all five students. There were roses on the table, and +a pile of parcels at his place. + +“Many happy returns of the day, doctor!” It was Deland, thrusting a lean +hand forward for a deadly Y. M. C. A. shake. + +“Great Scott, boys! Great—Scott! It is my birthday. I had as clean forgot +it as—well, as I forget all yours.” + +“Thirty-two roses, doctor,” said Ameen, “and here is one to grow on.” He +came forward and pinned the flower in Trench’s buttonhole. + +Nothing like this had happened before in the Trench household. Even then +Trench did not understand it, though deeply moved. He did not understand +that for the last six months he had been changing, hour by hour, from a +friend deeply respected to a friend dearly beloved. + +Edith had said that she should sleep soundly that night, and she did. But +when she awoke, and began to recall the previous day, she suddenly fell +to reproaching herself. She had made Trench change his message to Dr. +Jaffer. She had called Mr. Sereef’s story a tissue of lies, though the +doctor believed it. She had failed to respect his judgment. + +It is unsafe to draw up an indictment against a whole sex, but sometimes +women act as Edith proceeded to act. Instead of saying to herself that +the thing was done and there was an end on’t, she grew more and more +chagrined, and on her way back to the University stopped in Halsted +Street to apologise. It was half-past eight, and Trench was busy with +early callers, but she waited in the library. There she was surprised to +find an enormous shallow vase filled with lilies of the valley. + +Presently Trench appeared, with a look on his face such as she had never +seen there before. But Helena Drummond had seen it; even Ischl had seen +it. + +“Well, this is pleasant again. Something new?” + +“No, doctor, unless apologies from women are new. I want to say how +ashamed I am to have been so insistent yesterday. It was atrocious for me +to speak so of Mr. Sereef to the man who knows him better than any one.” + +Trench did not laugh. He took the scarred left hand, and gently lifted it +to his lips. “All the apologies, dear lady, must come from me. A lifetime +devoted to the task would hardly atone for the words I spoke to you last +August, when you showed me your plants. Now take a look at mine.” + +“I have been looking at them. Some parent must have been very grateful, +to send you such a field of May.” + +“It was not a G.P., whether grateful patient or grateful parent. It was +merely my beloved scamp, Saadi Sereef. I beg you to take some of them.” + +He drew out a great handful, shook the drops from them, and held them +out, with a look as if he were pleading for his life. She hesitated, and +then pinned them at her breast. “I don’t wonder that you love the scamp. +Why did he leave orders for this particular flower?” + +“Well, it happens to be my birthday.” + +“And why lilies of the valley on your birthday?” + +“Some absurd symbolism connected with his stay in the Balkans. The +interesting thing is that Saadi should respect any sort of symbol. He and +I have long been accustomed to keep just as far away as possible from +symbols, gods, poetry, and all the other vagaries of the human body.” + +“I see. He is a radical mechanist like yourself.” + +“A what?” + +“A radical mechanist. Don’t you recognise your proper tag?” + +“I do no reading, Miss Bridgman. And as Ameen says, I am afraid of names.” + +“In that case I won’t give you one, and perhaps you will tell me why you +have been afraid of symbols.” + +“Because they turn into charms.” + +“Not nowadays.” + +“Yes, nowadays. Three blocks from here the Jew opens his Psalms and +chooses a magic verse to guide him. This winter I saw an Italian girl +tearfully marry the wrong man because he had got possession of a piece +of her neckwear. And West Siders continue to call on the empty name of +God to do things that they ought to do themselves.” + +“But you give in about lilies of the valley?” + +Again that look of pleading. “I have given in about more than lilies. +Even cypripediums seem to mean a good deal to me.” + +Edith averted her face. After all her struggles, was she tempting the +man? His restrained passion was evident in every look. She would be true +to her resolve. She rose to go. + +“Saadi and I,” said Trench, rising, “have concluded that a good deal of +the old vocabulary will have to serve. You may live to hear me speak +respectfully of Christ’s hæmoglobin.” + +“Well, doctor, I really think you’re coming on.” + +“Thank you. I shan’t come far enough to speak respectfully of +immortality. Peacocks and butterflies symbolise it, but the birds eat up +the insects.” + +“Yes, but peacocks also suggest pride, and pride keeps us straight.” + +“Alas,” laughed Trench, “peacocks go to roost, and pride fails. You see +how trivial the whole business becomes.” + +“Far from it!” she flashed. “The very mention of peacocks has given me +what I need at this moment. I thank God very particularly for a little +pride and courage.” + +“I shall never thank God for anything, madam. But before we quarrel, I +admit your point. The essence of a charm is courage. I am inclined to +think that courage is even the essence of charm.” + +He looked at her so directly that again she was afraid. “Are you by any +chance becoming so banal as to compliment me?” + +“By no means, Cypripedium.” + +She bit her lip, and moved a step toward the door. + +“Saadi has charm,” said Trench, “and egad! the essence of it is courage. +Before you get to the door I shall probably admit that the blood of +Christ is curative. It is a lonesome and sin-sick world, and needs +salvation. I reckon that the world’s blood supply unconsciously invented +that sacrifice to cleanse itself and keep its courage up. You see, I am +recanting as fast as possible.” + +Edith stopped. “You are almost human, Dr. Trench. I never guessed that +you could be so open-minded and—and—vivacious.” + +He drove ahead rapidly. “Religion might be a good thing if folks would +make it up as they go along. The fellows that invented it had a use for +it. They extracted courage out of everything, even stones. Red pebbles +were blessed to them. Becker tells me that in Russia a ruby will even now +warm congealed blood, and Chat says that in India it heals the scars of +fire.” + +She laughed—hesitated—and decided to risk it. “I don’t know which one of +us needs a ruby the most.” + +Instantly she regretted the words, and innocently tried to retrieve them +by adding others. She only made the matter worse, for what she said was +this: “I feel sure that you are really coming my way. But you are not +ripe for the twenty-eighth of June.” + +Trench thrilled to that—the more that she meant nothing personal. He +gripped his mind and made it think of the technical problem of vitalism +versus mechanism. Then he looked down at her gravely. + +“I shall try very hard to be ripe for the twenty-eighth.” + +She held out her hand. “Thank you for forgiving me. And may you have +many, many happy returns of the day.” + + + + +XXIX + + +Jaffer closed up his hospital affairs, and waited two days to receive +Umar Khel’s offering of tea for Dr. Trench. He knew it would be worth +waiting for, and it would come exactly on the doctor’s birthday. To the +rich of Kabul, Umar Khel often sold teas that the Chief Commissioner in +Peshawar could not afford to buy. + +On Thursday, at eight in the morning, he appeared at the shop. The +proprietor was on hand. + +“Salaam alêkom, Umar Khel.” + +“Wa-alêkom salaam, Hakim Rasul. The tea has come. But be seated and try +my cigarettes, for now we shall lose you to the infidels.” + +Jaffer had hardly complied when his little sister came running in quite +out of breath, bearing an official envelope for which her mother had just +signed. He took it from her, opened it, read it, and spoke. “Be at peace, +little one, and say to mother that there is no bad news.” + +Jaffer put the message in his pocket and threw back his head, emitting a +ring of smoke. This was different. The doctor had stepped into the game, +and that was enough for Jaffer. + +“Umar Khel, I will buy the camel of you. I am going to Kabul.” + +“No, Rasul. If you get past Lundi Kotal, I shall have to go to Kabul and +beg your life of Habibullah.” + +“Not so, Umar Khel, but far otherwise. I shall be taken to Kabul for +trial. At Kabul I shall send for your cousin, and he will despatch a +messenger for me to Tashkent.” + +“Do not boast, my son. You will never get to Kabul. At evening you will +eat soup with some new friend, and a new friend’s soup is worse than +bhang to make you sleep.” + +“Then I will go soupless, but I go to Kabul. Hukm hai! It is commanded.” + +Umar Khel spat on the ground. “These ears are deaf when an infidel +commands a Moslem.” + +“Umar Khel, this man Trench has been to me as my father. He gave me a +home when Americans turned me from the doors. I have sworn an oath. When +he calls, I answer. When he thirsts, he shall have the last drop from my +mushak. When he is robbed, I avenge him. When his women are betrayed, I +go to hunt the jackal.” + +“It is an oath,” said Umar Khel. “Is the foul budmash an infidel or a +Moslem?” + +“Moslem and infidel, O thou just one. Behold him—as he lurks even now in +Kabul or Bokhara.” And Jaffer drew forth the picture of Saadi. + +“A cat!” exclaimed Umar Khel. “He mocks the Prophet, whose beautiful +animal now springs upon his shoulder in Paradise.” + +“Thou hast said. Wisdom sits upon the lips of my father’s friend.” + +The old man clapped his hands, and Amar Singh appeared. + +“Bring me pen and paper, and cut the reed true, for to-day I write in +Persian. I write to the Amir, and he will send the writ of Habibullah +himself, permitting one Rasul Rahim Jaffer, Hakim of Peshawar, full +liberty to tread any and every road in Afghanistan. And when I have +finished, it shall be your duty, Amar Singh, to go to the Afghan +postmaster with it, and tell him that I have lame clerks that can run +faster than his dak-runners. It will madden him, and in fourteen days we +shall place the writ in the doctor’s hands.” + +Amar Singh smiled with pleasure at this confidence, and turned to depart. +But Jaffer spoke. + +“Wait, Amar Singh, for Jaffer waits not. I go to some friend, for my +father no longer has friends. They who were his friends speak of dangers +and days.” + +He sprang to his feet, and Umar Khel arose frowning. Both turned toward +the door, and both stopped— + +For there in the white sunlight stood a tall youth, well coloured and +light of limb. His turban was whiter than the sunlight, and his eye +darker than Umar’s frown. + +“Salaam alêkom, Uncle!” + +There was silence for a moment. Then Umar shrieked, “I know you not! +Breaker of promises! Rebellious budmash! Leave my door and go back to the +whipping post.” + +But Abdul of Kabul smilingly stepped in, advanced, and seized his uncle’s +hands. “Struggle not, old man, or I shall kiss you, like a Christian.” + +The Kabuli laughed loud as he turned to Jaffer, still holding his uncle’s +wrists. + +“I know thee well, Hakim. Often I have heard of my almost copy. But +Jaffer is a prince to gaze upon, and I a wretched fakir. It is useless +for this ancient fire to flame hot words—for look! uncle, I have the +Amir’s writ for all the world, and ocriti lista for Russia. He could +not refuse when I mentioned our friend who returns from Leipzig a great +chemist.” + +“Our friend can make ammunition,” said Umar faintly. + +“Yes, uncle! And I can make inquiries. When I get back to Kabul, I shall +have information to impart.” + +Then silence fell upon the three men. They seated themselves, and the +noiseless Amar Singh was presently setting forth more tea, more cakes, +more strawberries, more cigarettes. + +“When I came in,” said Abdul, “you twain were parting in anger.” + +“I blame him not,” said Umar. + +“Nor I him, the aged and true,” said Jaffer. “Is there in Kabul a +Bokharan physician named Ali Khan?” + +“Assuredly not, hakim. There are a thousand Ali Khans, but no hakim. Why +do you ask?” + +“Look, Abdul. This telegram is from one whose word to me is law, even as +the word of the Amir is law to you. He bids me seek Tashkent, and that +with the utmost haste and effort—_jitnee koshesh ho sakay kar ke ravana, +ho jao_.” + +“And why?” + +“Because a friend of Afghans has been robbed, and a woman has been +betrayed.” + +“May I see your passport?” + +Jaffer drew it forth, and Abdul examined it. “This is not good in +Turkestan, but it will serve in Turkey.” + +Abdul calmly pocketed Jaffer’s passport, and placed his Afghan writ and +ocriti lista in Jaffer’s hands. + +Umar looked up. Umar smiled. Umar said, “I have long thought that you +should visit Stamboul.” + +Then he turned to Jaffer. “You go as my agent to Ibrahim Ismail in +Bokhara, with a trifling load of tea. I will tell you the price, and you +will not take a pouhl less. Ali Khel is in Monday’s kafila now, and you +will overtake him before he reaches Kabul. If you get away within three +hours, you will be in Lundi Kotal to-morrow night.” + +“Umar Khel means to-morrow morning.” + +“It is bravely spoken, Rasul, but you will not be able to pass the fort. +The rules are strict. You will have to halt and camp with the rest before +Shadi, the jaw of the pass.” + +“A bad omen, Umar Khel. The man I hunt is named Saadi.” + +Umar thought a moment. “Nothing is ominous. The Prophet has said it. +But—your camel—the Houri—cannot endure a pinch on the ear. It makes her +run—even in the dark.” + +“Enough, Umar Khel! I am the hafiz and memory of Houri’s ear.” + +“Very good. The kafila takes fourteen days to Kabul, but I have done +it in six—on a she-camel no better than Houri, whom Amar Singh will +instantly load for you in the compound. Ali Khel goes by Kabul, Bamian, +Khulm, and Balkh. You may tell him to press ahead with you. Take a gun. +Take a heavy shawl to pray on and sleep in. Change your dress. I will +include bajra cakes and dried fruits. There will be a mushak, but you +will find water. There are cotton seed cakes for your camel. There is +a small tent. I will have your customs instructions ready, in case Ali +drops behind.” + +He clapped his hands for his clerk, and the clerk, being instructed, +brought certain Afghan monies. + +“In one Kabuli rupee there are thirteen annas, four pice. The customs +will reckon at thirteen, and it is robbery, but you will not dispute +them. If Ali can keep up with you, you will need no other guidance till +you reach Balkh. Follow, and be careful of the steep roads at Kohak. At +Balkh, be guided by breath and bone. If you are worn out, go to Termes +and take the boat. Sell the camel there, and remit to me from Tashkent. +If you go clear through to Bokhara with it, Ali can bring back its skin +and bones. It is a week on Amu Darya to Charjui, but it is only versts +one hundred and twenty-five from Charjui to Bokhara. Ali will do his best +to keep up—but I see this case clearly. You will beat him to the bazaar +or to Paradise.” + +“And if I fail?” + +“It is kismet, and Trench will pay. He is rich, or he would not ask you +to undertake this thing. Is it a profit for me to send two maunds of tea +to Bokhara? Is it safe for you—in spite of stolen writs and passes? But +an oath is an oath. Go now and change your clothes, put your feringhee +rags into a bundle not to exceed thirty-six pounds English, quiet your +mother’s fears, and be back.” + +Jaffer arose, and a single exclamation escaped him. “Gee whiz!” + +“I do not understand, Rasul, but he that catches a Gilzai asleep has good +kismet. And by Allah! as you boys stand there, I seem to see the fair +full moon double! I must be drunk, like a Christian.” + + + + +XXX + + +Jaffer went to get the money which Trench had cabled. Then he went home +and said farewell to his mother, who cheered him on when she understood +the situation. Finally he changed his clothes, having put all his money, +together with a short pencil and some bits of paper, in a belt next to +his skin. Accompanied by his father and the family servants, he set out +for Umar Khel’s. He looked the travelling merchant. About his middle he +wore a cummerbund, on his legs the loose Afghan tombons, on his head an +old turban. He carried a Martini, a good dagger, and twenty-five pounds +of luggage. It cost him a pang to leave all the heavier instruments of +the elegant kit which Trench had given him, but he had a half-dozen of +the smaller ones. + +Umar Khel handed him a wonderful lacquered canister. “I now take an +interest in your Chicago friend. Present my salaams to Trench. There +is mettle in the man, and in return for our help he shall help the +Headman of his street. If the street have no such person charged with +the execution of justice, he shall himself be that man. I hail him Hakim +Trench Kilantar! In ordinary cases of seduction and outrage, let him +exercise ordinary prudence by burying the offender up to the neck, and +the dogs will take care of the head. In case his subordinates allow +buildings to burn, let him burn the negligent inspector. Here in this +paper are your instructions, written out. Mount, Rasul, mount and be off.” + +Jaffer was quick about it. He thrust the canister into his luggage, +strapped the luggage in place, made his farewells, and mounted. The camel +rose beneath him. Enthroned there on high, he looked as fine an Afghan +as any. + +“Shabash, shabash!” cried Umar Khel. “Roar and be gone, for Rasul means +the messenger, and the messenger of a lion is a lion. Find your jackal, +skin him, and say your prayers on the skin. It is unclean, but God is +merciful!” + +Jaffer swung off in fine style, and they watched him till the bazaar +closed behind him and he struck the road to the pass. + +He urged his beast. He safely crossed the rocky plain which, in nine +miles, harbours many a cutthroat. At six o’clock he reached the fort, +showed his writ, was remembered as Abdul, registered as Abdul, and was +allowed to join the kafila encamped beyond. + +He selected a position as far on the northern outskirts of the camp as +possible. He ate his supper, and listened idly to the braying of donkeys, +the grumbling of camels, and the cackling of fowls. Slowly darkness fell. +Jaffer lay down close to the Houri, and took a nap. When he awoke it +was eight o’clock, and the sky was starry clear, and most of the motley +horde about him had gone to sleep. Jaffer stretched himself, tightened +his sash, reached over to Houri, and pinched her ear. The camel sprang to +her feet like a billowy sea monster. Jaffer then arose and gave that ear +the pinch of poverty itself. Houri did not stop to bite—she fled into the +darkness, due north, with Jaffer following. A guard called out, but he +got no answer. + +Half an hour later Houri and hakim were well into the grim jaws of Shadi +Bagiar. + +Along the ravine, then into the smooth road made by the British with vast +labour some seventy years before. The camel moved as securely as on a +pavement, and Jaffer remembered the old legend that Asoka built a railway +here. It was doubtless untrue, for Asoka—they say—is a name known to more +people than ever heard of Cæsar, and more idealised than Cæsar. Jaffer +remembered what feet had marched through here. Persian, Greek, Seljuk, +Tatar, Mongol, Durani—driven by unguessed forces of nature. Certainly +within ten feet of him, perhaps through exactly the same space to a +foot, had passed the living bodies of Alexander the Great, Ghengis Khan, +Tamerlane. + +He inspected the heights. In the day-time three guards should appear at +every block-house as he approached. In the day-time they should present +arms and watch him till he was within sight of the next. But, of course, +nobody appeared. He was unguarded. + +He fell to whistling—and then to whispering—“Oh, du lieber Halsted +Street,” and plodded on as fast as his mount could go. The sky was a +thin black starry strip, with a faint scimitar of silver, but Jaffer was +unmoved by the night’s “illegible vast romance,” having enough to watch +in this chiselled water-course of his own planet. + +Hours came and went. The road slowly rose to the left, and from a little +plateau Jaffer caught the gleam of a light, below, doubtless from the +fort of Ali Masjid. He paused to reflect that it was midnight, and that +he had ridden more than a day’s journey. He dismounted, pretty stiff, and +fed the camel, which proceeded to lie down and rest. Jaffer ate a bajra +cake, drank some water, and lighted a cigarette. He sat there half an +hour, wrapped in his heavy shawl from the bitter night air, and so drowsy +that he could hardly smoke. Then he rose and proposed to the Houri that +they should proceed. The lady viciously objected, but in vain. + +On and on, still westward. The road zigzagged down and ran along a +cliff. The pass is very narrow here, and there is a river below, and two +thousand feet of hill rise above it. The camel felt her way along, and +Jaffer did no whistling. + +The sky seemed less black. One by one the stars disappeared. The +valley widened a trifle, and day dawned slowly. He was on the edge of +the country of the Zakka Khels, and yonder he saw a ruined Afridi watch +tower. He thought he would eat some mulberries and give the Houri another +rest. + +Ping! Something struck into the bundle of tea on the left side. The +report followed, and Jaffer reflected for a second what to do. Then he +toppled gracefully and fell to the ground. His camel loped off up the +pass and lay down, glad that her rider had come to his senses. + +Jaffer lay still. He wondered if he had done the right thing. The only +other thing would have been to advance with the camel as a shield, and +that would have invited the death of his mount. Well, he had tested the +safety of the pass on a guarded day, and found that it was not guaranteed +so early in the morning. He had no right to complain, though he heartily +wished that the Germans owned it. As for himself, he must play ’possum +till the robber appeared, and then take his chances in a sudden grapple. + +He reflected idly, during the next five minutes, on Umar Khel’s ideas +of justice. He had considerable sympathy with them, but just at present +their limitations were painfully evident, for co-operation was necessary +to enforce them. He earnestly desired the sound of hoof-beats of the +King’s Own. Hark—was that a stone, loosened by a hasty foot? He scanned +the hillside as well as he could without changing position. + +He saw it—a form skulking, dodging, winding down. As it came nearer, +he saw that the fellow wore his lungi wrapped around his left arm, and +though the arm supported a Snider, it looked stiff. + +Why had the villain paused at a safe distance? Surely he must see that +the Martini was lying out of Jaffer’s reach. Jaffer longed for it—could +imagine the “Ma-sha-Illah” engraved on it for good luck—but he did not +dare reach out. Bismillah! what was happening now? The scoundrel had +turned and was making off up the hill. + +Jaffer sprang to his feet, seized his rifle, and drew a bead on the +retreating form. “Zakka Khel ahoy! The hill is steep. Manda na bash—may +you never be weary!” + +The fellow stopped, presenting a tempting back. He turned. Jaffer lowered +his rifle and laid it on the ground. + +“What’s the matter with the arm, brother? Come down in the safety of God.” + +The Afridi hesitated, laid down his rifle, and descended. He took +Jaffer’s hand and laid it in turn upon each of his own eyes. “It was only +Takrar—the Feud. I took you for my cousin.” + +Jaffer nodded. “I have heard. A cousin’s tooth breaks on a cousin’s. Did +he give you that arm?” + +“Yes, Agha. Early in this month of Jomhadi.” + +“Three weeks ago! Do you hate him?” + +“Oh, no. My cousin lost three little ones in the famine. Great was their +pain, but now they drink the river of milk in paradise.” + +“Have you seen a hakim about this arm?” + +“The mullahs have prayed. It grows worse. I shall die, but in paradise I +shall no longer struggle for bread. I shall shoot the pheasants and eat +and be filled, and the bones will put on new plumage and fly back into +the golden leaves. The mullah has told me.” + +“O pale son of Zakka Khel, I am hakim. I am Hakim Rasul of Peshawar.” + +“I kiss the foot of Hakim Rasul. Why did he spare this slave?” + +“I have sworn an oath to spare the men of Zakka Khel. I have sworn the +oath of _wilyati yunani_[1]—that I will heal friend and foe. Let me see +your arm.” + +The man shook his head. “You are Daktar Sahib—a Christian.” + +“No.” + +“You are Baid—a Hindu.” + +“No! La illaha illa ’llaha, Muhammad-an-Rassul-Allah, Hakim Rasul +rasul-o-rasulillah!”[2] + +The man unbound the lungi and revealed a ghastly sight. Jaffer stripped +off a chicken skin that was wrapped around the general disaster. Then he +opened his luggage and got out his big bath sponge. “Take this down to +the river and soak it.” + +The fellow received the sponge gingerly. “It is the little cloud. I have +heard but never seen. Hakim Rasul has caught the cloud on the top of +Safed Koh, and shut it in the jar, and waited till the cloud is dead. +Then he cut off this piece to wash the arm of Zakka Khel.” + +When the arm was clean, Jaffer brought out his instruments, and the man +started to run away. “Coward!” yelled Jaffer. “Spawn of an Englishman!” + +The Afridi came back with flashing eyes, and for the next four minutes +never flinched. At the end of that time Jaffer placed the ball in his +hand. “Pukka talisman, Zakka Khel.” + +“I know, I know! I shall have no sickness now. I am the hakim’s slave.” + +“Then go to your cousin and give him this word from me. As I wrap this +lungi about your arm, so I wrap a spell about you both. From henceforth +there shall be peace between you till I come again.” + +“It shall be so, Hakim. I will bring the camel. Lundi Kotal is only five +kro from here. Go in the safety of God, and may the riches of Rasul ever +increase.” + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[1] Foreign medicine—the medicine of Hippocrates. + +[2] There is no God but God, Muhammad is the messenger of God, and Dr. +Rasul is the messenger of God’s messenger. + + + + +XXXI + + +When Jaffer reached Lundi Kotal, he took his firman to be examined, and +slept for two hours. Then he mounted and continued. There is no need to +enumerate the places from there to Kabul. In Pushtu they would sound as +alien as the names which infidels in Chicago try to recognise when the +muezzin shouts them from his balcony in the Northwestern Station. But he +overtook Ali and Monday’s kafila at a place which in English would be +called Red Ghost. + +On the sixth day out of Peshawar, Jaffer saw the valley open, and the key +of India appear below like a dream—Kabul, the charming-at-a-distance. +He was worn with lack of sleep, and so was Ali. On entering the city, +they went at once to the house of Umar Khel’s cousin, were received with +cordiality, said not a word about the exchange of passports, and slept +for eight hours. + +Both camels were done up, and Jaffer left them in charge, to be returned +to Peshawar. He bought two new ones, the swiftest to be had. Ali’s load +was cut down to two maunds, and they started, paying no attention to the +Kabuli kafila. + +They struck into the road toward Argandab, and Ali broke the silence. “I +am always glad to get out of Kabul. To kiss a girl there costs thirty +rupees. To speak your mind of a sayid costs twenty lashes, though the +descendants of the Prophet deserve many a tongue-lashing. And to strike a +petty official means a good chance of being blown from a gun.” + +“I shall reflect upon the system,” said Jaffer. “Whoop la! Come on, Ali, +we don’t know where we’re going, but we’re on the way. I will now sing +you my favourite song, which is in Arabic: + + “Oh, du lieber Halsted Street, Halsted Street, Halsted Street, + Oh, du lieber Halsted Street, alles ist hin. + Magd ist weg, Geld ist weg, alles weg, alles weg, + Oh, du lieber Halsted Street, alles ist schon fort.” + +In all his life, Ali never made such time as he made that week, side by +side with this raw beginner—and raw was hardly a metaphor by the end of +the week. It was a week of frost and heat, dust and dew, high passes and +low valleys, Ali pleading and Jaffer relentless. It was only when Jaffer +insisted on bathing in the swift Helmund that Ali moved on, sarcastically +saying that he was in a hurry. + +They pulled into Tashkurgan white as lepers with dust. There he sold both +of the Kabuli camels, bought new ones, and was on his way. But as they +left Tashkurgan for Balkh, he felt a deadly weariness, and let his mount +go slow. + +Presently they were joined by a green-turbaned stranger from the north. +His camel had a blue ribbon on its bridle. In his arms he carried a +little boy, who wore blue beads about his neck, and a tiny ring with a +turquoise in it. Ali knew the meaning of all that blue. It was a charm +against the evil eye. Ali struck up an acquaintance. + +The man was a traveller from Ishkashim. He had come two hundred miles +across the north country, from where the Panja is daunted in its efforts +to follow the Hindu Kush, and goes storming through granite gorges to +become the Oxus. Over the mountains of Badakshan his camel had climbed, +and so down, a painful and a dangerous journey. + +The secret of his trip came out. His bright-eyed boy, now nine years +old, had never spoken an intelligible word, being under the malign power +of the evil eye. The father was taking the boy to Mazar-i-Sharif to be +cured. + +Ali translated the Shugnan words for Jaffer’s benefit, and Jaffer looked +at the intelligent little face. + +“Ali, are you sure he said ‘never’?” + +“Quite sure, Hakim.” + +“Never is a long day, Ali. Who is to unbewitch the boy at Mazar?” + +Ali’s camel was pacing beside Jaffer’s. “Alas, Hakim Jaffer, is there +then a Moslem in all the world who knows not the towers of Mazar-i-Sharif +and what they cover?” + +“Such am I, thou faithful Ali. Think how long I have been among kafirs.” + +“It is the tomb of my sacred namesake. Perhaps Jaffer knows not even +Hazrat Ali.” + +“Now by the memory of the just, O Ali, I would tear out thy tongue and +give it to the child who needs one, save that he never could control its +insolence. If we are coming to the tomb of Hazrat Ali Sher-i-Khuda, there +will Jaffer offer many prayers.” + +Ali smiled. “Thou sayest well, for already I have boasted of thee to the +Sayid of Ishhashim.” + +“That was unwise. I cannot remove spells.” + +“Nor did I so speak, thou proud one. The dead hands of Hazrat Ali are +mightier than the living hands of Jaffer. Even the print of his hand is +mighty. Have I not seen it myself upon the stone at Panja Kala!” + +Ali relapsed into dusty silence, which was not broken till late in the +afternoon, when above them on the hill they saw the minarets and blue +cupola of the ancient shrine. At Mazar the three men stayed in the +suburbs, and each pitched a little tent and prepared supper. The child +walked slowly from one man to another, and stood with questioning eyes. +Jaffer watched his chance, and when the little chap came his way offered +a tempting morsel. The boy opened his mouth wide. Jaffer slowly lifted +the food and took a good look. It was precisely as he thought. The boy +was desperately tongue-tied, but probably could have managed to talk, +except that his sensitive soul shrank from ridicule. + +At sunrise the call to prayer vibrated afar in the sweet breeze, but +Jaffer did not hear. It was an hour before he awoke and found the others +gone. He rose and washed and dressed. He took his shawl and went into +the city. The sayid and the child were sitting before the hangings that +screen the tomb, and Jaffer, having removed his shoes, sat down beside +them. He still remained when at last the suppliants rose and departed, +the boy smelling of a sacred rose that the mullah had given him to +further the cure. + +Half an hour later, having returned to camp, Jaffer found Malikdin Sayid +sitting upon the ground. The poor fellow was trying to make the boy talk. + +Jaffer paused. Malikdin Sayid looked up at him and said something. Jaffer +beckoned to Ali to come and interpret. + +“The sayid says that Hazrat Ali is deaf, and his rose scentless.” + +“Tell the sayid that he speaks that which he understands not, for within +this hour shall the child’s tongue be loosened.” + +Ali translated, and the sayid stared. + +“Tell him that the Lion of God has deigned to bless my medicines.” + +Ali translated. The man made no reply. + +“Tell him,” said Jaffer, “to leave the child with me, while he goes back +into town and paces thrice around the masjid.” + +On hearing this proposition the sayid looked exceedingly doubtful and +said something. Ali translated. “He fears _yarrah_ magic.” + +“Bismillah!” cried Jaffer, leaping to his feet and spitting on the +ground. “As Allah lives it is not magic. Is he not beaten with twenty +stripes who speaks ill of a sayid? What then shall be done to him who +injures the body of a sayid?” + +Ali caught the spirit of this, waved his arms, and translated it with the +fire unimpaired. + +The sayid answered, scowling. “I will say what shall be done to him who +injures the body of this boy. I will bind him here. Habibullah will give +me the key of the iron cage that swings on high on Lataband, and there I +will leave the false hakim to eat the air without a tongue.” + +Ali shuddered. He well remembered the cage. He translated in a low voice. + +“So be it,” said Jaffer. “But one thing more. The sayid will leave at the +shrine a gift for Hazrat Ali.” + +It was translated. The sayid bowed with a contemptuous wave of the hand. + +Jaffer lifted a finger. “Thrice!” he said, pointing to the distant tomb. +Then he picked up the child bodily and disappeared in the tent. He drew +the opening close, put the child on the ground with head between the +surgeon’s knees, and operated. The flow was trifling, and there was no +need of a stitch. The boy looked up with deep eyes, and said “Ali.” Then +he said it again. Then his voice rose in a sharp quaver as he said it the +third time, and tears burst from his eyes. + +Doubtless he meant the saint, but Ali of Peshawar came running to answer +the call. When he perceived that the miracle was accomplished, he dropped +on his knees with face toward Mecca, and touched the earth with his +forehead, and gave thanks in a loud voice. + +The boy went to him and raised him to his feet. Dabbing now his eyes and +now his tongue with the wad of sterilised cotton which Jaffer had given +him, the boy began to speak, waiting patiently till every word was +translated. + +“I was chased by a wolf. They did not understand.” + +“They will understand now,” said Jaffer, and listened. The words of years +were coming, not very distinctly, but very fast. + +“Why am I Djabrail?” + +“It is the name of the angel by whom God speaks to men.” + +“I ask if Ala Mazda pulls hair from horses’ tails in the night.” + +Jaffer was puzzled. By what strange degradation of time had the bright +Ahura Mazda become a trivial demon? At last he said: “No, Gabriel.” + +“I ask if Shaitan spat the moon into the sky, thus.” + +“No, Gabriel.” + +“I ask if my soul shall sleep in the trumpet till Israfil blows it.” + +“Khuda medanad—God knows.” + +Ali exclaimed that the Sayid was approaching, and the oracle ceased. +Whatever more the eager mind would desire to know of moon or earth—he +must wait for all till the resurrection. Never again would he meet a man +who knew the difference between an eclipse and a dragon. + +“My father,” said Gabriel, “I was chased by a wolf. And I can say ‘Ali’ +as loud as the boatmen cry it when they pull together.” + +The father gazed upon the little face, and kissed it many times. He went +silently to Jaffer, and taking the skilful hand placed it upon his own +eyes. + +Then he drew from within his kurta a leathern bag. + +“Tell the great Hakim,” he said, unsteadily, “that I am from Ishkashim. +Tell him that high above Pandsh the few who know can still find black +stones that have become red with time. Though time makes the black stone +a ruby, make it not red, O God, with the blood of Jaffer’s heart.” + +Ali translated. Then Malikdin emptied the contents of his pouch into his +hand. There were four stones. From his belt he took a knife and drew the +edge across each in turn. + +“These two are for the Shrine. They are soft. They are balas.” + +Ali translated. Jaffer shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. + +Malikdin smiled, and placed in Jaffer’s hand the other two stones. + +Again Jaffer shook his head. “To Hazreti Ali be the praise, blessed be +his name.” + +Malikdin bowed, but he still smiled. “I have heard that the noble one +was buried in Meshed Ali at Kufa. It may be the truth. Once there was a +vaseer who secretly entombed a donkey. His king prayed at the donkey’s +ziarat for the gift of a son, and it was granted.” + +Ali translated. Jaffer’s laugh rang out. “I take the princely gift with +more than a beggar’s gratitude.” + +Ali and Jaffer moved onward, refreshed and ready for a spurt. + +Takht-a-Pul—with a fortification overlooking the Oxus road. Then Balkh, +mother of cities and balas rubies and golden apricots, but now in ruins. + +Here Jaffer found a guide to Termes, and here he parted with the +exhausted Ali. One day more and he came by forgotten paths out upon the +banks of Oxus, just where Oxus begins “to forget the bright speed he had +in his high mountain cradle in Pamere.” Jaffer stripped and took a swim. + +On Friday, May 8, at Patta Hissar, having beaten all records and sold his +camel and Martini to a Jew, he watched the porters carry his tea aboard +the steamer _Samarkand_. + +Now he had a week ahead, to reflect on all the heresies he had seen and +shared. For it is unlawful to pray for the cure of an arm; or to visit a +tomb save as a reminder of death; or to pace about any shrine save that +of Mecca; or to bless any name, save the name of God, when a disease is +cured. Yet he had taken these heresies as a matter of course, and even +pretended that they helped his surgery. Well, he would ask Dr. Trench if +he had done right. + +No foreigners except the Russian officials appeared on the boat. +Foreigners get on to the Oxus flotilla about as easily as a Russian gets +to Kabul or a camel goes through a needle’s eye, but Jaffer’s borrowed +pass and ocriti lista served. For seven days the flat side-wheeler picked +her way down the swift current among the shoals, tying up each night for +safety’s sake. On Saturday, May 16, Jaffer got off the boat at Charjui. +That evening he would be in Kagan, and to-morrow in Bokhara. + + + + +XXXII + + +It was a great relief to Jaffer to lie back comfortably in the train, +and reflect that he had in his belt two rubies worth at least a hundred +dollars apiece. He felt it a crime to have accepted such riches just +because a father loved his child. The world seemed to centre about +children. Drop off a train anywhere in the world, stop at a house and ask +after the baby, and nobody would be surprised. But of whom should he ask +in Bokhara about that bad child, Saadi Sereef? + +Towards evening the train swept into a great oasis and past walled +gardens, and drew up before a low arabesque station of grey stone. It +was Kagan. On the platform was a motley crowd, a coat of many colours, +gathered like American farmers to see the train come in. + +He slept at the Hotel d’Europe, and early Sunday morning rode for half an +hour behind a short-winded engine up to the crenellated walls of Bokhara +the Noble. He loaded his tea upon a donkey, paid his octroi at the gate, +and followed into the crooked streets, while the donkey-boy ran ahead +to make room for him with cries of “Pocht! pocht!” The travel-stained +Jaffer, however, did not look like a personage, or likely to gain access +to personages. + +The boy conducted him through the ugly city to the tea-bazaar. He had no +trouble in finding Ibrahim Ismail, who sat beside a smoking samovar. Nor +did his fatness, Ibrahim, express surprise that five pood had arrived +ahead of Ali. He gave the new agent tea and sweetmeats, and made many +inquiries about affairs in Peshawar. Jaffer studied him, and decided +that he was not the man to inquire of concerning Saadi Sereef. Jaffer +casually mentioned the price of the tea, whereat Ibrahim frowned with +adipose wrinkles, and changed the conversation. + +“This is Jaffer’s first visit to Bokhara?” + +“Strictly my first. What is that gigantic tower over there?” + +“That is Minar Kalan. Formerly criminals were thrown from the top. The +Russians object to the wholesome practice, and it has been abandoned.” + +“Your bazaars are vast.” + +“Thirty-two acres, Jaffer, even as the parts of the body.” + +“I await, O Ibrahim the Just, the words of that part of the body which is +called the tongue. I await your decision to pay the price of Umar Khel.” + +“Grow not grey in Bokhara, young man.” + +“You refuse?” + +“The price is eight pouhls in the pound too high.” + +“You embarrass me, Ibrahim Ismail. Who am I that I should be a judge of +tea?” + +“It is modestly answered. But you can see for yourself. Here is a leaf of +Lonka—fine and soft as silk, a single leaf enough for a cup. And here is +a leaf of your Kangra—coarse, common.” + +“You do not look at them, O Comfortable One.” + +“No, for my sight grows dim, and Allah has granted me finger-tips. I +can select any one of my seventeen teas by the touch of a finger. Umar +Khel is an honest man, but his fingers have held the rein and the sword +too long to know the feel of tea. Nor has he seventeen varieties in his +shop—though it is a good shop and he is a good man.” + +“If so, shall not his price prevail?” + +“Assuredly. But Jaffer has forgotten his instructions.” + +Jaffer bowed his head in simulated humility. He saw a way opening to the +best informed man in Bokhara—the prime minister himself. + +“It may be so, thou hafiz of all tea-knowledge. It may be so, for there +is one forgetfulness of the old, and another forgetfulness of the young. +But the Kushbeg of Bokhara has power to refresh all memories, like hot +water poured on the precious Lonka.” + +Ibrahim smiled heavily. “Vazee is concerned this day with weighty matters +of state. He would spurn us from the gate of the Ark.” + +“Nevertheless to him I appeal. But first I will change these rags.” + +Ibrahim smiled again. “Do so by all means.” + +“You think he will then be assured that I do not need the money. But let +us quarrel gently, thou Comfortable One. Leave the samovar to this youth +of yours, and lead me to the man who will give you the largest rake-off +on my new suit. Nay, lift no finger. If I had to live within these walls +of mud, I should demand pay from everybody.” + +Ibrahim set his bulk in motion, and took his guest through the gorgeous +crowds to a booth where a Jew was selling a wild Tatar a light summer +suit, or yektey. The Tatar was laughing for joy as he stood in his new +raiment, and cared not how little he was allowed for the horseskin which +he had laid aside here in his Paris. He paid his bill and strode gaily +off. + +“Come within,” whispered Ibrahim to the Jew, “and look at my prince. He +wants no stuff from Manchester.” + +Jaffer rejected piece after piece and suit after suit. He had no desire +to empurple the streets of Tashkent, but he wanted quality, and he got it. + +“Shall it now be a choice cap of karakul, such as Habibullah wears, or a +long, long turban?” + +“Turban. White. And not too long.” + +“Every ell will ennoble the noble Agha’s countenance. Let us say twenty.” + +“Seven,” said Jaffer. + +“Nay, Agha, so tall a man could not be enshrouded in seven. Look how +large a tallis even I must wear when I am gathered to my fathers.” + +“Seven,” repeated Jaffer, and seven he got. Then he bought a valise for +the old suit, which he might again need. + +They returned to the tea-bazaar. Jaffer caught up the samovar and marched +off. “Bring some of the decoction, and move thy comfortable legs lest I +be lost.” + +They approached the gate of the citadel, were kept waiting by the guards +for half an hour, and were then permitted to enter and kneel before the +square platform where the Prime Minister sat. Daily for two hours in the +morning he was to be found administering justice in the Gate. + +Jaffer advanced with a delicately curved glass of tea on a saucer. “I +would not insult Your Highness, O Nasrulla Beg, but in Peshawar it +is said that no appeal for justice is too faint to be heard by Your +compassionate ear. So please You, taste this glass of Kangra and say if +any so good has ever assailed the fortress of Your mouth.” + +Nasrulla Beg looked upon the audacious traveller, and saw that this +was no ordinary povendah. He tasted the tea and slowly drank it all, +concealing his satisfaction. + +“I do not like Indian teas,” he said. “I cannot understand why the fancy +for them has sprung up among us.” + +“May it please Your Highness, I like no tea at all. Coffee is my drink.” + +“What you like or do not like is of no importance. You have a saucy +tongue.” + +“I am Hakim, Your Highness. I learned in America to be saucy. Your +Highness must forgive. I seek knowledge—even to the edge of China, as +saith the Book—and if Your Highness declares that Chinese tea is better, +then I have heard this day that which I shall remember.” + +The Kushbeg turned and asked Ibrahim concerning the dispute, and promptly +decided against Jaffer. But the remark about America had not gone +unnoticed. + +“What is the name of the new president—not the Hunter, but the new one?” + +“Wilson.” + +“It sounds very foreign. You have not entered his employ?” + +“No, Your Highness.” + +“Perhaps you would consider settling in Bokhara. Ibrahim tells me that +you are of good family, and prosperous. I have no doubt that Badewlet[3] +would permit it. Who knows but that I His humblest servant might find +patients for Hakim Jaffer?” + +“I thank His Majesty and Your Highness. But I return to America.” + +“You shall go in peace, but remember the invitation. Are there other +medical students from Afghanistan or Turkestan?” + +“One from Kabul, Your Highness, the only Afghan in America except the +Amir’s brilliant nephew, Achmed Abdullah. And of course Saadi ibn +Astanakoul.” + +“Saadi who?” + +“Why, the son of your eminent predecessor in office, Your Highness.” + +“You are speaking riddles. Astanakoul has no son named Saadi.” + +Jaffer had now learned what he came to Bokhara to learn, but he hoped for +more. + +“I did not know Saadi personally, Highness, and doubtless I was +misinformed. But there is certainly a Saadi who boasts of having known +His Majesty when His Majesty was yet Crown Prince.” + +Nasrulla Beg stroked his smooth black beard and reflected. “Badewlet, +when Turra-djan,[4] did indeed bestow favour upon a young beg named +Saadi, in the months before Badewlet came to the throne. But whence came +the visitor, whether from Teheran or Stamboul, I never knew, nor does +it befit the master of the falcons to inquire into the friendships of +the Eagle. And now I can give you no more time. See the crowd that has +gathered. Feed the Hakim generously, Ibrahim, and give him coffee, for he +is like an Arab.” + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[3] His Majesty. + +[4] Crown Prince—literally, Soul Prince. But the “Djan” is merely the +term of endearment which every Persian gives to his eldest son, and which +Saadi gave to Ameen at parting. + + + + +XXXIII + + +It was breakfast time on Monday morning, May 18, when, in fresh and +superb raiment, Jaffer descended from the train at Tashkent, surveyed the +Russian buildings that surrounded the station, and stepped into the first +vehicle which presented itself. It happened to be a troika—three horses +abreast—and Jaffer started off for the Grand Hotel. There proved to be +nothing very grand about it, but there were trees and peacocks, and a +Bactrian camel was grumbling near the office window. + +When he had shown his passport, he ordered the best room in the house, +and made more or less ado about having an excellent meal served at once. +Then he inquired in Persian for letters. There was of course nothing for +the name inscribed in his passport. He casually remarked that the other +members of his party, Dr. Jaffer and Mr. Sereef, had proceeded west from +Charjui. + +His Afghan hauteur impressed the clerk, who handed him a letter for each +of the missing men, and asked him to forward them. Jaffer put the letters +in his pocket, and awaited breakfast. After breakfast he ordered another +troika, and set out to see the town. + +In the troika he slipped the letter for Saadi into his money-belt. +Then he opened the envelope addressed to himself. He inspected the +telegram—“Cetinje, April 15, 1914—Saadi Sereef—bsvd—Mohammed Beg.” He +learned it by heart. Then he read Dr. Trench’s own words, copied “400a” +on a piece of paper, stopped the troika, shouted “Gospitalnaya,” and +handed the slip of paper to the driver. But the broad avenue on which he +was bowling along was itself the Gospitalnaya, and all the driver had to +do was to proceed a hundred yards farther. + +There was a small sign on the house, in Russian letters. Jaffer figured +out that in a decent language it would read “Dr. Yukitch.” He rang the +bell, and was admitted by a turbaned Sart. He was conducted through two +dim rooms into the presence of the physician. + +Dr. Yukitch, a prepossessing man of thirty, rose to meet him. Jaffer +introduced himself in French, but Dr. Yukitch asked if he did not speak +Russian or German. + +“Sicher, und Gott sei dank!” answered Jaffer. “I am not sick, doctor, but +I have heard of you as the one man who handles filaria without the knife.” + +“You flatter me, Dr. Jaffer. You are German-trained?” + +“I am fond of the Germans, but I am not German-trained. I am a graduate +of Lister College, in Chicago.” + +“Chicago! Extraordinary. And may I venture to inquire why you did not +proceed from Bombay direct?” + +“Business, Dr. Yukitch. I am passing through Turkestan on an errand for +my dearest friend—a Chicago physician named Trench.” + +“Dr. Isham Trench?” calmly inquired the man, there in the heart of Asia. + +“No other,” answered Jaffer, surprised to the tips of his nerves. + +“We were classmates at Vienna, Dr. Jaffer. It was a large class, but he +would remember me as the man who frequently asked him about farmlands +in America, for I thought of going there. Or if he has forgotten those +talks, he will hardly have forgotten the dinner we gave him before he +graduated. There were twenty of us, and it was the twenty-third of April, +1907, in the Hotel Union in Alsergrund.” + +“A birthday dinner?” + +“Yes, and he was much the quietest man at the table.” + +Jaffer rose and advanced. “Will you kindly allow me to shake hands with +you?” + +The ceremony over, Jaffer proceeded. “Doctor, why don’t you write to your +classmate?” + +Yukitch shrugged his shoulders. “There is no occasion.” + +“Then let me make one. Can you tell me if there is any customs regulation +to interfere with the sending of uncut gems by registered mail?” + +“I know of none, but accidents sometimes happen even to registered mail.” + +Jaffer drew from his pocket the two rubies of Malikdin Sayid. “These +represent a fee, and I must share it with Dr. Trench.” + +“You surprise me, Dr. Jaffer.” + +“There was no bargain,” laughed Jaffer. “It is merely a token of love. +Pray send it for me, and with it a letter saying that I called upon you. +I haven’t the nerve to write before I finish the task he set me.” + +Dr. Yukitch examined the stones admiringly. “It could be done—quite +safely.” He gave back one of them, and disappeared into his laboratory. +He returned with a mortar containing a thick paste, and proceeded to +surround the stone with a layer of it. He rolled the bolus deftly between +his palms, measured it with calipers, and again disappeared. When he +returned, the big pill had been dipped and was drying in a pasteboard +box, where it lay on top of a dozen others. + +“You see the proposed method, Dr. Jaffer. A brief note of instructions +will suffice. But you had better probe the new one before it is dry.” + +“Friends of Isham Trench,” said Jaffer, “do not probe each other’s pills.” + +Dr. Yukitch looked at him, man to man. Then he sat down to his desk and +wrote his note, and handed it to Jaffer to read. + +“Charming, doctor! But what is this at the end? This is a reckless +promise—to be of any possible service to me.” + +“Hardly reckless. If your business in Turkestan involves any concessions +to Germans, you will find my helpfulness curiously limited.” + +Jaffer smiled. “If the medicine is dry enough, will not your servant +start it on its way?” + +Dr. Yukitch made a neat package, addressed it according to directions, +summoned his Sart, and despatched both box and letter. + +“And now shall we discuss filaria, or—your business in Tashkent?” + +“As for filaria, Dr. Yukitch, I am quite content to know that it yields +to your remedies. But I have a natural curiosity to learn how you happen +to be out here at the end of the world.” + +Dr. Yukitch spoke rather dryly. “I am selling medicine, but I will add a +subsidiary reason. I am here because of karst.” + +“Is he an Austrian?” + +“No, he is the bones of certain insignificant animals who did me much +harm. Karst is limestone. It is the material of my country, which is a +land of crags and valleys. It renders agriculture precarious, and it +separates us.” + +“You must be an Afghan,” smiled Jaffer. + +“I was born in Herzegovina, Dr. Jaffer, and the geography of the Balkan +peninsula is sufficient reason why I am in Tashkent. You observe that I +am blaming nature, not Austria.” + +“I observe,” said Jaffer, “that you remind me of Dr. Trench. But if you +prefer to blame Austria, I beg you not to spare my feelings.” + +“You are a Moslem, Dr. Jaffer, and the hatred between my people and +yours is not a matter of yesterday. Germany has long been hand and glove +with the Turk.” + +“The Turks, my dear Dr. Yukitch, are what an old friend of mine calls +soft Moslems. It is a matter of regret to me that Germany has anything to +do with them.” + +“Well, sir, it seems possible for us to speak in an impersonal +way of these things, and I do not mind saying that I came out to +Tashkent because an Orthodox Slav finds it hard to make a living in +Bosnia-Herzegovina. You are of course under the impression that the Dual +Monarchy has civilised my country.” + +“Yes.” + +“It is a false impression. To be sure, the Monarchy has spent money in +Bosnia. It cost them sixty-five million crowns to build a narrow gauge +from Serajevo to the Servian border, a distance of ninety miles. The +travel on it does not pay for the coal burned.” + +“A military road, apparently.” + +“Quite apparently. And the Monarchy spends four times as much on the +gendarmerie as on the schools.” + +“You must be a dangerous lot.” + +“So dangerous, my dear doctor, that two thousand families migrated to +Servia last year to escape starvation. So dangerous that our Moslems are +leaving for Anatolia. So dangerous that our range lands are given to +Austrian settlers. So dangerous that taxes rise till our peasants can pay +neither the begs nor the collector. So dangerous, in short, that none +of us are wanted in the mountains we have inhabited for fifteen hundred +years.” + +“Why, it sounds like home,” smiled Jaffer. “I suppose that educated +Bosnians like yourself are the most dangerous of all.” + +“Naturally. Suppose we get to Vienna—my own education represents great +sacrifices made by my brothers in order to have one educated man in the +family. On graduation, we find Bosnian commerce in the hands of the +Austrians. We find Bosnian agriculture hopeless. We find eleven Austrians +to one Bosnian teaching in our gymnasia. We find six Austrians to one +Bosnian in our lawcourts. We find public assemblies forbidden, and +journalism gagged.” + +“Is the case as bad for physicians?” + +“Not quite, if the physician is willing to keep his mouth shut. I tried +it a while, but got into trouble. I belonged to the class of 1907, you +remember. That October we held a great Bosnian popular gathering, and +formulated a programme demanding self-government. The Moslems supported +us. I took a hand, and was locked up for my pains. Our demonstration +merely hastened the Annexation.” + +Jaffer mused. “So Moslem and Orthodox stood together. How about the +Catholics?” + +“Very little help from that source. The Monarchy has played us off, +Catholic against Orthodox. The Crown Prince would like to convert us +all, you know. He is clerical and Jesuit, and Bosnia is his hobby. He +personally annexed us. Aerenthal was only the hammer with which he +smashed the treaty of Berlin.” + +“And so you decided to take to the woods, as they say in America.” + +“It was a choice between coming here and really taking to the woods, as +our haiduks did in years past. But a rifle shot is never heard in Bosnia. +Our houses are carefully searched for arms.” + +“You might have gone to America.” + +“Perhaps, Dr. Jaffer, but chance brought me the discovery of my remedy. +Besides, you have too many Hungarians. A million have left in the last +eighteen months. The Dual Tyranny has had to forbid emigration.” + +Jaffer mused. “May I smoke?” + +“A thousand pardons!” Dr. Yukitch clapped his hands for his Sart, and +then, recollecting that Iskander had gone to the postoffice, arose. + +“I’ll roll one myself,” said Jaffer. + +“But you won’t refuse coffee!” + +“Never. Three things I never refuse—a cigarette, a sip of coffee, and a +morsel of something sweet.” + +“Three typical Moslem failings,” smiled his new friend. “Should you +happen to visit my country, go to the Café Bendbashi in Serajevo, and you +will find all three in perfection.” + +Dr. Yukitch excused himself for five minutes, at the end of which time +he returned with cold water, little cups, and an iron ladle of café +Turc—thick, brown, beaded with tiny bubbles. Jaffer took a swallow of the +cold water, to harden his throat against the hot sweet that followed. + +“I shall think of you at the Café Bendbashi. It can hardly prepare better +Mocha than this.” + +“Think rather of me and my young legal friend Bogdan Zerajitch sitting +there. It was on a May day in 1910, shortly before our new Sabor opened. +We were speculating as to how representative that assembly might be made. +My friend was gloomy and hopeless, because the Governor, Vareshanin, had +crushed our little rebellion at Rakovitcha. But he did not tell me what +he intended to do. He fired at Vareshanin, missed him five times, and +then shot himself. ‘Die Woche’ had a picture of the governor and Franz +Joseph standing before the cathedral a few days before the shooting; but +it had no word about the shooting. Prussians despise such marksmanship.” + +“Ah! Perhaps other such attempts have been made.” + +“Yes. Croatia has tried hard to shake off Hungarian tyrants. I could tell +you the details of three recent episodes. All at Agram. Pretty place, +Agram, but it has nothing to hope for.” + +“Haven’t I heard of dreams of a United States of Balkany?” + +“Yes, Dr. Jaffer, and I am a Serb before I am a Bosnian. But there is no +use in talking about it. It is perfectly useless to dream of a political +union of the Serbian people. I see nothing for my people but starvation +and emigration. Your admirable Germans will inherit the karst, and +cultivate it with chemicals.” + +“Bismillah! You take it tamely.” + +“It is the only way to take it. From the earliest days, Southern Slavs +have been village folk, naïve, impulsive individualists. Naturally, any +neighbour capable of impersonal co-operation has enslaved us. We are in +all the dictionaries as ‘slaves.’ We have been sold in every market in +Europe. And now what can I do for you and Dr. Trench?” + +“You can tell me where Mr. Saadi Sereef is.” + +Dr. Yukitch jumped, perceptibly. “I haven’t the remotest idea where he +is. Has he been in America?” + +“Yes. He has been living in Dr. Trench’s house with several other +oriental students.” + +“Is it possible! I did not suppose that Trench had the slightest interest +in us. But I can see why we might gather around him. He is an impartial +fellow.” + +“Dr. Yukitch, where do you guess this young Mr. Sereef to be?” + +“France or England. Probably England.” + +“I wish to see him. Do you advise me to go to England?” + +“Not without an address.” + +Jaffer smoked in silence. “It will be a great disappointment to Dr. +Trench. I don’t feel quite free to say why. It is a purely personal +matter between them.” + +“Does Trench know that I know Saadi?” + +Jaffer shook his head. “Mr. Sereef gave your street and number to a +Chinese student. I have to thank Mr. Wu’s excellent memory for the +pleasure of this meeting. I take it that Mr. Sereef is a great joker. He +passed himself off as a prince of Bokhara—son of the former Vizier.” + +“What—that old devil Astanakoul?” + +Jaffer nodded, grinning. + +Dr. Yukitch let his amusement effervesce. “Kolossol! Did he have you also +gebumfidelt?” + +“Until yesterday,” admitted Jaffer. “I had it straight from the present +Vasi’s lips that I was being grossly and cruelly deceived. Also he +decided against me in my appeal for a just price for my tea.” + +The Bosnian’s eyes twinkled. “He would take a personal interest in +you—even to a third of your load, if he dared. Bokhara is almost as +Asiatic as Austria; not quite, for the Emir keeps out of these affairs, +but Franz Joseph makes everything a personal matter.” + +The fling at Austria made Jaffer more direct. + +“Could Saadi be in Bosnia?” + +“No! And now I think that I have fulfilled my promise to Trench. Have you +seen the town? I shall be delighted to show you Tashkent and Troitsky. Or +shall we run down to Samarkand? If you were in Bokhara only yesterday, +you did not stop to see the tomb of Tamerlane.” + +The nostrils of Jaffer’s eagle nose dilated, and his diplomacy vanished. +“Tamerlane be damned. I want facts.” + +Yukitch looked grave. “It is a long time since I quarrelled with anybody, +Dr. Jaffer. Do you imply that I have not given you facts?” + +“What you have given me are facts—I make no doubt of it. But they are +useless facts.” + +“Certainly. If Trench’s relations with Saadi are personal, so are mine.” + +“Would you advise me to go to Cetinje?” + +“By all means, if you happen to be in Europe next winter. The climate is +perfect, and I can recommend the Grand.” + +“You will not give me a note to Mohammed Beg?” + +Dr. Yukitch drew in the corners of his mouth, so that his moustache +appeared to bristle. “I know no Mohammed Beg who lives in Cetinje. You +must remember that I have not been in Europe in four years. And I have +had no word from Saadi in many months. Why, pray, are you suppressing +your later information?” + +“This,” said Jaffer, “is all I know about Cetinje.” He held out the cable +message. + +Dr. Yukitch took it and read it. At once he said, “Have you any idea what +this means?” + +“Not the slightest. I want your advice.” + +Dr. Yukitch continued to study the message. At last he handed it back, +but his byzantine eyes were narrowed and impenetrable. “I advise you,” he +said, “to burn it.” + +Jaffer ignited the paper, and tossed it out of the window. “Now +confidence for confidence, Dr. Yukitch.” + +Dr. Yukitch arose and went to the window and stood looking out. He must +have stood there five minutes. Jaffer smoked calmly, and without turning +his head, but he heard a sound as if fingers were being intertwined and +twisted behind somebody’s back. At length Dr. Yukitch returned. + +“Saadi,” he said, “was born in 1888. He has a family name which is +Slavonic, but he has not seen fit to confide this name to Dr. Trench, and +you will not ask me for it.” + +“Certainly not,” said Jaffer. “Is Saadi a real name?” + +“Yes, and an old one, though I know of no other Saadi in Bosnia. Our +nobles usually combined a Turkish name with the Slavonic. You have +mentioned ‘Mohammed Beg.’ That is typical.” + +“And that is probably only a first name?” + +“Very probably, Dr. Jaffer. Well, Saadi’s father is Stepan of Starigrad, +and he is the most humane of all the Bosnian begs. Like most of them, he +is of Christian ancestry.” + +“Slavonic converts?” + +“Yes, by force of circumstances. One of Stepan’s remote ancestors found +himself driven out of Servia into Bosnia, on account of his Protestant +opinions—especially his scorn of the marriage ceremony and so on. We call +those old families the Bogumils. But after the Turkish conquest they +found themselves forced to choose between keeping their lands and keeping +their religion, and accordingly they became Moslems.” + +“Extraordinary,” murmured Jaffer. + +“Stepan is the most humane landlord in my country. He alone has solved +the problem of keeping his Christian peasants content and the Austrian +tax-collectors satisfied. He is what the Japanese call an intensive +farmer. Stepan is respected alike by Nikolas of Montenegro and by Franz +Joseph, and it would be hard to name another Bosnian of whom the same +thing can be said. + +“Saadi was a brilliant child—very daring, very impulsive, very +affectionate, and a born mimic. He was passionately devoted to his little +sister Stepanie, and he swore eternal brotherhood with a certain boy. +The relations of brother and sister, and brother and brother, are by far +the strongest relations among us, Dr. Jaffer. At the call of brother +or sister a man will leave his own wife. I do not say it is rational—I +merely say that it is a fact. Adopted brothers, or pobratims, seal the +bond with their blood, and I have never known it to be broken.” + +“That may throw light on the telegram,” murmured Jaffer. + +“I have not said so, Dr. Jaffer, and I beg you to remember that I have +not said so. In 1905 Saadi graduated from a certain gymnasium and entered +the University, at Vienna, to study medicine. He may easily have seen +Trench there in 1906 or 1907, without knowing him. In 1908 occurred the +annexation, and Bosnia-Herzegovina was filled with Austrian troops. +Late in the autumn a terrible thing occurred near Starigrad. Stepanie’s +body—with a stone around the neck—was taken from the river, and certain +peasants had seen it when it was thrown there by three or four drunken +soldiers. + +“When that news reached Saadi, he disappeared from Vienna. The commander +near Starigrad had done his best to fasten the guilt upon the guilty +men, and had failed. From that minute Saadi became an enemy of the +Monarchy. He went through Herzegovina, disguised, working on the minds of +the students in the gymnasia, and on the minds of the more intelligent +peasants. The beggar on Mostar bridge might be Saadi. The travelling +friar from Croatia might be Saadi. The Moslem pilgrim might be Saadi. +Once, at the end of a year of this sort of thing, he actually figured +as a lecturer from Vienna, sent out by the government. But this last +disguise was a little too bold, and he was caught. That was late in 1909. +In view of his just provocation and of his father’s excellent standing +with the government, he was merely banished. He went to Belgrad. + +“In 1910, June 15, my friend Zerajitch made his attack on Vareshanin. It +was a complete surprise to me, but I had had one taste of prison, and did +not care for another. I left on horseback within an hour. I found Saadi +at a certain coffee-house—the Zeleni Vienaz—in Belgrad. My plans for +coming out here were already matured, and Saadi begged to come along. He +came, and stayed for six months, in this very house. Here he plunged into +Persian, of which he already knew the rudiments. From here he wandered +to Bokhara, and was taken up by the crown prince. From there he went to +Eshkabad. From Eshkabad he returned boldly to Vienna, and was promptly +arrested. But Saadi has a way with him. He demanded audience with Franz +Joseph. He told the old man that he was tired of being an exile, and +wished to go to jail or else to resume the study of medicine. He would +make no promises to be good. But Franz Joseph has more sense than the +men about him, and he instructed Saadi to go ahead and study ‘as if he +were one of only six to a professor,’ remarking that professors were an +expensive thing.” + +“Good old Franz,” murmured Jaffer. + +“The last time I heard from Saadi,” continued Yukitch, as if drawing to a +close, “was a year ago last Christmas. He had just returned from hospital +service in Old Servia, and was trying to catch up with his fifth year +work. He had got a nasty cut in the neck, _vom hinten_, while he was +bending over a wounded Turk.” + +“You have told me a good deal, Dr. Yukitch. I am profoundly grateful. But +may you not have overlooked one or two things?” + +Yukitch smiled. “I have told you enough to show you that you are not +likely to find your man.” + +“You have given me clues.” + +“They are worthless. I do not believe that Stepan knows where his son is. +Of course, if you go to Vienna and ask the secret police—” + +“I shall not do that.” + +“Then take my advice. Come with me to Samarkand. Then return and +proceed in leisurely fashion to Moscow, and see the Kremlin. Then go to +Petersbourg.” + +“But I don’t care to see either place.” + +“Very good; proceed to Frankfurt and prepare a report on Ehrlich’s +laboratory for Trench’s benefit. Linger in the realms of your beloved +Siegfried Meyer.” + +“Siegfried Meyer?” + +“Assuredly. It is not safe in Berlin to say Seine Majestät.” + +Jaffer laughed. “Don’t think me ungrateful, Dr. Yukitch, but tell me when +the next train leaves for Moscow.” + +“You are no Moslem, my dear doctor. Moslems never hurry.” + +“I have lived in Chicago, Dr. Yukitch. When does the train leave?” + +“Eight o’clock to-morrow morning, Petersbourg time.” + +“It is too long to wait,” said Jaffer. “How soon can I start back for +Samarkand?” + +“Nine forty-five this evening.” + +“Is it longer to Vienna via Samarkand and the Caucasus than via Moscow?” + +“No. But think of what you miss, Dr. Jaffer. You must see the sunrise +turn the Kremlin into flaming emeralds and gold of paradise.” + +“A pretty phrase, Dr. Yukitch. But I have seen the sunrise turn the Taj +Mahal into a pearl of paradise without convincing me that there is a +paradise. And by the southern route I shall see Tiflis, which is a more +interesting place.” + +“Jivio! You are right. Sulphur baths, seventy languages, two men to every +woman, and the noblest mountain pass in Europe.” + +It struck Jaffer that this sudden enthusiasm was not of the right breed. + +“Dr. Yukitch, is it possible to save time by omitting Tiflis?” + +The Bosnian’s face fell. “I suppose so—a mere trifle—a single day. I +believe there is a train from Baku which makes Vienna in five nights and +four days.” + +“Ah, thank you. I start back to Samarkand this evening. Promise to dine +with me at the alleged Grand and see me off.” + +“If you will stay here for tiffin. Iskander is not a bad cook. Ah, here +he comes with the postal receipt. You shall keep it.” + +Jaffer stayed, and discussed medicine, and Chicago, and the possibility +that Iskander was a descendant of Alexander of Macedon. In the afternoon +Jaffer sent Umar Khel a draft. Then the two doctors took a long drive +about town, past luxuriant gardens where no leaf stirred in the +breathless air, past irrigation ditches and quaint water mills. + +At four o’clock Yukitch left Jaffer at the Grand, promising to be back +for dinner at seven. + +Jaffer threw himself on the bed and tried to think. He realised that he +had put up a good deal of bluff, and was about to enter upon a wilder and +more dangerous goose-chase than he had dreamed of. For the first time +since he had left Peshawar, depression seized him. What earthly sense +was there in risking his life again to inform an adventurer of what the +adventurer was only too damnably well aware? He would give the whole +thing up, as Yukitch so strongly advised. And with a sense of relief he +drowsed off. + +Half an hour later he was awakened by the screaming of peacocks. In his +irritation he muttered a Persian proverb: “When the peacock looks at his +feet, pride fails.” + +The utterance of the words stirred something within him. Had he himself +been looking at his feet? Had his pride failed? Was he going to be +beaten? Some magic charm in the word “pride” seemed to pull him. He knew +that Dr. Trench took pride in him, and he knew that Dr. Trench would +think less of him if he fell by the way now. Of course the doctor would +be nice about it, and tell him he had done right to quit, but the doctor +himself was no quitter. Jaffer got up. He wouldn’t go back on the doctor. + +At seven Yukitch appeared, and they dined, and afterwards smoked in the +garden, where the peacocks had gone to roost. + +As they waited at the station for the train to Samarkand, Dr. Yukitch put +one question. “Shall you go to Frankfurt?” + +“No. To Belgrad.” + +“It is as I feared. You will land in the old fortress.” + +“If Allah wills, Dr. Yukitch. But I shall get out.” + +“_Od roba ikad, iz groba nikad._ That is to say—out of prison, yes; out +of a grave, never. It is our Serbian adage.” + +“Well,” said Jaffer, “it is our American adage that ‘never’ is a long +day. Here comes the train.” + +The train pulled in from the north, and the passengers piled out for +glasses of hot tea. Jaffer selected his second class apartment, and held +out his hand. Dr. Yukitch took it and was slow to release it. “Do not +hurry, my friend. Do not reach Belgrad worn out. Spend all of June in the +Caucasus, for you may never have another chance.” + +Jaffer shook his head, listening to the nervous pant of the locomotive, +which seemed to be summoning him like a Turkish horse. + +“Very well,” said Yukitch gravely. “Here is a parcel which I have +ventured to bring along. It contains a French work on Slavonic origins, +and a manuscript of my own about filaria. The manuscript is written in +Servian, and has my name on it. You will not be able to read it, and I +shall be glad to have it back at your leisure. But it would flatter my +vanity if you would keep it on the table in your hotel while you stay in +Belgrad.” + +“Sir, you are a good friend. If I can’t read it, maybe the chambermaid +can.” + +“Exactly, Dr. Jaffer. Or she may show it to the clerk. I do not desire to +boast of my acquaintance with the maids, but the clerks in Belgrad will +not think the less of you for knowing me. Excuse my conceit, and may we +meet again—Ako Bog da—if God grant it.” + +“Inshallah!” echoed Jaffer, and quite unconsciously thanked Allah that he +had got away with undissuaded heart. + + + + +XXXIV + + +As he lay blinking at the lone candle in the glass case over the door +of the car, Jaffer rehearsed the events of the day. Invaluable as the +Bosnian’s information had been, it was not so significant as the advice. +Dr. Yukitch was anxious that Jaffer should not go to Belgrad at all, and +anxious that, if he went, he should not be there before July. Therefore +Jaffer would get to Belgrad at the earliest possible moment, and leave +Belgrad before July. Only Allah knew where he would go from there, but +Allah would provide a Mecca. Jaffer fell asleep. + +He travelled three nights and two days, to the Caspian Sea. He crossed +that in thirteen hours. He sniffed the petroleum and the magnolias of +Baku, and boarded the train of which Yukitch had told him. + +He had packed his new suit, and as he lay curled up in his old one he +looked about as tough as he had looked on reaching Bokhara. But what did +he care? He was going to Belgrad—to Darol-i-Jihad, “the home of war.” He +would need his wits there, and nothing mattered till then. + +Across the plains of southern Russia—where so many millions object to +being called Russians—he studied the book which Yukitch had lent him. It +contained not a word about the history of the Southern Slavs, but was +amazingly learned in philology. It suited the bored Jaffer well enough. +He really preferred the Slavs in a lump, and their ancient gods to their +modern gods. + +“Bogu,” the universal Slavic word for God, was clearly the Sanskrit +“Bhaga” and Persian “Baga,” meaning good. One Slavonic god was +“Svetotit,” but Jaffer could think of no parallel. Doubtless all these +gods were living still under the guise of Christian saints—living and +interfering with scientific medicine. + +At Vienna, on the morning of Tuesday, May 26, he obtained at last the +luxury of a good Turkish bath, and beguiled his half-hour in the hot-room +with the daily papers. He found nothing whatever about events in India or +America, but he learned that a great automobile race was about to occur, +and that the Austrian Crown Prince was to receive a visit from the German +Emperor on the twelfth of June. After his bath, he wandered round the +city, looked at the outside of the buildings where Trench had studied, +heard a band in the park playing some “Merry Widow” music, bought a +Baedeker, and caught the oriental express for Belgrad. He rested badly on +that train. At Budapest he would have been thankfully glad to transfer to +the Danube steamer, but that would please Dr. Yukitch too much. + +It was an undeniably dazed Jaffer who, after more than a month of steady +travel, got off the train at Semlin. Presently he found himself on the +deck of the ferry boat, crossing from Semlin to Belgrad. The yellow Save +made him dizzy. There before him rose the ancient fortress—which had +been captured by Celt, Roman, Hun, Sarmatian, Goth, Gepid, Frank, Greek, +Bulgarian, Hungarian, Austrian, Servian. Belgrad meant white castle; +well, it was stained a dark red now, as if with coagulate gore. He cared +not a curse who owned it. Heavens, how tired he was! + +Jaffer leaned against the rail, tall, languid, handsome in his best +Bokhara clothes. He slowly extracted a box of cigarettes from his +cummerbund, and was opening it with limp fingers, when a passing elbow +sent it flying. + +The offender saw it strike the yellow flood, and turned with words that +were curtly apologetic. He was a military officer, a compact, energetic +figure, with a hard-bitten face and a relentless eye. Jaffer had seen +a similar expression, he thought, on the face of fanatics in his own +country—men who, with a hundred followers, attack an army, or stand +against an army till cut down. + +“Il n’y a pas de quoi, monsieur,” said Jaffer, with a lordly accent born +of fatigue. + +“Mais non!” snapped the officer, drawing something from his pocket. +“Monsieur will accept these.” + +“Monsieur will do nothing of the sort,” responded Jaffer. + +“Alors—” the officer changed his tone and stepped forward, and Jaffer +noticed that his close cropped hair was naturally curly—“I address +perhaps monsieur le prince. But I am at least a major. See, I command +an operation!”—With a pleasant smile he tucked the packet into Jaffer’s +cummerbund, and saluted. + +Jaffer returned the salute. “As a surgeon,” he said, “I sometimes see the +necessity of a major operation.” And with this the incident was closed. + +Amenities having been exchanged, Jaffer thought better of Belgrad, and at +the wharf surrendered his passport without complaint. + +He had hardly opened his Baedeker, and he had no desire to be seen gaping +at it on the street, but before leaving his luggage he took a look at +the map. To the west lay the fortress, and he felt too tired to climb. +To the east lay some gardens. He would go over there and stretch out +for a while. The street in front of the gardens was named “Widow Dan,” +which recalled the “Merry Widow” music he had heard in Vienna—music +which, by the way, is forbidden in Servia, because it ridicules a prince +of Montenegro. He left the Baedeker with his luggage at the wharf, and +sauntered east, over the stoniest streets he had ever trod. He found the +gardens, discovered a long seat, tightened his cummerbund so that his +money-belt could not be reached without his knowledge, and lay down at +full length. In Berlin the thing would have been impossible; here it +passed unnoticed. He drowsed off with merry widow music singing faintly +in his brain. + +When he awoke, a fine old gentleman in a frock coat stood looking at +him—as indeed any one well might. Habibullah or the Gaekwar of Baroda +would not have looked half so picturesque. + +“Verzeiung!” began Jaffer, feeling confusedly that he owed somebody an +apology. + +“Bitte!” smiled the old gentleman, and the way was open for German. + +“I do not speak Servian,” said Jaffer, rising. “My usual language is +English, and in English we have a word ‘widow.’ Can you tell me, sir, why +this street has that name?” + +The old gentleman suppressed his amusement. “The word is Vidov. It means +St. Vitus.” + +“Himmel!” ejaculated Jaffer. “Is there so much chorea in Belgrad?” + +The old gentleman gave a deep chuckle. “I sometimes think so. They are +talking of changing this street to Kumanovo.” + +“A very good idea, sir. I’d change it to anything. What, pray, is +Kumanovo?” + +“It is the name of their great recent battle, my dear young sir. At +Kumanovo they were revenged on the Turk. You are evidently not an +Osmanli.” + +“No, sir. Far from it. I come from Kabul.” + +“Ah! And are you pleased with your suzerain?” + +“No, sir,” said Jaffer. He said it with a defiant sense that neither time +nor society is so constructed as to permit complete veracity. + +“You interest me,” said the old gentleman, taking a card from his pocket. + +“I am without cards, Baron,” said Jaffer, “but I am addressed as Dr. +Abdul. You behold me profoundly ignorant of all things Slavonic. A mere +sight-seer.” + +“Perhaps we may show you something worth seeing. Our German club ought +not to be impenetrable by a physician from Kabul.” + +“You do me infinite honour. I shall give myself the pleasure of calling +on you before I leave. May I ask you one or two questions, such as a +child might ask?” + +The old gentleman sat down. “_Also_, Herr Doktor!” + +“I hardly know where to begin, Baron, because I have everything to learn. +Yesterday I was checking up the ancient Slavic gods, when I ought to have +been reading history. I find a Sanskrit parallel for Bog, but none for +Svetotit.” + +The Baron smiled. “If that is your first childish question, I can’t +imagine what the second will be like. Svetotit was a sky-god—a very +important person, I believe, and he doubtless passed over into Sveti +Vid—St. Vitus. The Servians make much of Sveti Vid since Kosovo. They +even call it the festival of Christ on the Cross.” + +“And what was Kosovo?” + +“Merely the most famous date in Servian history—June 28, 1389, when the +nation was destroyed by the Turks. It was Vid’s Day. In Servian, Vidov +Dan.” + +There was a click in Jaffer’s brain as the mechanism shunted certain +facts together. The last two letters of Mohammed Beg’s cable were V.D. +And Dr. Yukitch wished Jaffer not to be in Belgrad before July. + +“Do they have a celebration, or a funeral service, or what, on that day?” + +“It will be a great celebration this year, I fancy. The battle of +Kumanovo is fresh in mind, and it is the five hundred and twenty-fifth +anniversary of Kosovo. If you are here on the twenty-eighth, you will be +able to see for yourself.” + +“I must see it, by all means. And now one last question, Baron. I have +just arrived from Vienna. Be good enough to recommend a hotel.” + +The Baron rose. “The Moskwa is as good as any—at the head of Balanska +Street.” + +“I will go there.” + +“And I,” said the old man, shaking hands, “shall be delighted to send +some younger man to call on you.” + +Jaffer sat down again, and dipped into the major’s box for a cigarette. +His eye caught the name of the brand, “Stepanie!” He remembered Saadi’s +little sister! He shuddered and put the cigarette back. + +He wandered around town awhile, and bought a cheap suit of European +clothes and a Turkish fez. He returned to the wharf, claimed his luggage, +and drove to the Moskwa. It was a place where he could easily spend more +money than he could afford. In his room he spread out Dr. Yukitch’s +manuscript on the table, and applied himself to his Baedeker. + +That evening at dinner he exchanged a few German words with the waiter. +The hotel, he remarked, seemed very cosmopolitan. The waiter shrugged +his shoulders and said that all the hotels of Belgrad were cosmopolitan. +“All?” queried Jaffer. “All except such places as the Green Wreath,” +answered the waiter. “Zeleni Vienaz is a place where no gentleman should +go, especially a gentleman from Stamboul.” + +There was another click in Jaffer’s brain. Zeleni Vienaz was the name of +the coffee-house where Yukitch had found Saadi in 1910. + +Accordingly, immediately after dinner that Wednesday evening, the +“gentleman from Stamboul” had made it a point to find Zeleni Vienaz and +was drinking café Turc in the midst of it. It was an amazing contrast to +the formal glories of the Moskwa. The long, reeking room swarmed with +costumes more stained and worn than the one he had discarded. Close +cropped heads with high cheek bones and narrow eyes were bent forward +over games of cards. A ragged Montenegrin full of plum brandy was singing +a wild song to a considerable group of hearers. University students were +eating and gesticulating, or eating and playing cards at the same time. + +Jaffer sat in a central part of the room for the better part of an hour. +Covert glances were cast at him, but no one spoke to him. He heard any +amount of talk, and not one word of it did he understand. + +Consequently, on the way back to the Moskwa he hunted for a bookshop, and +at last found one still open, and bought a phrase-book of Croatian and +English. The Cyrillic letters of Servian proper were too hard for him +to read, but Croatian was essentially the same language, and printed in +Roman type. + + + + +XXXV + + +Bright and early Thursday morning Jaffer went out to breakfast. He was +always an early riser, and coffee would be cheaper at the Green Wreath +than at the Moskwa. He took his new phrase-book along, and into the +pocket of his new suit he thrust Yukitch’s manuscript. + +At seven-thirty he entered the café. At that hour the place was almost +deserted, and he chose a table for himself, in a corner—for man is a +goniotropic animal. He took out his phrase-book and amused himself by +trying to pronounce the stuff. + +At a quarter to eight, when the deliberate waiter was pouring coffee for +him, Jaffer noticed three young men come in, each carrying a handbag. +Although there were plenty of tables empty, the boys mechanically made +their way toward his; it was evidently their customary haunt. The waiter +glanced round, embarrassed. Jaffer, however, arose politely with the +phrase-book in his hand and read aloud with elaborate care. “_Veseli me, +da ste tako tačan_—I am glad that you are so punctual.” + +Two of the young men turned away. The third, a tall, handsome, awkward +boy of nineteen, laughed, carefully deposited his bag, and stood at +Jaffer’s right, looking over his shoulder at the book. Immediately +Jaffer drew from his pocket Dr. Yukitch’s manuscript, and handed it to +the youth. “_Smijem li vas za jednu uslugu zamoliti_—may I ask a great +favour? _Ja moram učite čim prije moguce_—I must take some lessons as +soon as possible. _Mozete li mi preporučiti dobroga učitelja_—can you +recommend a good teacher?” + +The boy laughed rather nervously, and began to translate the manuscript +into excellent German, to the following effect: “The terrible filaria +or reshta worm is unknown to my countrymen who at Fotcha drink the +crystalline waters of the Drina, or who at B.S. drink the sweet mountain +spring of the Moschanitza.” The youth stopped, glanced at the author’s +name, looked sharply at Jaffer, who was now seating himself again, and +turned to his companions with a gesture of summons. They came, and one of +them took the manuscript. “Yukitch!” he exclaimed, and seated himself at +Jaffer’s left. The translator thereupon took the seat at the right. + +“Dr. Yukitch,” said Jaffer, “spoke to me of Zeleni Vienaz as a place +where I might find a friend.” + +Silence greeted this remark, but the third man now seated himself, at +the end of the table, opposite Jaffer. He was a slight, swart, unsmiling +fellow. His mass of hair was dark, his head longer than that of most +Slavs, his nose straight and prominent. His eyes were grey, deep-set, and +expressive. + +The waiter brought more coffee and rolls, and all began to eat. While +still eating, the boys began to smoke. But Jaffer did not light up. He +proceeded to break the unfriendly silence. + +“My name is Dr. Jaffer. It is not the name on my passport. You are at +liberty to report me.” + +The big translator thawed at once. “We don’t do any reporting, Dr. +Jaffer. You may call me Ned. The man at your right is Trifko. The other +man is—” + +“Silence!” + +Jaffer offered his hand to the boy at his left and the boy at his right, +and ignored the boy opposite. He turned again to Ned. + +“I am so ignorant of Bosnia that I do not understand even the first +sentence that you translated. What town does Yukitch mean by B.S.?” + +“Bosna Serai. That’s the old name of Serajevo, the capital.” + +Still another cam clicked in Jaffer’s brain. _Serajevo, June 28._ Saadi +and Mohammed Beg would probably meet at that time and place. + +“Thank you, Ned. If you will give me lessons in Servian, you may name +your own price. I have been a student, and know what a little extra money +sometimes means to a fellow.” + +“I can’t do it, Dr. Jaffer. We are going away for a little trip, up the +Danube. In fact, we are on the way to the boat now. But there is plenty +of time, and I’ll send some one to your hotel. The Obergymnasium is full +of fellows who need money.” + +Jaffer nodded. “Thank you. Here in Belgrad you are not so lucky as I was +in America. A professor gave me room rent free for two years.” + +The youth at the end of the table spoke slowly and bitterly. “I have been +in Belgrad as long as that, and once Professor Markovitch invited me to +dinner. The rest of the time I have fed here—with swine.” + +“Meaning me?” flashed big Ned. + +“As you please,” growled the dark, thin youth. “You are a chronic +faultfinder, but there’s nobody who’s had so much help. It’s not every +poor devil who gets employed in a government printing office. What do you +know about life, anyhow? You brag that you’re proletariat, but you never +climbed around, herding goats, holding your primer in your hand. You +never knew what it meant to have no coat when the bora blew week in week +out.” + +The third youth—Trifko—interrupted with sullen dignity. “Both of you had +better keep still and let Dr. Jaffer talk.” + +“I infer,” said Jaffer, “that you fellows know Yukitch.” + +“We don’t know him,” said Trifko, “but we know all about him.” + +“In that case you may know Saadi of Starigrad.” + +“I have met him when I was a little boy. Ned and Gavro don’t know him. He +lives in Vienna. He’s dropped out.” Trifko uttered his short sentences +with smooth monotonous force. + +Jaffer meditated. Finally he turned to the lowering youth at the end of +the table. “Your friend has mentioned your name. Am I permitted to use +it?” + +“I suppose so.” + +“Then, Gavro, I should like to say two things to you. First, if I were +your doctor, I’d order you into the open air for six months. It is none +of my business, but if you don’t let up a bit and get out a good deal, +you are going to die of tuberculosis. Secondly, I’m going to write to +Yukitch to-night. What shall I tell him about Bosnia?” + +“Ask Trifko. He seems to know everything.” + +Trifko was much the calmest of the three men, but he leaned forward like +a panther ready to spring. “Tell Yukitch that since he ran away things +have been happening just the same. Tell him that the farmer doesn’t have +to get down off his horse to let a Turk pass—he doesn’t have to because +now he has no horse. Two years ago they changed the constitution so +that the commanding-general has civil power. Potiorek does what he damn +pleases—things worse than Vareshanin ever thought of doing. Tell him +that last year every literary and athletic society was disbanded. Tell +him that the constitution has been suspended for a year now, and we’re +declared to be in a state of siege. Tell him that every student from +Trebinje to Tuzla is on strike. And then just add a postscript and tell +him that the Pope’s son in Pale called him a damned kukavitcha. That +means coward.” + +Jaffer took out his note-book and entered the notes. He handed the book +to Trifko, and Trifko viciously spelled out “kukavitcha” in Cyrillic +letters. + +“Where do you live when you’re at home, Dr. Jaffer?” It was Ned who +spoke, in his humorous, lively fashion. + +“At Peshawar. I don’t like the English any more than you like the +Austrians.” + +“Did you have to get out?” + +“No. I haven’t been mixed up in anything.” + +Trifko spoke. “What would your family say if you were?” + +“It would be hard on my father, for he holds a government job. My +mother—well, you know what mothers are. They will do what they can to +keep you from hanging—and afterwards come and gather up your bones.” + +Gavro’s slender nervous hand clutched the edge of the table. He was +wondering whether his mother would be able to prove, against the parish +record, that he was born in June and not in July. + +Jaffer resumed. “By the way, Trifko, I’m looking for Saadi. But you say +he’s in Vienna. Are you quite certain?” + +“Oh, I don’t know. You can go to Starigrad and inquire, but it is not an +easy trip.” + +“How should I go?” + +Trifko meditated. “You could go by way of Serajevo, but I should not +advise it. The place is only fifty miles south of there, but it is the +wildest region in my country, and the roads are terrific. Go to Fotcha +and inquire of the Moslems—not the Commandant. They’ll drive you over. +The castle is on the headwaters of the Drina or the Narenta—I forget +which. The two rivers come pretty close together there.” + +“How do I get to Fotcha?” + +“Go south. Take the train to Stolaz—not the Stolaz in Herzegovina, where +Saadi’s dearest friend lives—but to Stolaz above Nish. Drive by way of +Uzice to Vardiste on the border. Take the train to Ustipraca. From there +by postwagon to Gorazda. From there to Fotcha by carriage.” + +Jaffer took out his note-book and jotted it all down. + +Ned looked over the notes and corrected the spelling, as a proofreader +might. “You won’t need much Servian, doctor. There’ll be a damned Schwab +at every corner to watch you.” + +Gavro was regarding Jaffer narrowly. Suddenly he burst out in a harsh +voice: “The only Servian _you_ need to learn is two words—_Oteto, +prokleto_.” + +“Ah, it rhymes,” said Jaffer. “Potato, clay toe. Something about the +soil.” + +“Yes, something about the soil! _Oteto, prokleto—what is taken by force +is cursed._ And you knew the words as well as I knew them.” + +Jaffer shook his head. “You’re mistaken, Gavro.” + +Gavro continued his penetrating gaze. “When do you expect to be in +Vienna?” + +“June twenty-eighth,” said Jaffer, easily. + +“You’re lying, you damned spy.” + +“Take it back, Gavro!” cried Ned, rising like a great Newfoundland dog. +But Gavro sat with narrow shoulders contracted, and nervous fingers +slowly crushing his cigarette. + +Jaffer concluded that it was time to smoke. He felt for his own +cigarettes, found only the Stepanies, and lighted one. “It is quite true, +Gavro, that I would be in Serajevo on Vidov Dan, if I could count on +Mohammed Beg, who, as Trifko has so truthfully remarked, lives in Stolaz.” + +Gavro’s eyes blazed. “Dr. Jaffer of Stamboul doesn’t know Servian! Oh, +no, he needs lessons!” Gavro swallowed hard, and seemed to gag. That +peculiar irritability did not escape Jaffer’s clinical eye. + +“Let us not get excited,” said Jaffer. “For the sake of argument, let us +suppose that I do know Servian. Have a cigarette, Gavro, unless it will +make you sick at the stomach.” He stretched across the table, and placed +the packet in the sinewy hand. + +Gavro looked at the brand. “Who gave you this?” + +“The Major,” said Jaffer. + +Gavro sprang to his feet and threw the cigarettes at Jaffer’s head with +a sure aim. “You tell the Major that we don’t need any Turks. There are +several others that we don’t need. It was my idea, anyhow.” + +“I’m not so sure of that!” cried Ned, towering. + +“Sit down, you fools,” commanded Trifko in his monotonous voice, and Ned +obeyed. + +Gavro remained standing. “I’m going. Maybe you will find me at the boat +and maybe you won’t. Here’s the money for my breakfast.” He picked up his +battered stiff hat from the floor and departed. + +Jaffer rubbed the cheek where the packet had hit him. “I’m sorry, +boys. I don’t really know the Major. I was crossing on the ferry, and +he accidentally knocked my Medidjehs into the brook, and gave me the +Stepanies by way of apology. They aren’t very good, but I should have +smoked them if they had not reminded me of Saadi’s little sister. Do you +know about her?” + +Trifko nodded. + +“I never saw the Major before,” continued Jaffer. “I don’t know his name.” + +“I believe you,” said Ned, awkwardly and nervously. + +“I don’t know what to think,” said Trifko, slowly. “But I can state the +situation. If you are one of Enver Bey’s men, or one of Berchtold’s +either, you won’t get out of Belgrad alive. If you are one of us, you are +only half instructed. In either case, you had better take the oriental +to-night for Vienna. I like you, and I am giving you good advice.” + +Jaffer reached over and took Trifko by the hand. “I assure you, on my +honour, that I don’t at all know what’s up.” + +Trifko withdrew his hand. “Your honour is not enough. Assure us by your +mother’s honour that you won’t go to the Austrian or the German or the +Turkish legation.” + +“What happens to me if I don’t promise?” + +“You won’t find Saadi.” Trifko spoke very quietly, and was evidently +understating the case. + +Jaffer was silent for some time. His first impulse had been to seek +out his diplomatic acquaintance and tell him that, in the opinion of a +stranger from Kabul, Governor Potiorek’s life was in danger. But as he +reviewed the whole conversation, he saw that he had very likely been +jumping to conclusions. + +“You have my promise, on my mother’s honour. And it includes letters, +telegrams—everything you wish to specify. But I assure you that I am +going to find Saadi. I shall stay in Belgrad three weeks and study +Servian. Then I’m going to Starigrad by the route Trifko has indicated. +I won’t come to the Green Wreath again, if you advise staying at the +Moskwa.” + +“We certainly do advise it, Dr. Jaffer. Stay indoors.” + +“Very good. If I don’t find news of Saadi at Starigrad, I shall be at +Serajevo on Vidov Dan. Ned, do I get my teacher?” + +“I’ll telephone him now,” said Ned, and went off to do it. + +Trifko and Jaffer sat in silence till he returned. Then the boys shook +hands with their puzzling acquaintance and departed without a word. + +Jaffer ordered another coffee, but did not drink it. He sat there +wondering whether he ought to write to Dr. Trench. He guessed not. +Whoever “Elsie” was, it would not especially comfort her to know that +her husband was a Bosnian. Much less would it comfort her to know of his +acquaintance with men who were up to some political mischief. Ned was not +really dangerous, and Trifko seemed well balanced. But the third man was +too bitterly in earnest about something or other. + +At all events he, Jaffer of Peshawar, had met another acquaintance of +Saadi of Starigrad. And he would never have run across Trifko if he had +reached Belgrad a day later, or the Green Wreath an hour later. Curious +thing, kismet! + + + + +XXXVI + + +Next day Jaffer found himself in the hands of an expert. There was +no time wasted. Ned’s friend, a pale Bosnian youth and born scholar, +taught him exactly what he would need at Fotcha, and in the gorges +and tablelands beyond. What was wanted was not the ordinary guidebook +stuff, but Servian for such odd phrases as this: “I am called Jaffer, my +lord, and I come asking a boon,” or “I am a friend of Saadi, my lord, +and I bring news.” Day after day the teacher came before Jaffer was +really awake, heard his recitations, assigned new tasks, and left, only +to reappear at seven o’clock in the evening. Of the three friends who +haunted the Green Wreath he had little to say. He knew that Trifko’s home +was a few miles east of Serajevo, that Gavrilo came from the extreme west +of Herzegovina, and that Ned was a big fellow who had a heart of gold, +but who had been driven out of Serajevo for rash radical talk. + +On the evening of Saturday, the thirtieth of May, a card was brought up. +It bore a German name, but Jaffer declared himself not at home. He showed +the card to his teacher, who seemed pleased when it was torn up and cast +into the wastebasket. The lesson went on, and thereafter Jaffer received +no more cards. + +Each June day as he stood by the window conning his verbs, he studied +the street to see if he was watched, and if so by what nation. But no +sign of any spy, romantic or commonplace, appeared. Nor at meal times did +any stranger pick an acquaintance with him, much less a quarrel. Belgrad +might be the hotbed of intrigue, but it showed no signs of raising any +poisonous plant for him. So Jaffer took walks, ran out to Topschider, and +got well rested after his long hard trip. + +On Wednesday, the seventeenth of June, he parted with the pale Bosnian, +having paid him double the price asked, and given him some good medical +advice into the bargain. It was a bit lordly to be handing out Trench’s +money so freely, but he had never seen a man whom the little more would +benefit so much. + +Next morning at seven he took the train for the south, and vastly enjoyed +the trip. He saw signs that the two Balkan wars had inflicted grievous +hardships, but it pleased his democratic soul to mark the nature of +Servian resources. These marvellous hills and vales might be famous +chiefly for swine, but they would raise anything. + +Jaffer tried his newly acquired talk on an Orthodox priest, or pope, who +sat beside him in the train, and soon learned that his carefully spoken +sentences could evoke more discourse than he could understand. But he +gathered that few Servian farmers own more than ten acres, and he was +assured on the honour of a priest that all Hungary is owned by forty men. +Jaffer changed the conversation, saying that he was a Moslem—it was one +of the first sentences he had learned—but that he had many dear friends +among the Christians. No—he was not from Stamboul, but from the Far East, +where Islam, he ventured to think, was purer. Whether because distance +lends enchantment even to Islam, or whether Serbian priests are rather +rationalistic, the bearded pope was pleased. He declared that it was not +wise to be too national in religion—recognising only a Servian god in a +Servian heaven, with Servian angels playing Servian music to him. There +were Russian angels, he doubted not, and very likely angels from the Far +East. The great thing in war or religion was to have brotherly love. +He took his New Testament from his travelling bag and showed Jaffer the +passage in Old Slavonic—“Greater love hath no man than this, that a man +lay down his life for his brother.” The pope nudged him. “His brother—you +understand—his pobratim!” + +The westward carriage trip was lonely, but it led through a magical +valley beside a wonderful river, and Jaffer drank his fill of beauty. Nor +did the beauty fade when, on Saturday, he found himself in Bosnia. Every +type of surface, from Alp to meadow, and every type of verdure, from +shadowy pines to bannered fields of maize. Vista faded into vista ever +more tenderly as he made his way through lawny hills toward Fotcha. + +Here, pursuing instructions, he found a Moslem who agreed to carry him +farther, to the castle of Kadri Beg Tshengitch—a relative of Stepan by +marriage—and at noon on Sunday, the twenty-first, he found himself gazing +at that rather weak stronghold. His driver left him there, standing on +the bank of a small stream, and drove off. + +Not knowing how else to manage, Jaffer took off his shoes and stockings, +put them in his valise, and waded across. The temperature of the water +made him hope that he should find nothing deeper. As he dried his feet by +atmospheric means, he observed the tower—the “Kula”—above him. It ended +in a pointed roof, apparently shingled. It was a good sixty feet high, +square, with a few narrow windows on each side, arranged for purposes of +defence. + +Jaffer put on his shoes, climbed the hill, presented himself at the gate +of the great square enclosure, and demanded to see Kadri Beg. The aged +Kadri Beg came, turban on head and cigarette in hand, and Jaffer bowed +low, touching with finger-tips his breast, lips, and forehead. The aged +Kadri Beg sent a man to warn the women of the village that a visitor +approached. The aged Kadri Beg invited Jaffer in, and took him to his +own quarters in a shingled cottage. + +Hardly a word was spoken. Jaffer was offered water to wash in, and then +was seated on the floor beside a very low table, with Kadri Beg opposite +him. Food was brought, and Jaffer ate with particularity, using only his +right hand. He was evidently under inspection, and he imitated his host +with great care. There were no knives or forks or cups or glasses. Jaffer +had a spoon for his thick soup, but he managed everything else with his +fingers, even the sticky “sukburet,” a sort of ragout. The vermicelli +cooked in honey was stickier, but entirely to his taste. Kadri Beg had +not said a word, nor had Jaffer, when at last another basin of water +was brought, and soap! The servant presented them to Jaffer first, and +Kadri Beg watched him. Jaffer went the whole length. He soaped out his +mouth thoroughly, and though his gorge rose, his stock went up. Then +came delicious coffee, and Jaffer found himself puffing at a tchibouk. +The time had come for carefully chosen speech—Servian, helped out with +Persian words. + +“I am called Jaffer, my lord, and I come asking a boon.” + +“It is granted.” + +“I seek guidance to the Kula of Stepan Beg.” + +“That is no mastery. Five hours on a pony, four hours on a Turkish horse.” + +“Allah will reward my lord. I have heard of the fame of Tshengitch.”—The +remark was true enough, for the muezzin at Fotcha had told him, that +morning. + +“Naturally, but you do not speak Turkish.” + +“No, my lord, I come from the Far East. But I have heard. Tshengeri in +Anatolia is the cradle of a family great these five centuries.” + +“Thirty pashas and viziers,” said Kadri Beg, succinctly. “And to me all +that is left is the village within these walls. Nevertheless, the Day +will come.” + +Jaffer knew well enough the dreams of Pan-Islam, and he despised them +as he despised this rank pipe he was trying to manage. “Stepan Beg,” he +said, at a venture, “cannot boast thirty pashas and viziers.” + +Kadri Beg smiled, much as a bitter-hearted, blear-eyed old eagle might. + +“In the oldest of the Medina suras there is a line that was meant for +Stepan: ‘War is prescribed to you, but ye shrink.’ There is royal blood +in Stepan, and had the courage of a flea, Moslem and Christian might +rally to him now, as they will not rally to Nikolas or Peter. But you +will find no royalty at Starigrad. You will find a farmer, a tanner, a +bosom-companion of Christian kmets.” + +Jaffer set aside the tchibouk, and searched for a cigarette. As usual, he +first found the box of Stepanies, which he would neither smoke nor throw +away, but presently he rummaged out another brand. + +Kadri Beg spoke in a less scornful tone. “A strange man is Stepan—a +strange man, who would not join his youth to my age when we fought the +Christian three and thirty years ago. Therefore it was his kismet to +fight me, and my brother Dervish Beg, likewise my brother Omar.” + +“How then, O Kadri Beg, comes it to pass that the strange man still +lives?” + +“Again it was kismet. We ravaged his fields, we shut him up in his Kula. +But who can storm the walls of Starigrad? And he had much grain stored. +But that was not our kismet. Some Vila of the Zagorje, who comes by night +to steal the hearts of maidens, fastened upon our Ila the love of young +Stepan. Thus was the Vila revenged on all the Tshengitch, in that we had +taken the better part of her name for the child. And now Ila is dead. +Last summer she died, when scarcely Ramazan had passed. And her little +daughter is dead these many years, and her son is a wanderer.” + +There was silence. “You will not think me like a beggar of Stamboul, my +lord, if I set out this very hour? For I have news of the son to carry to +the father.” + +“You shall go in peace. Horse and guide shall be ready on the minute, +if not for the prophet’s sake, then for Saadi’s. There is a Tshengitch, +proud and desperate, though from his father he learned to laugh. May +Allah keep him long content in the East.” + +A question sprang to Jaffer’s tongue, but did not pass the barrier of his +teeth. Kadri Beg resumed. + +“Will Jaffer again see Saadi in the East?” + +“Such may be the will of Allah, my lord.” + +“Say to him that Kadri Beg sent this message: _The son of the Haiduk is +grown, and Haidar has forgotten how to shoot._” + +Jaffer repeated the message, and hoped to thunder that it was the last +piece of mystery he should have to remember. But the words set up a new +anxiety within him, and it was worse than his anxiety about Saadi’s +character. + +It was evening, and the sun had set, when Jaffer and his escort drew rein +at Starigrad. It had been a hard ride, over country very different from +the smiling valleys near the Servian border. The karst had begun; the +pastures and fields were infrequent. The bridle paths had seemed to lead +up and down, not ahead. + +A little bridge of stone, beautifully arched. Beneath it the narrow, +curving river, with three feet of water swift as a millrace. To the +left, shut in by mountains, a polje or hollow of many acres, seemingly +the bottom of an ancient lake, richly cultivated. To the right, across +the stream, a solid cliff of karst a hundred feet high, though, had the +light been better, Jaffer might have seen that the topmost ten feet were +masonry. The short sharp curve of the river more than half surrounded +the castle above, where the great kula struck into the red evening like a +javelin. + +They crossed the little bridge, and Jaffer noted that the defile ahead +of it was cleared of every rock which might serve as a hiding place. +They mounted by a circuitous route to the tableland above. To the left +now appeared the high stone wall and moat which, going straight across +from cliff to cliff, isolated the castle on the impregnable promontory. +In the centre of the wall was a great square gate-structure rising above +it, and the doors of the Turkish arch were closed. But the draw-bridge +was down—and evidently no longer used to be drawn up. They dismounted, +and the guide pulled the bell-rope. It was five minutes before the guard +appeared, recognised a friend, and let them in. + +A few words of rapid speech and Jaffer was conducted to the master’s +house near the tower. Lights were burning in the upper story of it, as if +the master were going to bed. But when the guard had disappeared within, +like a butler carrying a card, Stepan Beg returned with him. + + + + +XXXVII + + +“Salaam alêkom, Stepan Beg.” + +“Wa-alêkom salaam, Jaffer Hakim. Come up to the selamlik. Haidar, see +your friend well bestowed.” + +They mounted the narrow wooden stairs to the great room above. A quaint +brass student-lamp gave it a moonlight effect. There were chairs and +tables and divans, and a white porcelain stove with green panels. Upon +the floor were fine old rugs. Upon the wall was a case of firearms of +many patterns, both ancient and modern. Evidently there was one man in +Bosnia who was exempted from the law, perhaps because he never broke it. +On another wall was a case of books and manuscripts. + +The two men stood looking at each other—Jaffer in his fez, with dark +aquiline features sharpened by anxiety; Stepan Beg in a scarlet turban, +with white beard close cropped, strong sinewy neck exposed, eyes sad but +smiling. + +“You stayed long with Kadri Beg?” + +“Two hours, my lord. But there I learned”—and Jaffer bowed his head—“how +Azrael brushed Starigrad with his wings when Ramazan had passed. May the +peace of Allah rest upon the soul of the Lady Ila.” + +A shadow of pain passed over the noble face, but the answer came quietly. +“Sweet with firdousi was the apple of life which Azrael held to her +nostrils.” + +Stepan Beg laid a kind hand on Jaffer’s shoulder. “I have heard of you. I +have had letters. You shall be Rasul here, and I am not your lord. Rest +upon this divan. So—so, my son.” + +The old man gently forced the youth to lie down. Jaffer lay without +speaking till the inevitable coffee came. He lay dimly realising that he +had been speaking Persian, not Servian, and that he had been understood +and answered. + +A glass of water followed by a little cupful of black coffee seemed to go +to the immediate focus of his various anxieties—an aching spot somewhere +in the back of his neck. He rose to a sitting posture. + +“It is the part of age to inquire, Stepan Beg, and the part of youth to +answer. But may I ask and be blameless?” + +“Ask many things, Rasul.” + +“These letters, how old are they?” + +“Saadi wrote me six months ago that his room had been the room of Jaffer. +He wrote me of other friends, but Jaffer I remember, for it is the name +of the good vizier. And he wrote of Trench Hakim, upon whom be peace.” + +“And have there been no letters lately?” + +“Yes, my son. He wrote for money. He had borrowed a certain sum from +Trench—four thousand kronen. I have sent it from Serajevo—Haidar is but +yesterday returned.” + +Jaffer was delighted, but pondered his next question. + +Stepan Beg lifted his coffee to his lips, then set it aside. At last he +said, quite calmly, “Does Rasul bring me word of Saadi’s death?” + +“Ustafr Ullah! God forbid! For aught I know, he flourishes like the vines +in your garden.” + +Stepan Beg’s breast heaved with renewed life. “Four thousand kronen is +not enough to establish a home in the ends of earth. I have sent four +thousand more to his bride, whose name I love. See, I have their good +addresses—Isham Trench and Elsie Sereef.” He lifted a leather bound book +from the table. + +Jaffer’s relief was enormous. Saadi was neither thief nor seducer. From +here on, the messenger might unburden his heart to this braver heart. + +“I bring you good news, Stepan Beg. When the month of Dulheggia has come, +you will be a grandfather.” + +Stepan Beg sat still, but great tears rose to his eyes. “Allah be +praised! To Allah be great praise! But, alas, the boy will be born in +America. It is farther away than paradise.” + +Jaffer rose and approached. “Some day he will come to you, O best of +fathers. But now I must speak the truth. I bring the news not merely to +the grandfather but to the father. I seek Saadi.” + +Stepan Beg sprang to his feet, stepped to the bookcase, took out a +packet of letters, and swiftly opened several. “The last is written from +Chicago, on the twentieth of April.” + +“He left on that date for Europe,” said Jaffer. “He gave as a reason that +his mother was dead.” + +Stepan Beg stared. Then he went to the latticed window and called +into the night. A man came running, flung open the door of the house, +and dashed upstairs, ready to throttle Jaffer. But he saw the two men +standing quietly. + +“Haidar, the moon is dead, and the new moon is not born. But could you go +to Fotcha?” + +Haidar glanced from one man to the other. “I need no moon, my lord.” + +Stepan Beg lifted a finger. “But if it were to Stolaz? Think, Haidar.” + +“I can go to Stolaz without a moon. I have done it—years ago—when the +road was worse, and the whole band of Stojan Kovacevitch thirsted for my +lord’s blood.” + +Stepan Beg pointed to the case of firearms. “Take what you will. You must +not be stopped by the patrol. Say that you are on my service. Carry with +you my Star of the Order of Franz Joseph. If they do not respect it, make +them respect it. Bring hither young Mohammed Beg by this time to-morrow +night.” + +Haidar went to the case and took what he needed—the Star, a six shooter, +and a box of cartridges. He came before Stepan Beg, and knelt. But Stepan +raised him to his feet and kissed him on either cheek. Then Haidar went +out into the night, and within ten minutes they heard the great door +clang behind him, and the hoof-beats of his Turkish horse resounding from +the karst. + +“No more to-night, Rasul. I see that you have brought more than news. You +have borne anxiety on these young shoulders, and now you shall shift it +to mine. Whose money brings you hither?” + +“That of Dr. Trench. I come from Peshawar.” + +“The money shall be paid. You left Peshawar when?” + +“April twenty-third.” + +“By railroad?” + +“No, by camel. I went to Tashkent—and consulted Dr. Yukitch.” + +Stepan Beg gazed at him. “It is the work of a hero. Mohammed Beg, who is +Saadi’s sworn brother in God, could not have done more. To-morrow shall +be a festival in Starigrad. To-morrow morning you must visit the houses +of my people, and wield your magic in one or two—for some are ailing, +and I do not bring the doctor from Fotcha every week. And now to bed, my +brave lad—to Saadi’s own bed. I will light you there.” + +And so by ten o’clock on the evening of June 21, Jaffer slept in Saadi’s +bed, as Saadi had slept in Jaffer’s. He hardly stirred till seven in the +morning, so knowing are the little grey cells of the brain when load of +care is lifted. + +At eight he emerged much refreshed and washed, and Stepan Beg received +him kindly. They had coffee and melons and honey-cakes together in the +selamlik, and then for a little time Jaffer was left to himself, having +been invited to examine the books and manuscripts in the case on the +western wall. He found many of them written in Glagolitic, and of very +great age. + +Later the two men went out into the June morning. A flock of doves +followed Stepan Beg, lighting on his shoulders. “Their line is as old +as mine, Rasul, and no one but a member of the family feeds them. They +go back to a day when we were Christians, and there is I know not what +meaning in them. They flock to Saadi as birds would flock to David. It is +written in eight and thirty, which is called Sad.” + +They proceeded to the Kula and mounted by a circular stairway of stone, +story after story, to the very top. Here was a comfortable room, with +crenellated windows. Far below, to the south, appeared the polje which +Jaffer had noted, a very Eden, and beyond it the buildings of a little +tannery. Between the tannery and the polje lay the village, on both sides +of the river. Jaffer noted a wooden bridge and a little Orthodox church. +Beyond were the mountains of Montenegro. To the west stretched the +karst, fantastic, grey, and forbidding. In the east the hills of Servia +were visible. To the north, beyond miles of lower mountains, arose the +snowpeaks of the Treskavitcha Alps. At the foot of the castle was the +little stone bridge by which the northern road started for Serajevo. + +“It is the Saadi bridge,” said Stepan Beg, “and may the soul of the +designer rest in peace. Four centuries ago my family abandoned the +attempt to live here, and went to the Sandjak. The kula fell into ruins; +the broken wall choked the river, and there was no village. Within +fifty years the place was known as Starigrad,[5] and it has never lost +the name. Three centuries ago we were living almost like serfs in the +Sandjak, but there arose among us a dreamer of dreams. It was he who +longed for the old home, and believed that the lake could be drained. +It was he who made his way to Stamboul, penniless, seeking an engineer. +There he found Saadi of Isfahan, himself a dreamer of dreams, himself +an exile. They returned together to Starigrad, and with Saadi’s slender +means they wrought the miracle. Here Saadi died, before the kula was +rebuilt; but, dying, he left the plan for the bridge. Yonder he lies, +among my people, and since his day there has always been a Saadi in our +line, and the knowledge of Persian is kept alive among us.” + +They descended, and walked down to the village, Jaffer carrying such +medical resources as he could muster. Holiday had been proclaimed, and +the streets were full of cheerful people. The village was clean. By any +standard, even a Dutch one, the village was clean, and that was a greater +miracle than the draining of the lake. They went from house to house +where the aged or the ailing were, Stepan Beg leading the way. + +Jaffer found little to do that morning. There was not a case of +tuberculosis, the scourge even of Herzegovina, in the whole place. He +did find a very lame back, where a little weazened man had fallen down +stairs. As he made his examination the little man quizzically asked him +if he had ever fallen down stairs himself. Stepan explained that the +kmet was making a sly reference to old Nasradin, the comic figure of +Herzegovinian history, who had declined to have a broken rib set save by +a hakim who had suffered from a broken rib. + +At noon the whole village swarmed up to the castle, where, in the open, +six fat sheep were roasting on spits. The baker brought a cartload of +white bread. Baskets of melons and figs made their appearance. There was +even a reasonable amount of red wine and plum brandy. Such gay apparel, +with tinkling showers of ancient coins, Jaffer had never seen on women +even at home. + +After the feast the kolo was danced to shake it down. And as the evening +drew on, the whole crowd gathered about the village minstrel to hear the +songs of ancient days. There were no Turks present, and no Moslems save +Stepan Beg and Jaffer, and the guslar knew his master well. The songs he +sang were all of Prince Marko, who grieved that he must fight his own +people at Kosovo, and who was willing to die for them. A mighty hero +was Marko, slayer of Turks and avenger of wrongs. His mace was passing +heavy of iron and silver and gold. He never died, but still sleeps in a +cave, and will come again to unite all Serbians. There beside him is his +sword, plunged into a rock up to the hilt, and when the appointed time is +at hand, the sword will itself leap from the rock and Marko will awake. +Exploit after exploit was sung, and the excitement grew intense. + +Then suddenly the guslar rose and began the last of all, and Stepan Beg +translated it for his guest, minute by minute. All in a magical moment +Marko had become Marko Jaffer, who had set out from the ends of the earth +to bear glad tidings to Starigrad. But Marko Jaffer was met by a mighty +giant, Moosa India, and was struck down by a mountain. He threw it off, +only to be plunged into a river. From this he struggled out and wielded +his mace, but the monster was mightier than he. Then Marko Jaffer called +for help in the name of Starigrad, and the saints appeared in the clouds +above. St. Elijah hurled his thunder, St. Sava threw down snow, St. Mary +of the Fire burned the monster’s mace with lightning, St. Thomas dried up +the river, St. Panthelmyion made the rocks to burn beneath the monster’s +feet. The monster fled, and Peter and Paul descended with wine and bread +to feed the fainting traveller and speed him on his way. And so came +mighty Marko Jaffer to Starigrad in guise of a young physician, slender +and beautiful, pretending to be a Turk but deceiving none. And here he +uttered his glad tidings, that brave and laughing Saadi Beg had taken to +himself a wife, fair Ilsa of the West, who soon would bear him a noble +son to rule in Starigrad. Nay, more—here the guslar, a little grey man, +assumed a rapt expression—within a few days perhaps, when Vidov Dan had +come, Saadi Beg would himself return! + +It was too late to correct that last little touch of rhapsody and vision, +for the crowd went wild with joy. They raised the guslar and bore him +on their shoulders. They crowded before Jaffer and kissed his fingers. +They shook Stepan by the hand till the strong wrist ached. And Jaffer +perceived, what before had not entered his head, that his news was of +importance to more people than Stepan and Saadi. + +When the sun had set and the villagers had descended to the valley, host +and guest waited for the return of Haidar. But at midnight he had not +come, and Stepan Beg was grave and silent. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[5] “Old Castle.” + + + + +XXXVIII + + +Morning of the twenty-third broke fair and bright, but still no Haidar. +The day wore on, Stepan making no comment, Jaffer busy with the books in +the selamlik. + +After dinner Stepan Beg left word where he might be found, and took +Jaffer for a long walk to the north, to the ancient burial ground. Vast +horizontal stones were there, such as Jaffer had noted elsewhere as he +rode over from Kadri Beg’s. But also there were scores of graves marked +by pillars, many with tops like turbans to indicate the resting place of +male Moslems. Beside a white new pillar that bore no turban, Stepan knelt +and prayed. Then he approached one of the ancient monoliths, pointed out +the inscription, and translated it. The name appeared in a depression, as +if some older name had been chiselled away to make room for it. Thus it +read: + + In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Here + rests Saadi of Isfahan. He had neither father nor mother, nor + son nor brother nor sister, only his sins. This stone has been + erected over him by Voivod Stepan, who buried the saviour of + Starigrad, invoking Allah Bog. + +“A strange inscription, Stepan Beg.” + +“Yes, Rasul, yes, as strange as life itself. Here let us sit in the +shadow of the tomb, and speak of it, for we shall not meet again on +earth. It is clear that my ancestor buried Saadi in a Bogumil grave, +lifting the stone that protected it against the wolves. Do you know of +the Bogumils?” + +“A mere name to me, my lord.” + +“Perhaps it should remain such. After all, the young are not interested +in these matters. Let us speak, rather, of the late wars. Both were wars +of extermination. Southeast of here, in the district annexed by Bulgaria, +four hundred thousand Turkish males out of seven hundred thousand were +slain, and the process would have been completed had time permitted. Due +south it was the same; Montenegro aimed at extermination. What else could +you expect? The great powers had felt no duty to civilise the Balkans, +but had egged them on these many years. In the second war Greece tried to +exterminate the Bulgarians in Macedonia. If she dared, Austria would slay +every male in the kingdom of Servia.” + +“Life hardly seems worth living in the Balkans,” said Jaffer. + +Stepan laid his hand upon the great monolith and brushed away some +lichens from the inscription. “There have always been people who wondered +whether life was worth living. Millions have slain themselves. And since +the world was, many have refused to marry. Do you yourself expect to +marry?” + +“Yes, Stepan Beg. When I have finished my preparation for life.” + +“May Allah grant you peace. But many have found no peace, and have +thought that some restless evil spirit made the world. I think of one +such prophet—Mani. He was crucified at Bhagdad ten years before the +bastard Constantine was born at Nish. You passed within a few miles +of Nish, on your way here. In those days the religion of Mani and +the religion of Issa strove to possess the world. But the son of the +innkeeper’s daughter became emperor, and Christianity conquered.” + +“I have heard of Mani. Did he not travel into India?” + +“Even so, preaching that there is but little light in a dark world, +and that it is better that our race should cease. Thousands heard him +gladly, and thought that his doctrine was that of Issa. Mani thought that +Issa was an angel of light in the form of a man, and that he neither +married nor truly died. Hither into Thrace came the followers of Mani, +and Theodora put a hundred thousand of them to death.” + +Jaffer shrugged his shoulders. “They got what they wanted, Stepan Beg.” + +Stepan stroked his close trimmed beard, and proceeded. “My ancestors were +Christian nobles in Servia. They listened to the preaching of Bogumil, +the beloved of God, who brought the doctrine of Mani from Thrace. It +appealed to us who were sad with knowledge. We broke away from the +church, declaring that all its mummery was the work of Satan, and that +it is better not to bring children into so bad a world. Stepan Nemanya +drove my family into Bosnia about seven hundred years ago. Other Bogumils +were already here, but many had followed up the Danube or along the +sea-shore to Venice, and these became the first protestants of Bohemia, +and Switzerland, and Italy. We who remained built strongholds in the +mountains, and resisted the Hungarians whom Rome sent to annihilate us. +We wished to die out, but we did not wish to be killed off.” + +Jaffer could not help laughing. “You ended by doing neither, Stepan Beg.” + +“Who can say? Go where you will in Bosnia or the Duchy, you find one vast +graveyard of such stones as this. Thousands of us died celibate.” + +“That made the rest an easier prey for the Turk, Stepan Beg.” + +“It is true. But the persecution was what weakened us most. Europe has +yet to pay for slaughtering her most enlightened men. Europe invited the +Turk.” + +“And did he not in turn persecute the Bogumils?” + +“No, Rasul. He saw that our creed was like his own, free from idolatry. +It was no great effort for us to embrace Islam, and we resigned ourselves +to the desire to live.” + +Again Jaffer could not restrain gentle laughter. + +Stepan Beg entered into the spirit of it. “We even resigned ourselves +to make life very hard for the Christian. We never treated our peasants +as unkindly as born Turks did—as unkindly, for instance, as my nearest +neighbours, the Tshengitch. But we have duly helped to keep the peasant +down, and taught the Austrian how to do it. My father died fighting +the Christian insurrectionists in ’76, and in ’82 I had to fight my +neighbours for refusing to join them against Austria. But I was justified +by events. Hard as the Austrian is, he was the next step to take. He has +made travel safe for you, my son.” + +“The man of peace has a hard time of it,” said Jaffer. + +“Too hard for me to understand. I cultivate my polje and think about it, +but I do not understand. Young men wish to slay, and so Allah lets them +be slain. My ancestors prayed to be delivered from war and marriage, but +Allah granted only half the prayer. He sent them war, which is indeed the +great preventer of marriage. Allah foils us at every turn, my Rasul. Now +that our unmarried boys have been slain for centuries, you would think +that only women would be left. But it is not so. Bosnia and the Duchy +swarm with men who can find no wives.” + +“Saadi has found one, my lord, and I note that it gives you pleasure.” + +“You say rightly, my son. Our Saadi will do better things with Starigrad +than I have been able to do. Perhaps you know the lady Ilsa. She must be +a friend of Trench Hakim’s wife.” + +“Dr. Trench is not married, my lord, nor have I seen Saadi’s pearl.” + +“Not married! Is Trench a Bogumil? Bear to him this message: The Servant +of Starigrad greets the revered teacher of the Son of Starigrad where +he sits in the garden of learning, and bids him know that the great +Experiment has failed. The battle of Bog with Shaitan must be won sangar +by sangar, ell by ell, generation by generation. But when all these dying +nations have reached the set hour, as it is written in Sura seven—our +sons shall see peace on the earth.” + +“I have borne many messages on this strange journey, my lord, and have +many yet to deliver. But none is so precious a burden as yours.” + +“In turn, my son, I must call you well named.—I am sorry that Haidar +comes alone.” + +Jaffer looked up and saw a man limping towards them. Stepan went forward +to meet him, and Jaffer followed. + +“Mohammed Beg is in Serajevo, my lord. Here is his house address. Have I +done wrong not to bring him?” + +“No. You have done right to bring me Haidar back alive. You limp. Was +there shooting?” + +“No, my lord. But in the dark we did not see the slide of rock that lay +across the road. Sharats stumbled and flung me over his head.” + +“And Sharats?” + +“The rocks were slippery. He could not regain his feet. He went over. I +lay long to hear some cry from below, but there was only the noise of the +stream.” + +Stepan put an arm around the shoulders of his retainer. “We will not +speak of another horse, or of returning the revolver. But the guslar knew +Sharats, and the guslar shall sing of him. And there shall be mention of +Haidar the faithful, who limped through darkness home.” + +“To Stolaz, my lord. The Basitch gave me a horse to return on. One of +them has set out for Serajevo to send the boy hither.” + +Stepan Beg knotted his brow. “That we will think of later. You are pale, +Haidar. Here, between us, quickly, with an arm on each man’s shoulder. +Praise Allah that the Hakim is with us.” + +The three men made their way back to the castle, and Jaffer attended to +the injured knee. Twenty miles of limping had done it no good. + +Later, in the selamlik, Stepan Beg spoke to his guest. “If Mohammed Beg +comes, he will be here to-morrow night. If he knows where Saadi is, and +wishes me to know, he will come. If he does not know, or if there is +mischief brewing, he will not come. Saadi is still young, and there is +Tshengitch blood in him.” + +“Stepan Beg, I have kept back something. I have reason to believe that +Saadi and Mohammed will meet in Sarajevo on Vidov Dan.” + +Stepan Beg merely nodded. “If you have kept back still more, let it rest +beneath the stone of forgetfulness. If Mohammed Beg fails to appear, you +shall bear from me a signed note to the Landeschef, Potiorek, with two +words—‘Remember Vareshanin.’ These words you do not understand, or need +to understand. Meantime, I beg you to give your best attention to Haidar.” + +So it came to pass that for the next four and twenty hours Jaffer bent +over Haidar with healing applications. Mohammed Beg did not come. On the +morning of the twenty-fifth, doctor and patient were ready to set out for +the north. + +“It is better that I remain here,” said Stepan Beg. “Who knows what +nonsense Allah is permitting? The walls of Starigrad are strong, and +there is room for all the village, and for you and Saadi and Mohammed +Beg.” He laughed, and some spark of long concealed, hereditary fire +flashed from his eyes. “But go in the safety of God, my boy, and may +there be no need to return. Your praises are safe with the guslar +forever, and within ten days a thousand kronen shall be sent to Trench +Hakim for the expenses that his messenger has borne. As soon as you reach +town, carry this note to the Koniak. It will not be necessary to insist +on a personal interview. Potiorek would only detail a man to watch you.” + + + + +XXXIX + + +On Saturday morning, the twenty-seventh of June, the two horsemen emerged +from the canyon of the Zeleznitza into the plain of Ilidze. They had +slept in a friendly cottage at Madzari—to the sound of rain on the roof, +but now the sky was clearing. + +“Ah, Haidar, this looks less like the infernal regions. How far is it +now?” + +“You will be in Serajevo by noon, my lord.” + +“Stop milording me, Haidar. When we get there, I am going to put your +knee to bed in the best hotel. Which one is it?” + +“The Europa. But the hakim will not put me to bed. From here he proceeds +alone. I spend the night at Dobrinje, and he will find me here to-morrow, +by the crossroads. And there will be another horse, in case he brings a +friend.” + +“Nonsense, Haidar. You must come with me, if only to bring back this good +beast of mine.” + +“No, Hakim. It is Stepan Beg’s command. Two nights I sleep at Dobrinje. +If you are not here by noon on Monday, I am to go home, and the Europa +falls heir to your horse.” + +There was no shaking Haidar, and Jaffer rode on alone. It was three +o’clock when he came into Bistrik, the southern part of the city, and +looked down on the old town with the river flowing through it like a blue +vein. Golden Serajevo! The Damascus of Europe! But the minarets gleamed +fairer than the churches, as if to say that some journeys to Damascus +fail. + +He descended, and crossed the old Catholic bridge, and easily found the +hotel. He gave his horse to be stabled and fed. He washed up. Then he +inquired his way to the governor’s palace across the river, and walked +there, and gave in Stepan Beg’s note. It was marked “Immediate,” and +Jaffer thought it unnecessary to add spoken words. + +Then he went to the address given him, and inquired for Mohammed Beg. The +maid servant thought he would be home for supper, and Jaffer promised to +call in the evening. + +Things having progressed so far and so well, Jaffer reminded himself +that he had sent no word to Dr. Trench except by Dr. Yukitch. Really it +was time to communicate something or other. So he walked back to the +Koniakgasse and gave in the following: + + Hope to find man to-morrow. Have met his father. I think better + of human nature.—R. R. J. + +On being required to give his address and name, he gave the Europa and +the name on his passport. The operator began to click his instrument, but +as soon as Jaffer had gone out he stopped and laid the message aside for +military inspection, because “R. R. J.” did not tally with the sender’s +name. + +Jaffer now felt free to wander. It was five o’clock, and he had had no +dinner. Supper was not yet ready at the Europa, but he remembered Dr. +Yukitch’s remark about the Café Bendbashi, and inquired his way thither. +He crossed once more to the north bank of the Milyatska, and walked up +the Appel Kai past the Rathaus, to where the river curves beneath the +citadel. Here he found the café, and descended into it through a sort of +tunnel. It was a beautiful place—hung with pictures, carpeted with rugs, +fitted with coffee services of beaten brass and with every variety of +smoking apparatus. But there was a garden beyond, and Jaffer penetrated +into the garden. It was altogether nice. Many a group could sit here by +the swift clear stream, and have perfect privacy. + +Jaffer lingered for an hour, resting his limbs, eating such kickshaws as +the place afforded, inhaling the fragrance of real Mocha, and watching +five children who were splashing in the water on the other side of the +stream. He heard voices near him in the shrubbery, and caught the Serbian +words for “One, two, three, four, five.” Somebody was counting the +children on the opposite shore. Presently the speaker emerged, a tall +blond man, followed by two swarthy youths. The trio passed out. Left +quite alone now, Jaffer laid his arms on the little table, laid his weary +head on his arms, and took forty winks while the river rippled by. + +On leaving the Bendbashi he wandered east, down the stream past the +Kaiser bridge, the Latin bridge, and the Cumuria bridge, where stood a +school for girls. He wandered through crooked lanes to the National Bank, +where two streets merge into one. He wandered back to the Europa, and +ate some real supper. After this he went again to call on Mohammed Beg. +Mohammed Beg had not come in. + +That night Jaffer slept like a log, undisturbed by a muezzin who started +up in the middle of the night within a hundred feet of his window. It was +nine o’clock, June 28, 1914, before he went down to the café of the hotel. + +While the waiter was getting coffee and rolls for him, he overheard some +people talking in German, and learned that the Archduke Franz Ferdinand, +heir to the throne of Austria-Hungary and inspector general of the army, +was expected in town within an hour! + +The news struck into him, deep, like a seizure of sudden illness. Was it +possible—that in April Saadi had been summoned by his sworn brother in +God to meet him on this day to carry out some deadly attempt on the life +of the Crown Prince? Was it possible that those Belgrad boys were also in +the plot? Jaffer pushed aside his untasted breakfast. His first impulse +was to run to the Koniak, but he reflected that Stepan Beg’s note ought +to cover the case so far as warning was concerned. Now it remained to +find Mohammed Beg and find him quickly. + +He left the hotel and hurried to the little house where the youth from +Stolaz lived. The door was closed and locked. People were moving from +every direction south, toward the Appel Kai, to see the Crown Prince pass +as he came in from Ilidze. + +Jaffer was in despair. He walked through crooked streets swiftly but +aimlessly. He began to feel faint, and stood still awhile. The faintness +passed, only to be succeeded by a gnawing sensation in the solar +plexus. He had passed a confectioner’s shop. He would go back and see +if the place was open on Sunday. That gnawing was not wholly unnatural, +considering that he had eaten nothing since half-past six the evening +before. + +He turned round, but had taken no step, when he noticed several men +emerging from that shop. Each wore in his buttonhole the Serbian +tricolour. One of them was very tall, boyish, awkward, handsome. It was +unmistakably “Ned,” who, as he walked, was tucking away a newspaper into +the breast pocket of his coat. Jaffer stepped into an alley and watched. + +Ned, Trifko, Gavro, all going south, and followed by several younger +fellows. Then came the two swarthy youths he had seen yesterday at the +Bendbashi, now proceeding east. Last of all, the tall blond man, walking +directly towards him. Jaffer waited till the tall man passed, and he +noticed that the thin face was drawn and set. Jaffer stepped out and +followed, lighting a cigarette with steady fingers. The gnawing at the +pit of his stomach was gone. + +In a deserted street the leader entered a little gate. Jaffer gave him +two or three minutes to get settled, then opened the gate and advanced +through a garden to the house. He was about to ring the bell, but +withdrew his hand. He opened the door, glanced into an empty room at +the right, heard voices upstairs, and went up. There he stood, like a +burglar, listening. An angry conversation was going on, too swift and +muffled for him to understand, even had he known twice as much Serbian. +But two or three times he distinctly heard the word “Saadi,” with a pause +after it. + +Jaffer knocked on the door, and the voices stopped. Then one called out, +“Nasto ze tuzite?” Jaffer understood that. It meant, “What’s the matter +with you?” + +“Nothing much,” said Jaffer in English. “I have just come to make a call. +Dr. Trench asked me to drop in on you.” + +“It is damn lie. I do not know voice.” + +“Perhaps not. But you remember your cat’s name.” + +An amazed oath followed. Then the voice said very sweetly, “Well, Jaffer, +you may drop in on me, but you must not drop on shoulder.” + +Jaffer gently pushed the door and stepped in, and the door slammed shut. +Saadi stood with his back against it, levelling a murderous Browning at +the blond man. + +It was rather a tense moment. Saadi did not look at Jaffer, but Jaffer +more or less brilliantly remarked: “I hope you are well.” + +“Always well, same as Shaitan,” answered Saadi, reaching out a left hand +to be shaken. “Jaffer, you are remarkable pussycat and then some. How +much you know about this fool business?” + +“I know Ned and Trifko and Gavro, and I know this gentleman’s two friends +by sight. He counted one, two, three, four, five naked children for +their benefit at the Bendbashi last evening.” + +Saadi laughed. “Not kids, Jaffer, but motions when chucking bomb. It is +kismet. Gentleman I am pointing out to you with nose of gun is Professor +Ilitch. Professor, you don’t understand English”—here Saadi shifted to +German—“and my friend Dr. Jaffer doesn’t know Serbian, so we will all +talk German most damnably rapid.” + +The blond man smiled a flickering smile. “Your friend is too late.” + +“Maybe. My other one isn’t. Mohammed is on his way to Montenegro. I found +him fifteen minutes ago, standing where you put him, and he had sense +enough to give me his Browning and start.” + +Ilitch shrugged his shoulders. “I wish Trisitch had never introduced him +to me.” + +“What do you mean? He’s only a kid, and you’re a man. He was ready to +quit When he got my letter—only he wouldn’t go back on his word to you.” + +Ilitch again shrugged his shoulders. “My impression is that he mentioned +the thing first.” + +“What if he did! It had been on his mind for three years, and he got the +idea from me. But I’ve learned something in three years, Ilitch, and my +letter to you made it clear that the thing couldn’t be done without a +smashup from Paris to Pitjer.” + +“You didn’t prove it, Saadi. We don’t expect to involve Servia. What we +do expect is a prompt uprising of Croatia, Dalmatia, Slavonia, Bosnia, +and of course the Duchy.” + +“You fool!” cried Saadi. “Haven’t I come from Belgrad? Didn’t I leave +a part of my collar in the Major’s hands? Don’t I know that the boys +can be traced to Tuzla? Didn’t I visit their host Misko and his damfool +picture-show? And you talk about not involving Servia! Good God, man! +Ever since Bukarest, Austria has been waiting for the first chance. She +privately informed Germany and Italy on August ninth.” + +“But they can’t prove it, Saadi. The blame will fall on Budapest. The +boys are going to take cyanide. The dead tell no tales, and every one of +them is a hero.” + +“If you mean Gavro,” exclaimed Jaffer, “he will throw up any poison that +he takes—even cyanide.” + +At this moment the sound of rapid footsteps was heard, and a boy of +sixteen burst into the room. Saadi lowered the gun, but the boy hardly +noticed him. “Mr. Ilitch,” he cried, “Nedjelko has thrown and never +touched him. It exploded under the next auto and hurt a lot of people. +Ned jumped into the river in front of the girls’ school, and Mr. Lojo +jumped in after him and held on to him, and the gendarmes have got him.” + +Jaffer took the boy by the arm and marched him across the room to where +Ilitch stood. Saadi grinned with joy. + +“Thank you, doctor. Stand very still, little boy, close to the professor, +or this gun will go off and scare you. Now, Ilitch, it is yet half an +hour to do something while the party is in the Rathaus. Where are the +boys?” + +“Gavro is by the Latin bridge, on this side. Trifko is on the Kaiser +bridge. Vaso and Cvetko are at the bank, near where Mohammed Beg was. You +don’t know any of them but Trifko, and you can’t budge him.” + +“But you can, Ilitch. Take pencil and write four notes, and send the kid +with them. Write, ‘Route changed, come here quick.’” + +“I won’t do it, Saadi. When I got your letter, I was in doubt, and told +the boys so. But war with Servia is nothing. It will be localised like +the last two wars.” + +“Fool!” cried Saadi; “you are journalist, but nothing reaches you. I went +from Chicago straight to Petersbourg. I tell you it will be war for whole +world. Write!” + +The plucky Serbian messenger spoke up: “I won’t carry any notes.” + +“I will,” said Jaffer. “And permit me to remark that if they have caught +Ned alive, they will learn the whole story. Gavro can hold his tongue, +but Ned can’t.” + +“Then write, Ilitch!” + +“You must excuse me, Saadi.” + +“Then I’ll kill you.” + +“You’ll hang for it.” + +“Of course. I shall do that anyhow. Write!” + +Ilitch shook his head, and it was all that saved his life. The bullet +knocked his fez off and flattened itself against the wall. The messenger +boy shrank into the corner. + +Whether it was the deafening report, or fear of Saadi, or fear of Ned’s +tongue, Ilitch yielded. He drew from his pocket a note-book, tore out +four leaves, and wrote. Jaffer took the scraps of paper and left. + +The two boys at the bank were easily found and went with the silent +Peshawari. He saw them safely inside and disarmed, and placed their +weapons on Saadi’s person. Then he went south, and at last found Trifko +on the crowded Appel Kai. He had left the Kaiser bridge on hearing the +bomb. + +Jaffer drew him aside into an alley. “I told you you might see me here. +Ilitch wants to speak with you at once. Here’s his note.” + +“Ilitch is not my master,” said Trifko. “What is this change of route?” + +“I don’t know, but he seemed anxious.” + +“Well, I’ll go. I’ve been trying to find Gavro. It is an awful +responsibility we’re taking, Dr. Jaffer. I’d be glad of an excuse—” + +And Trifko went his way. He had hardly gone when the crowd began to +cheer, and two or three automobiles appeared, coming west along the +river. Jaffer tried to buck the line, only to get wedged in. + +But he was much taller than the Bosnians, and could see perfectly. +The first car, as he learned from remarks of those about him, carried +the Burgomaster and the Royal Commissioner of Serajevo. Next to the +chauffeur of the second car sat a hard faced man whom Jaffer guessed to +be Governor Potiorek. Behind him appeared the nodding plumes of the Crown +Prince’s helmet, and beside the prince, on the running board, stood an +aristocratic officer, as if to shield the prince with his own body. + +But at the right of the prince, and therefore nearer to Jaffer, sat the +Duchess of Hohenburg, a summer-like figure. Jaffer noted the tall black +pompon in her white hat, the pearls about her throat, the roses in her +belt, the fur cloak which she wasn’t wearing, but which she might need +to pull up round her shoulders later in the day. Beside her fluttered a +little tricolour flag, as if to say, “She is Slavonic, and she thinks +all Slavs dear and good and friendly.” The car was moving very slowly, +and Jaffer smilingly struggled to get his arm free that he might salute. +The quick eye of the Duchess caught the smile and the movement, and she +turned to her husband. Instantly Franz Ferdinand raised his hand to +his helmet, his little eyes half closed with amusement, and as Jaffer +disengaged his arm and returned the salute, the Duchess bowed. Her +smile was almost a laugh, so pretty and genuine that Jaffer immediately +vowed that she ought to be Empress. What a shame that the laws of +“Ebenbürtigkeit” ruled her out. + +The first car reached the corner of Franz Joseph Street, about a hundred +feet from where Jaffer stood. It turned to the right, then stopped, and +proceeded along the river. But the manœuvre had halted the car of the +Crown Prince, and as it stood there for a few seconds, a shot rang out. +Then another. There was a great scuffle and confusion, and the car moved +on, turning to the left over the Latin bridge. + +Apparently the shots had gone wild. The crowd swayed. Though jammed +against the wall, Jaffer caught a glimpse of Gavro as he was dragged +along by the gendarmes. The boy’s hat was gone, his face was covered with +blood, and his mouth was open, as if with mortal sickness. As the crowd +began to follow the prisoner, and the jam yielded, Jaffer made his way +out and hastened to the rendezvous. + +It was a roomful now, with Saadi holding them all at bay. Trifko +was standing there with the rest, his arms held high, according to +instructions, and Saadi was compelling all to listen while he went over +the political situation. It was evident that he had made an impression, +and Trifko looked relieved in more than a physical sense when Jaffer +disarmed him. + +“Gavro,” said Jaffer, “has fired and been arrested. I don’t think he hurt +anybody, and the game is up. I wish to assure Trifko that I have not +broken my promise, and I hope that the gentleman who showed me how to get +here will be able to get back to Belgrad.” + +The words had hardly left Jaffer’s lips when another boy dashed in, +gasping. “He killed them both, Mr. Ilitch!” + +“You mean Potiorek?” + +“No! The Duchess!” + +A piteous silence fell upon the room. Saadi began to take the cartridges +out of the three revolvers, and Jaffer relieved Saadi’s bulging sash and +pockets of four bombs that looked like lumps of soap. Saadi was the first +to speak. + +“Let the younger fellows take these things, and go home, and give them to +their mothers to get rid of.” He gave two boys a burden, and they went. + +“You are safe from us, Saadi Beg,” said Trifko, “but you are not safe.” + +“I know it, boy. I was recognised last night at Ilidze. I was there +because I thought you would operate there. I’ve done my damnedest to find +you all. I’ve been clear to Oblaj and then to Hadsisi to find Gavro, and +to Pale after you, and to Zenitza after Ned, and missed you all. I must +try now for Starigrad. Who comes with me? You?” + +“No, Saadi Beg. I must go to Pale.” + +“Don’t! Don’t stop at Pale. They will catch you sure as fate.” + +“I must say good-bye to Mother.” + +“All right, then. I’d do the same thing myself. But keep to the Planina +and don’t enter Vishegrad. Good-bye, boy.” + +Saadi dropped his fluent Serbian and turned to Jaffer, speaking Halsted +dialect as he understood it. “Good-bye, Jaffer, good-bye, good-bye, and +give love to Doctor and all boys. You brave old son of gun, I would give +half of world to send letter by you to girl in Chicago, but you must not +be seen with us. Go to hotel and go to bed.” + +Jaffer’s black eyes flashed. “If I were as inhospitable as you are, I’d +walk over and ask Potiorek for a bed in jail.” + +Saadi reached up and chucked him under the chin. “You dead game old +sport, we will see! We will see if there is room in Starigrad for Old +Sleuth aus Peshawar! Come on, Jaffer! If we get there alive, we will +play whole bunch is with us. Deland can preach to kmets and play on +guzla. Ameen can talk Persian with Papa. Wu can put on specs and look for +blastomycosis in village. Becker can sit on top of kula and wish he owned +whole damn landscape. And Chat—well, Chat can try to prove assassination +is only bad dream.” + +Jaffer, mollified, thanked him and accepted. + +Meantime all the boys had stolen away except one. He lingered to +shake hands with Saadi and introduce himself. “I wish you had come +earlier, Saadi Beg. I had heard before that Franz Ferdinand was a +friend of the Slavs, but I didn’t believe it. You know he wouldn’t let +Red-Cross supplies come through. But when I saw him coming along so +devil-may-care—for I was with Ned before I went to the Bank—I simply +couldn’t shoot or throw.” + +“You’re all right, Cvetko. Where do you live?” + +“In Semlin. I’m only at school here. My father and mother—” Cvetko +stopped, his lips quivering. + +“Yes, yes, old man. I know about fathers and mothers. Now haidee, Cvetko! +Get to them as quick as quick. What are you going to do with the toys?” + +“Put them in the cellar of the Kostich house. Good-bye, Saadi Beg, and +may we meet again—ako Bog da!” + +“Ako Bog da!—if God grant it,” echoed Saadi, and Cvetko was gone. + +“Haidar is waiting for us at the crossroads, Saadi.” + +“Haidar! What you know about Haidar!” + +“I have been to Starigrad, Saadi Beg Sereef Stepanovitch Etcetera. +And your excellent father sent a signed message by me to Potiorek. It +contained just two words: ‘Remember Vareshanin.’ And Potiorek evidently +scorned it.” + +Saadi shook his head. “Franz Ferdinand would not care for what Potiorek +said. Franz Ferdinand was little bit off trolley. It was old trouble +coming back and getting busy with central nervous system. I will tell +you about it sometime. But my God I am sorry for his babies. Sophie, +Maximilian, Ernest! Once in Chicago—with Deland—I did see them sitting +in church.” Saadi stood with veiled eyes, lost in vision. He softly +murmured, “On papa and mamma be peace.” + +Jaffer touched him on the shoulder. “Are we wasting time?” + +Saadi roused himself instantly. “Suremike. Well, Haidar is at crossroads. +How many horses?” + +“There will be one for you, and mine is at the Europa. I can have a third +sent here, if you say so.” + +Saadi turned to Ilitch. “Will you come, professor? It is only little walk +from Starigrad to Montenegro.” + +“I don’t run away, Saadi.” + +“Better get the habit. Slip around to London and Zürich and Budapest, and +I will pay the bills. In Budapest you will be scolded by Tisza, but he is +honest old Calvinist and will not let you starve. As soon as war begins, +he will give you Golden Cross of Merit for journalistic achievements.” + +“Save your sarcasm,” responded Ilitch. “There is no need to drag Tisza or +anybody else into this business. Look to your own safety. You are going +to have trouble in getting to Dobrinje.” + +“I suppose so, I suppose so. Inshallah, I will show Jaffer trick or two! +And now it is time to say good-bye. You know I did not enjoy pulling gun +on you.” + +“Don’t mention it, Saadi. I—almost wish you had done it a month ago.” + +“Well, Ilitch, we both did what we thought was best. I will say this for +you—boys obeyed you as if they were in school, and Serbian boys are not +very obedient. Good-bye, old man. It is crazy world, and they will hang +you, but you must not mind little thing like that. _Sbogom! Do vidjenja!_ +See you in jail.” + + + + +XL + + +As they emerged from the house, Saadi drew Jaffer aside. “Go to Europa, +and pay bill and say man will come for horse. Is it any Muhammedan +clothes in your bag?” + +“Yes, an old suit and a new one.” + +“Put on oldest and put others in dirty bundle. Come with bundle to big +mosque—Husrev Beg.” + +Jaffer obeyed orders, remarking to the clerk at the hotel that he was +not enjoying Serajevo, and was going into the country to find peace. The +clerk replied that he could blame no guest for doing so; already the mob +was attacking Serbian shops and throwing the wares into the streets. + +At the mosque Jaffer found Saadi under the old sycamore. “We go now into +crowd and cross river by Bendbashi. It is not any use to try to get by +railroad station. We will try to get past Koniak and go up mountain. You +are pilgrim. I wish you were more dirty—here, I will wash hands and face +for you with good dirt, so! Well, if any gendarme arrests me, scoot. +Drop bundle and scoot! Dear Jaffer, is it what you say impossible to +exaggerate how fast you must scoot. Imagine Dr. Trench is in mountain +with nine babies bleeding to death for want of your shirt to tie up +little legs. When you are lost in mountains—all lost as possible, +Jaffer—hire kmet to guide to Starigrad.” + +“Very good, Saadi. But I shan’t drop the bundle. It has a canister of tea +for the doctor.” + +They walked in leisurely fashion down Saratchi Street, Jaffer carrying +his own bundle. They bought a dozen rolls, and Jaffer ate one as he +slouched along, trying to feel like a pilgrim. They reached the Rathaus, +and Saadi calmly approached a gendarme and asked him if there was any +truth in the report that the assassins came from Belgrad. Twice he found +it advisable to execute the same manœuvre again before they reached the +other side of the river. Near the Koniak he did not wait to be halted, +but addressed the first pair of gendarmes and informed them that the only +way to get any peace from the accursed Serbs was to spend the night at +the shelter house on Mt. Trebevitch. + +This was the critical moment. The bodies of the Crown Prince and his +Duchess lay within eight hundred feet, and the orders were strict. +For that matter the orders are always strict about Serajevo, which is +surrounded by a ring of concealed fortifications, and persons leaving the +main highways have been fired on at sight. The guard ordered them back. +Saadi flew into a rage. “If I go back,” he said, “my first job will be +to smash Tankossitch carriage factory, and I will say that you told me +to go ahead. Tausend Teufel! I promised to see the Pilgrim out of town. +He returns from the tomb of Gul Baba in Budapest, and the accursed Serbs +make Serajevo a hell for him.” + +The guard hesitated, but repeated the command. Saadi sank upon his +knees before the turbaned tower of melancholy called Jaffer. “Farewell, +holy Hadji. Give me your blessing.” Jaffer slowly extended his arms and +bestowed an Afghan benison, adding a few well chosen Persian words. In +fact, he bestowed so many, and kept on bestowing, that Saadi began to +weep. The gendarmes grew tired of so much religion, and ended by letting +them both pass. + +Four hours later, having dodged forts and folks, they reached the shelter +house, and got something to drink. Not a word of the trouble down below +had reached those heights, but Saadi made the story very clear. Serajevo +was no place for a pilgrim. The noble Hadji had frowned and turned his +back upon it. + +Not until darkness made going unsafe did the fugitives pause again. Saadi +stood leaning on Jaffer’s shoulder, surveying the horizon. There they +stood, drawn together from the ends of earth, two cells in the web of +life. Stars were coming out. Earth was no longer blindly busy to improve +the shining hours of one bright particular star, but was beginning to +notice those about it. But even as they gazed, clouds gathered till the +sky was all welkin. + +Silently the two men found a sheltered place among the rocks, gathered +withered stalks, and made a friendship fire. + +“Now we will talk. Oh, my Jaffer, you are wonderful as Devil himself. Did +Chat give you message? Did you go to Tashkent? Only one man in Tashkent +knows Saadi.” + +“I found him. Now read what I have for you.” + +Jaffer opened his raiment and extracted from his money-belt a letter +addressed in a feminine hand, “Aux soins de Dr. Jaffer.” Having delivered +it at last, he took his sharp Afghan knife from the sheath and daintily +split a roll, and held it on the point of his dagger over the flame. + +Saadi leaned forward by the friendship fire and read. Jaffer calmly +shifted the position of the toast lest his companion’s shapely head +should knock it off the dagger. Suddenly Saadi pressed the paper fiercely +to his lips. + +“God in heaven! Son, Jaffer, I shall have son!” + +“It is a pleasure to be the first to congratulate you. Will you have a +piece of toast?” + +“No, no! Eat, Jaffer. Play it is wedding cake! Oh, Elsie, you are Mecca +and Mecca’s eight kinds of honey! But—” + +“But what?” + +“I am not much of doctor. I never guessed.” + +Jaffer bit into the toast. “Spare your blushes, Saadi. I suppose that +even doctors have some natural sense of delicacy. Had you made up your +mind to remain in Chicago?” + +“Yessiree. Soon I was going to tell Dr. Trench. But always something was +hanging over me. My promise!” + +“With Mohammed Beg?” + +“Yes, Jaffer. We had sworn to kill Franz Ferdinand. But I had bad record. +I went from Vienna to America because already I was suspected.” + +“And there you lost your nerve?” + +“No, Jaffer! But there I got word about Archduke. Long I knew—all boys in +University knew—that he had same trouble that killed his brother. They +both got infection at same place, Göding, up on river Märch. But Franz +seemed awful strong. When he stole Bosnia I hated him for strongest enemy +of Slavs. Papa said, ‘You do not hate him, you hate Kismet that made his +soldiers kill Stepanie; you must learn to be impersonal.’ But after two +years I hated him worse than before, and made Mohammed swear with me to +end him. Well, Jaffer, two days before Lister opened came letter from +medical man in Vienna who knew. He wrote, ‘Saadi, Archduke will live one +year, maybe two, but not three.’ My God, what was use to shoot him! It +would only give Austria excuse to wipe Servia off map, and Germany would +jump at chance to get to Stamboul while Franz Joseph was alive to help. +Then came worst of all!” + +“What do you mean?” + +“My mother died. Why should it almost kill me? What is one mother in +whole world of mothers? I got papa’s letter on day before Lister opened. +I entered, but that night all was too much. In your room I tried to end +up Saadi with gas.” + +“Poor kid! I didn’t know that. Who found you?” + +“Dr. Trench. He was shorter with me than what you say piecrust. He did +not give one damn. He was colder than Allah and harder than army of +Turks. It did me lot of good, Jaffer. I could see inside him. He had +worse despair than I had. I said, If this man can stick it out, so can +Saadi. You must be good to him, Jaffer.” + +“I’m trying to be.” + +“I mean what you say _simpatico_. It is big internal wound in doctor. I +do not know what.” + +“And thinking him wounded, you proceeded to lie to him.” + +“Suremike. I told him Arabian Nights about Bokhara. He did not believe +one word. He just said, ‘Let me look at wound in neck!’ He looked, and +knew I was lying, and said, ‘Go on.’ He is best of all men.” + +“Was it necessary to fill him up like that?” + +“Suremike. Doctor is Vienna man. Suppose he went to dinner of Vienna men. +Suppose Silvestri talked to him. Silvestri is consul in Chicago, and he +is not anybody’s fool. Suppose doctor said, ‘I know Vienna man named +Saadi Sereef.’ That would be nice business!” + +“I see. And you had to keep up the Bokhara bluff till the last minute, I +suppose.” + +“Suremike. When cable came, I had to have money quick. I could not get +up nerve to bleed doctor with direct operation. I went to Congress Hotel +and hired room, and put on whiskers and eyeglasses same as when I handled +teachers in Bosnian schools. I was Rosenvine, agent of Kushbeg wishing +to find wandering kid. Becker came to see Rosenvine, and I filled him up +to neck—only I made one little break when I tried to quote Jew proverb. +I followed him to Western Union, and after he sent wire I went in and +read torn up scraps he left. It was funny, Jaffer. All dear boys in +Caravansery offered Saadi money, and Becker told doctor, and doctor +handed me thousand dollars in gold. But something made me awful sick when +Deland talked to me so kind. I had to lie about mamma. I had to kill her +once more, for Bosnia.” + +“You certainly missed your calling, Saadi. Anybody who can play the Jew +well enough to fool Becker, and play the Bokharan well enough to fool +Ameen—well, he has most actors beaten to what Deland would describe as a +frazzle.” + +Saadi sighed. “We are all actors. We go to play to get points about daily +acting, which is serious business. Issa was great actor.” + +“What!” + +“I say, Issa was great actor. Did you ever read third sura of what you +say Fourth Gospel?” + +“Not on your life, Saadi. It is bad enough for a binamaz[6] to go to the +mosque and act like the faithful, as I do sometimes when it will help +business.” + +“Well, my Jaffer, sometime you read third of John, and see Issa pretend +damn war-machine of universe had son called prince of peace. It is good +business. He pretended so hard he went glorious crazy and believed it. +Elsie made me read, because friend of hers dared her to. It seemed to +inject good big dose digitalis in poor old Saadi’s circulation. If not +that last dose for nerves, I think Saadi would have wired Mohammed Beg to +please go to hell.—Well, Jaffer, go on tell how you tracked me.” + +“Why, the doctor sent me a telegram containing the mystic letters +B.S.V.D. It took me some time to get the ingredients of that formula.” + +“Oh, ho! I was careless child to leave it in your room. I thought it was +in my flat, in grate fire. It was signal with Mohammed. We had long code. +It was wonderful you could guess ‘Bosna Serai, Vidov Dan!’ But how you +knew boys in Belgrad?” + +“Yukitch told me that you used to haunt the Green Wreath, and so I went +there to find you.” + +“It is wonderful. It is very wonderful. And all this you did for me. No, +you did not do one damn thing for me. You did for Dr. Trench.” + +“Yes,” said Jaffer, “and partly because I don’t like to be beaten.” + +“It was for Dr. Trench,” repeated Saadi. “It was for living breath of +science in damned unscientific world. Jaffer, it is terrible thing that +is going to happen in two three months.” + +“You scared Ilitch, my friend, but you can’t scare me.” + +“Of course I can’t scare you. When Franz Ferdinand walks straight into +trap with eyes open, how can I scare wide-awake Dr. Jaffer aus Peshawar? +But look!” + +Saadi rose and thrust his finger into the western darkness. “It is about +nine miles down to Ilidze as raven flies. There is old arsenal in ground, +where neolithic men made stone weapons. In six months all Europe will be +back to neolithic stage. Bogomi, Bogomi! Tell Dr. Trench never to let +Elsie come to Starigrad to live. Let my little Saadi grow up in Chicago, +and Dr. Trench keep eye on him. My father will send money always. My +father will settle money on Elsie. But it is end of Starigrad.” + +“Don’t get gloomy, Saadi. Where are you going to be all this time?” + +“In grave, Jaffer. But we will give both sides good run for money. I +wonder if they have taken Haidar yet.” + +Jaffer emptied his bundle, drew Saadi close to him beside the little +fire, and spread his European clothes and the Bokhara suit over them. +“Rest now, my friend. Dream that you are at Starigrad safe in the kula, +or in Halsted Street safe in our room.” + +Jaffer fell asleep at once, but he slept so quietly that Saadi thought +him still awake. “Jaffer,” said Saadi softly. + +Jaffer heard, far away, and slowly came back. + +“Jaffer, when Kaiser of Germany goes to sleep you think he feels like +child?” + +“Khuda medanad,” growled Jaffer. + +“Well, Jaffer, I do not see how in such big lonesome world any man can go +to sleep—I do not care how big is jaw or cerebrum—unless he plays he is +child again.” + +“All right, Saadi. Try it on.” + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[6] One who does not say his prayers. + + + + +XLI + + +Jaffer was awakened by his own shivering. He reached over and found that +Saadi was gone. He raised himself on his elbow and looked around in the +dim dawn, but there was no trace of his companion. Had the gendarmes come +and carried him off? If so, it was kismet. Jaffer turned over and went to +sleep again, minding the hard earth no more than he minded the floor on +which he usually slept at home. + +When he was again awakened, it was by a subdued crackling. Saadi sat +there by the renewed fire, smoking a cigarette and writing a letter. +An earthen jug of milk foamed beside him, and a small bag of food lay +open—bread, cheese, and dried figs. Saadi had walked a mile and a half to +the little hamlet of Luka, to give his friend a proper morning welcome. + +Jaffer rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “Take a drink, thou admirable +chamois-beast, and pass the jug.” + +“After you, dear Alphonse-Jaffer,” mumbled Saadi, not removing his +cigarette. And Jaffer drank. Never had milk of kine tasted sweeter to +human kind. + +Saadi finished what he had been writing on the blank sheet of Elsie’s +letter. “Open belt again, Jaffer, and put this in. You can put with it +three hundred dollars of Dr. Trench’s money. I have it in belt round +diaphragm.” + +“Not so, my friend, but far otherwise. You might need it, and your father +has already sent the doctor a draft. Please pass the figs.” + +Jaffer munched and drank, munched and drank, disobeying the rule of the +East, which separates the two operations by a considerable space of +time. Saadi ate stale rolls in silence, and by and by carefully collected +the remaining food and put it into the little bag he had wheedled from +the kmet’s wife on the outskirts of Luka. + +“Do we dry these things before we start?”—Jaffer held up the improvised +bedclothes, dripping with dew. + +“We do not. We wait till to-night, when we will dry tumbees and what you +say breechaloons. In words of esteemed Deland, it is one wide river for +to cross.” + +“Are there no bridges in Bosnia?” + +“Not for us, Pilgrim. We shall cross beautiful Austrian road which goes +along by beautiful Zeleznitza, but less we walk in road less we will be +in it. Come on, Pilgrim. You are dirty enough, to-day.” + +Jaffer was much the taller man, but it taxed his long light limbs to keep +up. They did not enter the hamlet of Luka, but left the bridlepath and +moved west, at the imminent risk of breaking their necks. Saadi sprang +from rock to rock like a flying theory which occasionally touches a fact. + +Before noon they had forded two streams in two canyons, and lay in +hiding on the mountain above the Austrian road. They watched till they +saw the motor-diligence which runs from Serajevo to Tirnovo. The news of +the assassination was on its way south, and by night it would reach the +lonely fort at Kallinovitch. + +When the coast seemed clear they scrambled down, crossed the road, and +stepped into the river. Saadi moved slowly through the rushing current, +holding his watch on high, gripping the stones with his toes, and +illustrating every law of balance, strain, and strength of materials. +Jaffer slipped, gasped with the cold shock, and had to swim for it. +He emerged a hundred yards farther down the stream at the foot of the +opposite cliff. A minute’s rest, and they scaled the cliff tooth and nail. + +They were now in the foothills of the Treskavitcha Alps, and Saadi knew +little more about this savage region than did his dripping companion. The +sky had clouded over and a mist was settling down, but there could be no +waiting. They pressed on, up and through ragged gulleys and beech trees +deformed as envy. There was no question of roads. To get south was the +only aim, and not to get lost in the mist. But by and by they blundered +into a bridle path. + +By five o’clock it was unsafe to proceed farther. They were at an +elevation which made breathing too rapid for tired bodies, and they were +apparently descending. They spent an hour hunting for the right camping +place, and found it. Sheltered in the pines, a wide rent in the rock +ended against a blank wall of precipice. They shivered for another hour, +collecting pine cones and boughs. Then they built a roaring fire against +the cliff, and stripped to the skin. Every rag was hung where it would +dry. Saadi rolled in the pine needles like a white hound. Jaffer stood +close to the fire, swartly elegant against the blaze. + +When everything was incontestably dry, they dressed, and ate all the +cheese and most of the remaining bread, slowly. Jaffer fell asleep in the +process. + +A few miles to the south of them, far down below, a sentinel at the Fort +of Kallinovitch went on watch. For three years he had been marooned in +that spot, his chief consolation being the patch of kraut which he had +patiently forced to grow. As he now took up his round he was plaintively +singing his favourite song—“Ade, mein Land Tirol.” He turned his eyes to +where the Tirol lay inaccessible, and behold, on the nearer barrier he +beheld a misty glow. He watched it. It did not widen, but towered. Never +before had he seen anything like that on the mountain. It was a signal +fire, and could mean but one thing—the news of the assassination had +spread, and all Bosnia was rising. He called aloud to his lieutenant, +and the whole garrison was presently with him. It was clear to the +commandant that with the dawn he must despatch as many scouts as could be +spared, and also summon reinforcements. + +All of which was far from Jaffer’s mind as he slept off his first +irresistible drowsiness, there between the sheltering walls that caught +the heat and warmed him to the marrow. He was roused by the sound of +music. Saadi had arranged for himself a comfortable hollow, and was +softly singing an English song: + + “The world is so wide, dearie, + True friends are so rare, dearie, + Who knows what danger may wait for you there! + No matter how well we have guarded the fold, + The wolves will come in somewhere. + But rest you and slumber, and dream if you will, + You’re safe this night, I know—” + +The singing was not very good, and the singer struggled in vain with the +sound of w. But the scene smote Jaffer to the heart. Not till the young +husband arose to replenish the fire did the Peshawari turn slowly on his +side and exclaim, “Excuse me, Saadi Beg. I believe I’ve been asleep.” + +“Well, Jaffer, you presented all symptoms. Which reminds me that we are +taking rest from study of medicine. Last thing I was up against was +Heubner on feeding of infants.” + +“Trench has disproved all that calorimetric nonsense,” said Jaffer, +arising. “Didn’t you see his article?” + +“Not guilty. I was too busy writing letters. Especially about Irish and +English. You did not know Saadi had correspondent in Belfast.” + +“How should I?” + +“Well, I have. It is boy from Agram which is now in Belfast. He gets +on what you say scrumptious with Irish. I guess I am little bit Irish +myself. Now if you were Englishman, and I were Irishman that hated you, +and Austrian gendarmes should see us scrapping up here, what would +gendarmes say? They would say, Jaffer is very busy with howling handful +called Saadi, and will not fight if we jump on kmets. But when we saw +kmets jumped on, would we sit still? I don’t think.” + +Jaffer assented, but he did not see what bearing the parable had on the +study of medicine, and said so. + +For answer Saadi changed the subject. “Please ask Dr. Trench to break +rule and take care of my Elsie in October.” + +“Ask him yourself, Saadi.” + +“I will whenever I see him. But I shall never see him.” + +“What reason have you for saying that? I think we’re progressing finely.” + +“No reason. It is some old Bogumil talking inside me. It keeps saying, +‘Saadi, look up at your star. It is going out pretty quick now.’” + +“Forget it, Saadi.” + +“Call me old man, like Deland!” Saadi’s eyes had a strange, hungry, +uncanny look, as he arose and stood. + +“Forget it, old man. You and I are rationalists. We don’t believe in +signs. We say ‘Allah’ because it is a language.” + +Saadi backed against the unyielding rock and stared, as if then and there +trying to wrest from the darkness the dread secret of all darkness. + +“Good God, Saadi! Have I struggled up out of Hindu superstitions to have +you look at me like that, on the cliff of a mountain, with the wind +rising in the pine trees!” + +Saadi laughed, and the spell was broken. “I wish I knew how Elsie went +to Dr. Trench. She says nothing in letter except she is glad I went, and +glad baby is coming.” + +“I’m sure I don’t know. I have his cable somewhere, but it only directs +me to find you and tell you the news. He wrote a letter with ten lines in +it. Wu had given him Yukitch’s address, but not his name.” + +“Wu! Ah, yes! Good old yellow dog with memory like flypaper. But, Jaffer, +it was some words on Elsie’s letter in French. Elsie does not know +French.” + +“Well, Saadi, maybe she learned it suddenly, as I learned Serbian. And +perhaps you left the telegram in Elsie’s room, and perhaps she found it. +But it is too bad she thinks of you as a Bokharan.” + +Saadi looked at Jaffer appealingly. “I did not dare tell Elsie. She +does not care if I am Bokharan or Turk or Wild Indian. She knows I will +not come back maybe. She knows I am trying to stop some sort of Shaitan +business. She told me she would be ashamed of me if I did not go. Oh, my +Jaffer, think how little is one man—one poor fool kid like me.” + +“There, there, old man! You were right to take no risks. I’ve noticed +that most fellows are good critics, because they judge by their ideals, +but very few of us would start out single-handed to do what you did.” + +Saadi was still leaning against the rock, and the fire-light gave his +features a certain grimness. “When I am dead, it is end of Saadi except +for thoughts of him in heads of Elsie and papa and Jaffer. I wish +thoughts to be good thoughts. I did not run away like Yukitch, or say it +was no use to be anything but animal. I wanted to be scientific like Dr. +Trench—to set few bones awful careful which are out of joint. Yesterday +operation failed. But we came awful close, Jaffer, to stave off war for +many years.” + +“Thank you for including me. I was only an atom in the game.” + +“You were bigger atom than Saadi. I was only hydrogen, but you were atom +of gold. It was all accident, Jaffer, but think how strange that atoms +have idea of good. You remember sura nine and twenty?” + +“Yes. That’s a short one. ‘Whosoever has wrought an atom’s worth of good +shall behold it in that Day.’ But I thought that you and I had abandoned +any fear of paradise.” + +“We have. We have chucked whole damn dream, including ‘houris like pearls +hidden in shells.’ But I behold atom of good—now, here, in night, close +up by snowpeak on top of mountain. I behold what we did yesterday as +little piece of all right.” + +“It was little, sure enough.” + +“I don’t care, Jaffer. World is probably damn failure. World is probably +what Bogumils said—one big mistake. But in it are little specks of pure +gold and little bits of red _l’al_. What is _l’al_ in English?” + +“Rubies.” + +“Suremike. If I had ruby I would send to Elsie, and say, ‘Teach our boy +not to be afraid to spill drop of blood to make little bit more good in +world!’ Oh, damn, Jaffer. I am preaching to you off minaret.” + +“Let ’er rip, Saadi.” Jaffer rubbed his stomach reflectively, unbuckled +his money-belt, and extracted a bunch of tissue paper. “Here is a present +I brought you. Fellow in Afghanistan gave it to me.” + +Saadi unfolded the tissue paper by the fire, and the ruby blazed out. He +stood gazing at it as it lay in the palm of his hand. “You old Devil. You +abuse me for being superstitious, but when I am in trouble you walk in +like geni. When I say _l’al_, you rub tummy like Aladdin’s lamp and hand +me _l’al_.” + +“Won’t you take it?” + +“What would I do with it? Here, Jaffer, hold hosses one minute.” + +Saadi returned the ruby, and pulled off his own money-belt. “Here are two +of Dr. Trench’s gold eagles. You must have ruby set in ring for Elsie, +and say it is from Saadi and Saadi’s new pobratim. You cannot afford to +give,—I know. What I care! Jaffer must suffer because he has good heart. +All good hearts must bleed.” + +And so Jaffer put the ruby back into his belt, wrapped up with two gold +eagles. And by this time the fire was burning low, and both men crept +into the hollow that Saadi had made. But this time Jaffer slept less +soundly than his companion. There was a burden on his mind—a message +still to be delivered. He was saving it till the last possible minute, +and giving his friend a chance to store up needed energy. Time and again +he opened his eyes to look upon the glowing bed of coals, and listen to +the roaring of the wind in the pines. Some such sound Trench had heard as +he stood beside the grave of his oldest friend, three years before. + +But in the earliest morning the wind had gone down, and the mists were +light, and the travellers looked out upon the southern landscape as they +gnawed their last crusts. + +“To-day we must be careful, Jaffer. Down there to left is Fort +Kallinovitch. We must go to west, and keep off roads. I have finished +breakfast. Give me cigarette.” + +The minute had come. Jaffer extracted from his cummerbund the long saved +packet of Stepanies. It had been soaked by the river, but he opened it +gingerly and handed it over. Saadi took out a cigarette carefully, not +noticing the brand, and began to smoke. + +“Saadi, did you know the Belgrad boys’ password?” + +“No. Did you?” + +“Yes, by accident. It was a box of Stepanie cigarettes.” + +Saadi tossed the cigarette away. + +“Yukitch—” began Jaffer. + +“Well—Yukitch?” + +“Told me about your little sister. And then I couldn’t smoke the things.” + +“God bless you.” Saadi’s face was twitching. + +“But that is not all, old man. Brace up and take the last message I have +for you. I stopped at Kadri Beg’s. He sent this curious word to you: _The +son of the Haiduk is grown, and Haidar has forgotten how to shoot._” + +Saadi did not start, but sat gazing intently downward into the plain. “He +did that for my mother’s sake.” + +“I inferred as much. Does the message trouble you?” + +“I should worry. Haidar killed man that he thought killed Stepanie. It +was in days of Streifkorps—volunteers to guard against uprising after +Annexation. Many Turks joined Korps with Austrians. Of four guilty brutes +one was Turk. Tell Ameen it was Turk, not Jew. Haidar thought he knew +that Haiduk, and went and shot him down in presence of little son. No +man could prove Turk was guilty. Boy was twelve then. Boy is eighteen +now. But I should worry. Son of Haiduk does not know Saadi is coming to +Starigrad.” + +“I don’t feel certain on that last point, Saadi. The guslar celebrated my +arrival, and I guess he had a little too much raki to drink. He stood up +and told the whole village that you would appear soon after Vidov Dan.” + +“Well, I should worry. Village does not go marching down Sutjeska canyon, +yelling that Saadi is coming home.” + +“I thought that you had a sort of presentiment.” + +“It was nothing. It was night and nerves. Anyhow, I am only afraid of +Vienna, Budapest, and Belgrad. I am not afraid of Turkish kids. If he +wants to kill somebody, he will kill Haidar. But he cannot get gun to do +it with, and he sure can’t get within knife-reach of old Haidar.” + +“You relieve me. You certainly do relieve me. I’m ready to start.” + +“What is it down there? Look, Jaffer, where fog has busted. It is two +gendarmes.” + +“I fancy that you’re right. They’re patrolling the bridle path. It’s up +to you, old man.” + +For answer Saadi arose and led the way still higher on the mountain, +through the pines that clung to the steep sides. And that detour was the +model of travel for the rest of the day. They saw other gendarmes and +they made other chamois excursions. Before ten o’clock they descended +into a little village which shall be nameless, and bought food, and got +out again just in time to see a considerable squad of soldiers march in. +They crawled down a cliff into the gorge of the Narenta, and this time +stripped and carried their clothes on their heads as they waded across. + +Having at last reached a high region barren as logic and very familiar to +Saadi, they settled down into a jog trot, and dodged boulders hour after +hour. The Alps grew dim behind them, and Saadi capered like a Bosnian +pony as they approached Starigrad, going down hill mile after mile. + +Seven o’clock, and red evening in the west, and the old kula appeared, +with deep dark shadows at the foot of the cliff. A belated flock of +doves, rising from the polje, whirled above them. Instead of flying +upward to their home, they seemed to be delaying and gazing downward. + +As the two footsore men stepped upon the Saadi bridge, the heir of +Starigrad gave a long, chirruping whistle. Instantly the air was full +of wings. The older doves had recognised him, and circled down, down, +till one settled on his shoulder. There stood Saadi in the middle of +the bridge, laughing joyously, and putting morsels of dry bread on his +shoulders to be caught up by the whirling cloud of iridescence. Jaffer +leaned against the parapet and watched the pretty sight. + +Then he glanced ahead, and he saw a form in the shadowy defile. It was +not Haidar. It held something in its hand. Jaffer’s heart gave a jump. He +tore open his kurta, grasped his knife by the hilt, wrenched it loose, +and dashed forward. The evening light made him a perfect mark, and he had +not gone ten feet when his right arm seemed to drop dead and the Afghan +knife clattered on the stones. Checked by the mere impact of the shot, he +stood grasping the burning arm, long enough for the defile to send out +one, two, three, four red flashes past him. Then Jaffer plunged ahead, +left arm extended. But the fellow darted past him on the right, across +the bridge. + +Jaffer wheeled. One of the doves lay dead. The rest had fluttered higher, +but they had not gone. Saadi stood clinging to the parapet, as a wounded +squirrel clings to a tree. Even as Jaffer approached, a dove settled on +Saadi’s shoulder as if to ask who made all that unwonted noise. + +Jaffer’s left arm went round the silent form.—“Where is it, old man? For +God’s sake, where is it?” + +Saadi lifted his hand to his neck, smiling. He was unable to speak, but +he was fighting, fighting, there among the shattered tissues, to rule his +little transient kingdom of earth. + +Jaffer ran his fingers over the neck and pressed a handkerchief to the +wound, but he could not raise his right arm or apply a bandage. He could +only stand with his left arm around his friend, and pray. Poor old +rationalist—the blood of centuries was too strong for him. + +Three or four minutes passed before it occurred to him that he could +yell. But now there was a sudden noise—the sound of hoof-beats on the +karst. They came swiftly nearer, and down the defile swept Haidar on +horseback—revolver held high. He did not draw rein, but went across the +bridge like the thrown hammer of an ancient god. + +Saadi straightened himself. Saadi opened his lips and spat a mouthful of +blood. “No, Haidar, no!” he shouted clear and strong. + +Then the blood filled his mouth in one swift surge, and earth slowly drew +his stained lips to her breast. + +Haidar heard and drew rein. It cost him dear, for in half an hour it +would have been all over with the Turk’s son, and there are chasms in +the karst which never give up that which is flung into them. It cost him +dear, but reason told him that his young lord needed help. + +Back he came and flung himself off his horse. Jaffer was sitting on the +ground, wiping the paling lips, and the doves had departed. + +“Hakim! Hakim! You will save him! You are the mighty Marko!” + +“I cannot raise the dead,” said Jaffer, and was silent. + +Haidar sank beside his master, looked long upon the face, lifted a hand +and kissed it. Then he bowed his forehead to the earth, and again and +again struck the insensate stone with his brow. He said no word, but his +groans were terrible to hear. + +Presently it was no longer necessary to wipe the lips. The eyes were +closed. The form lay in its eternal peace. Haidar lifted it and placed it +on the horse. + +“Wait, Haidar. Is there still some other man in Starigrad, swift and +trusty, who needs no moon to guide him?” + +“Yes, Hakim.” + +“Can he leave within the hour for Cetinje, for Saadi’s sake?” + +“Anything can be done for Saadi’s sake.” + +With the uncertain fingers of his left hand, Jaffer unloosed his +money-belt, drew out a handful of gold, and then a short pencil and a bit +of paper. Placing the paper on the parapet of the bridge he laboriously +printed six words, addressed to Trench. + +“This cable message will reach our Saadi’s wife. Here is gold of Austria. +Tell your messenger to buy a second Turkish horse when he has killed the +first. Otherwise on the morrow the Lady Ilsa will think her husband a +murderer.” + +With his free hand Haidar took the gold and the paper. Then the little +cortège mounted the hill. + +But it was not Haidar who dared to meet Stepan Beg. It was Jaffer who +went forward by himself, and opened the door, and walked steadily +upstairs, dripping blood. Stepan Beg, whose scarlet turban was bent +forward in the moonlight of the old brass lamp, sprang to his feet. + +“Once you called me a hero, Prince Stepan. It was false, for heroes die +in the path of God. Saadi is a hero.” + +Stepan Beg trembled, clutched the folds of his tunic where it leaves the +throat, and stood erect. + +“Repute them not dead who are slain in God’s path, for God is He who +turneth, Merciful.” + +Then he stepped forward and swiftly removed Jaffer’s kurta. He took the +scarlet turban from his own head and wrapped it skilfully around the +arm, drawing it very tight and knotting it. Jaffer suddenly swayed. +Stepan Beg caught him, urged him toward the divan, and then—for it was +necessary—lifted him bodily and laid him there. + + + + +XLII + + +“No, doctor, not with that hand!” + +It was Dr. Becker who spoke, developing with his new degree a new +authority. He led his chief back into the house, made him sit down, and +sent Chat for whisky. For Trench was white and faint, and had started out +with his arm still in the sling. + +The case was simple enough. On June 22, Trench had infected the tip of +his best finger. The accident was not due to any excited assistant. He +did the thing himself, in the course of showing a fresh specimen to a +visiting surgeon. The whole right arm had swollen almost instantly, and +had to be lanced four times. Also he had spent that number of days in +bed. In short, the children of Halsted had come within an ace of losing +the hand that had helped them so often. They had not lost it, but that +finger-tip would have to be re-educated. + +Therefore on Sunday morning, June 28, 1914, Trench was obliged to +telephone Edith that those about him were tyrants, and that he should be +unable to hear her prove life something more than photochemistry. She +expressed her sympathy, and said that the subject would keep. + +Soon after eleven that morning, as he lay on the couch in the library, +Trench received Jaffer’s first cable. He read it with joy, and called +Chatterjee. + +“Say, old man,”—he had caught the human trick of that from Saadi,—“didn’t +I hear you mention your acquaintance with Miss Bridgman?” + +“You did, doctor. I feel like Saadi, who was always declaring himself a +barbarian, or some such thing.” + +“Then change your feelings, my son, and change your Calcutta clothes to +American, and kindly go at once to call on the lady. I want you to tell +her all about your poet who looks like Tennyson—I forget his name. And +incidentally don’t fail to give her this cable. Read it yourself, if you +want to. You didn’t know that Jaffer was asked to call on Saadi.” + +Chat wanted to say “Oh, didn’t I?” but he intended to make no more +breaks. He read the message while he was changing his clothes, and +couldn’t for the life of him understand who, besides himself, had been +sending messages to Saadi via Jaffer. + +After Edith Bridgman received the message, there wasn’t much conversation +about Mr. Tagore. She simply introduced the courteous youth to her +sister, got them to talking, excused herself, and scurried out of the +house. + +“Elsie, my dear girl, what do you think of that?” + +Elsie studied it, and got out an atlas and Saadi’s scrapbooks, and looked +up Serajevo. Neither of them had heard of the place before. There were +probably numerous references to it in the clippings printed in Cyrillic, +but they couldn’t even find the word there, the letters were so strange. +Finally Edith sent home for a volume of the encyclopædia, and when it +came they studied Bosnia for two hours. + +“It’s a great mystery, Edith. Would you—could you—stay with me until +to-morrow?” + +Edith stayed. That evening Elsie made her beguile the hours with some +account of the studies that had occupied her all the year. With growing +wonder she soon made her narrow biology to the subject of embryology. +And awe filled her heart as she listened. Little had she dreamed what +infinite and impersonal lines of force met within her own body, finding +their sole significance in the miracle of personal love. + +Next morning Edith was the first one up, and she made Elsie stay in bed. +A little lovering would not hurt Elsie, just now. While the teakettle was +boiling, Edith brought in the morning paper, and glanced it through in +the kitchen. + +Of course the news of the assassination caught her eye, and made her +heart stand still. All her old fears came back, or rather a wholly new +set of worse ones. Saadi—so his wife had said—was going to attempt +something dangerous, and Saadi was a revolutionist. His name was not +given in the paper, but these first reports were not to be trusted. + +Her first thought was to burn the paper before Elsie saw it. But Elsie +would be sure to ask for it, being very much alive to daily news, and +much grieved that the socialist daily had to suspend, and disgusted that +big business kept certain news out of the other papers. And no sooner +had Elsie drunk her coffee and eaten her toast than she did ask for the +paper. Edith went and got it, and pointed at once to the Serajevo story. + +Elsie ran it through, and her dark eyes kindled. “Poor boy, poor boy!” +she exclaimed. + +“What are you saying? Do you think he knew of this? Did he tell you +anything?” + +“Never a word, Edith. But it is all as clear as the day. He tried to stop +it, and he didn’t succeed. He told me that he was going to stop some sort +of Satan business.—Well, all we can do is to wait.” + +And there they sat and waited, for Edith wouldn’t let her get up. They +talked of many things until nearly noon, when Elsie insisted on rising +and getting luncheon herself. + +After that was eaten, Elsie was persuaded to go for a drive with Helena. +Edith telephoned Dr. Trench, asking him to send any further message to +the flat, where she would remain to receive it. + +But no cable came that afternoon from Jaffer. Only there came Stepan +Beg’s two drafts on Serajevo, one for Trench and one for Elsie, together +with a note in German, “repeating the grateful salaams he had so often +sent by Saadi.” Trench understood now why those salaams had never reached +him. He sent Chat over to show the note to Miss Bridgman, and to leave +for Mrs. Sereef the wedding gift sent by her father-in-law. This time +Chat went with an understanding heart, having had all explained to him. + +It was late in the afternoon of the next day when Trench got Jaffer’s +second wire—laboriously printed on the parapet of the Saadi bridge, and +cautiously worded in case it should fall into the hands of the Austrian +patrol: + + Cetinje, June 30, 1914. + + Dr. Trench, Halsted Street, Chicago. + + Dead. He waged war against war. + + R. R. J. + +Trench sank into a chair, stricken, and closed his eyes. But he kept +saying to himself, “Thank God, thank God.” He did not intend it as prayer +or praise, but it was perilously near the line. + +Half an hour later he ascertained that Edith was still with Elsie. He +waited till next morning, however, in order to give Elsie a night’s +rest. Then he went to the flat, found Edith alone in the front room, and +silently showed her the message. + +Edith as silently read it. She asked him to remain, in case the shock +made medical attendance necessary. Then she went into Elsie’s bedroom. + +“My dear, dearest girl—are you brave this morning?” + +Elsie turned her great dark eyes toward her friend, and again they seemed +to kindle. + +“Give it to me!” + +Edith obeyed, kneeling beside her as she read. The yellow paper slowly +crumpled in Elsie’s clenched hand, and her very lips grew white, but her +eyes blazed. + +“I’m going to get up! There’s a man within me, and he shall never say +that I lay crying when his father had just died for the workers.” + +Edith saw that it would be unwise to protest. She helped her dress, and +they both went into the living room. Elsie spoke. + +“Dr. Trench, you have been a good friend to my husband. If it had not +been for you he would have done some reckless and destructive thing. But +now he has done a reckless thing that is constructive, and he and I are +glad to pay the price.” + +“I am proud to have known him, Mrs. Sereef, and proud to know you. I owe +him more than I can well explain or understand. But you will draw on me +for anything—money, counsel, or blood—so long as we both live.” + +Elsie took his hand silently. Then she turned and went into the kitchen. +It is true that when she was there alone she leaned against the wall, +gasping “Saadi, Saadi,” but the evidence of her grief was not heard in +the other room. + +Trench rose, and Edith walked beside him, into the hall. As they stopped, +she lifted her eyes to Trench—and Trench knew. She held out her left +hand to meet the one uninjured, but instead of taking it he put his left +arm about her, as Jaffer had put an arm about Saadi. From each person +sprang that which might still have been held in leash, for each soul—poor +discarded name for something—was mightier than the passion. She leaned +her head against his breast, and he kissed her forehead. + +“You see what life is like.” + +“I am not afraid. Is it worth while without me?” + +“Yes! Without heaven and even without you!” + +“Then take me!” + +“My beautiful, we both are scarred, but you had a father, let your son +say so.” + +“My great impersonal man, scars are not transmitted.” + +“Thank God for that! And Jaffer has sent a ruby that shall cover yours.” + +“A ruby! There should be one for Elsie, too. I saw the web of life like +an opal, full of scars. But I saw it change to a ruby, hiding them all.” + + +THE END + +PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79064 *** diff --git a/79064-h/79064-h.htm b/79064-h/79064-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..50a0163 --- /dev/null +++ b/79064-h/79064-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,14823 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + Those about Trench | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +a { + text-decoration: none; +} + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +h1,h2,h3 { + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +h2.nobreak { + page-break-before: avoid; +} + +hr.chap { + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + clear: both; + width: 65%; + margin-left: 17.5%; + margin-right: 17.5%; +} + +img.w100 { + width: 100%; +} + +div.chapter { + page-break-before: always; +} + +p { + margin-top: 0.5em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; + text-indent: 1em; +} + +blockquote { + margin: 1.5em 10%; +} + +.center { + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; +} + +figcaption p { + text-align: center; + margin-bottom: 1em; + font-size: 90%; + text-indent: 0; +} + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.footnotes { + margin-top: 1em; + border: dashed 1px; +} + +.footnote { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + font-size: 0.9em; +} + +.footnote .label { + position: absolute; + right: 84%; + text-align: right; +} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none; +} + +.gothic { + font-family: 'Old English Text MT', 'Old English', serif; +} + +.hanging { + padding-left: 2em; + text-indent: -2em; +} + +.larger { + font-size: 150%; +} + +.noindent { + text-indent: 0; +} + +.pagenum { + position: absolute; + right: 4%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + font-style: normal; +} + +.poetry-container { + text-align: center; +} + +.poetry { + display: inline-block; + text-align: left; +} + +.poetry .stanza { + margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em; +} + +.poetry .verse { + padding-left: 3em; +} + +.poetry .indent0 { + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.right { + text-align: right; +} + +.smaller { + font-size: 80%; +} + +.smcap { + font-variant: small-caps; + font-style: normal; +} + +.allsmcap { + font-variant: small-caps; + font-style: normal; + text-transform: lowercase; +} + +.titlepage { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 3em; + text-indent: 0; +} + +.x-ebookmaker img { + max-width: 100%; + width: auto; + height: auto; +} + +.x-ebookmaker .poetry { + display: block; + margin-left: 1.5em; +} + +.x-ebookmaker blockquote { + margin: 1.5em 5%; +} + +/* Illustration classes */ +.illowp100 {width: 100%;} + </style> + </head> + +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79064 ***</div> + +<main> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p class="titlepage larger">THOSE ABOUT TRENCH</p> + +</div> + +<figure class="figcenter titlepage illowp100" style="max-width: 18.75em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/macmillan.jpg" alt="Macmillan Company logo"> +</figure> + +<p class="center smaller">THE MACMILLAN COMPANY<br> +<span class="allsmcap">NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO · DALLAS<br> +ATLANTA · SAN FRANCISCO</span></p> + +<p class="center smaller"><span class="smcap">MACMILLAN & CO., Limited</span><br> +<span class="allsmcap">LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA<br> +MELBOURNE</span></p> + +<p class="center smaller"><span class="smcap">THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd.</span><br> +<span class="allsmcap">TORONTO</span></p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p class="titlepage larger">THOSE ABOUT TRENCH</p> + +</div> + +<p class="titlepage"><span class="smaller">BY</span><br> +EDWIN HERBERT LEWIS</p> + +<p class="titlepage"><span class="gothic">New York</span><br> +THE MACMILLAN COMPANY<br> +<span class="smaller">1916</span></p> + +<p class="center smaller"><i>All rights reserved</i></p> + +<p class="titlepage smaller"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1916,<br> +By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.</span></p> + +<p class="center smaller">Set up and electrotyped. Published February, 1916. Reprinted<br> +February, 1916.</p> + +<p class="titlepage smaller"><span class="gothic">Norwood Press:</span><br> +Berwick & Smith Co., Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p class="center larger"><span class="gothic">To</span><br> +GEORGE NOBLE CARMAN<br> +<span class="smaller">AFTER TWENTY YEARS</span></p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[1]</span></p> + +<h1>THOSE ABOUT TRENCH</h1> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="PROLOGUE">PROLOGUE</h2> + +</div> + +<p>Trench had been fishing above Dixon’s mill. +Dixon was gone from that shadowy deep wild of granite +and cedar, having left the key of his cabin for +Trench. But, after all, this is not the way to begin. +I tell a tale of the twenty-eighth of June. June—but +the proper start is neither Dixon nor brides nor the +odour of roses; the proper start is a leaf of history.</p> + +<p>On June 28, 323 <span class="allsmcap">B.C.</span>, Alexander of Macedon died, +having quieted all the world except Macedon, which is +not quiet yet. On June 28, 1389 <span class="allsmcap">A.D.</span>, the Serbian +nation was crushed by the Turks at Kosovo. On June +28, 1891, the alliance of Germany, Austria, and Italy +was renewed. On June 28, 1908, the late Crown +Prince Franz Ferdinand had completed his preparations +for annexing Bosnia-Herzegovina to Austria-Hungary. +On June 28, 1909, Austria was trying +fifty-three Slavs for high treason. On June 28, 1910, +the newly established Diet of Bosnia-Herzegovina decided +that the proffered constitution did not suit the +needs of the people, and adjourned for the annual day +of Serbian sorrow.</p> + +<p>It was on June 28, 1911, that Trench went fishing. +On that day the German corvette <i>Panther</i> was setting +out for Morocco to test the strength of the Triple +Entente, and King George was opening the Royal Agricultural +Show at Norwich. But on exactly that date, +June 28, 1911, the ladyslippers burst into bloom, +opening a still more royal show. This was on King +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[2]</span>George’s loyal island of St. Joseph, between Superior +and Huron. Because Trench went fishing on that day, +and because of the trivial dear event that he plucked +a ladyslipper, this tale came to be written.</p> + +<p>He had whipped the brown stream far into the cedar +uplands. At six o’clock his creel was full of ferns and +fish, and it was time to quit. He felt some regret at +leaving so good a stream, and imagined the orange tails +of the survivors all pointing downstream in the deep +pools, waving an insolent farewell. But he corrected +that idle fancy. Trout are not insolent, and trout do +not wave farewell.</p> + +<p>Being very hungry, he built a tiny fire, broiled a half-pounder, +ate the crisp flesh, and tossed the lacy skeleton +away. It fell on a flat rock, where it looked like a +fossil. It was no different from the skeleton of its +millionth ancestor. The generations of trout had +pulsed along without progress or meaning.</p> + +<p>As Trench started back towards Encampment, a +white-throated sparrow was asking some sort of heavenly +question from the top of a charred tree. He left +a thin, sweet query in the air, as if he suspected that +the universe is a great unfinished adventure. So it +struck Trench at first, till he reflected that it was all +a matter of the chemistry of light. The song was +inevitably started by sunshine and inevitably stopped +by darkness.</p> + +<p>As he stopped to listen, turning a lean cheek away +from the level sun, Trench presumed that the thoughts +of any white-throated girl were as automatic as those of +the white-throated sparrow. The young physician—he +was a specialist in the diseases of children—was +determined to be impersonal.</p> + +<p>For he had lost his father and mother in 1907, by +the sinking of a ship. The court of inquiry had not +been able to fix the blame, and certainly the ocean was +not to blame. Oxygen and hydrogen are what they +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[3]</span>are, and not some other thing. They are quite impersonal, +and Trench was subduing his bitter heart to the +quality of these lords.</p> + +<p>Naturally he had found it hard to think impersonally +of his little mother. The last time he saw her +was at Genoa, as she was about to go on board. She +had stood on the pier with a scarf fluttering around +her neck like a bluebird. She had put her arms +around his neck, and told him how proud she was of +him. He had kissed her good-bye, not knowing that the +atoms of her lips would presently fade forever from +that sweet pattern.</p> + +<p>There was a vain search for the bodies, and then +Trench went quietly back to Chicago. In the spring +of 1909, when he was appointed instructor at Lister, +he built in Halsted Street, like an immigrant making +a new start. It was in Halsted property that the elder +Trench had made his first money—a part of the quarter +million which now fell to his son.</p> + +<p>In unobserved ways Trench proceeded to return the +income of that inheritance to the Halsted region. In +so doing he was aware of no motive. He was neither +bestowing charity nor returning property. When he +put antitoxin where it could be had within five minutes +by any physician in certain wards, his one concern was +to keep the fact out of the newspapers.</p> + +<p>Trench had chosen pediatrics deliberately, because +children would let him alone. I do not know whether +his brooding should be called abnormal or not. But it +was as uncommon as the death of parents is common. +And it is uncommon that any man, year after year, +should keep a rose burning before his mother’s picture +in his bedroom.</p> + +<p>As for marriage, the thought of it had dropped from +him automatically. He was straight and alert and +masculine, but the faces of dead mothers and dead children +filled his brain. He was nine and twenty, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[4]</span>scornfully clean. Immigrants poured into Halsted +Street and bred there, and Trench worked hard to save +the creatures bred. But he felt no desire to continue +his own line. He saw too many children dying—as +in the streets of a pillaged town.</p> + +<p>Dusk gathered as he strode along, and a cricket +chirped. He recollected that the female cricket eats a +part of her mate after pairing. The phenomenon had +its parallels in human life, but he must regard it impersonally.</p> + +<p>The wood road dipped downward, and by the edge +he noted a gleam of colour. He knew it for an orchid, +a specimen of the showy ladyslipper. He cut the long +stalk of springing leaves and looked at the great blossom. +It seemed a bit of afterglow caught in the woodland. +Yet how firmly it swung out, cunningly backed +by four white wings, like bridal ribbons flaring. Some +woman must have made the exquisite thing.</p> + +<p>On second thought it was not exquisite. It was a +mechanism of six parts. He saw the upper stamen—tongue-like, +but not a tongue. He saw the pollen +masses, and remembered how the first bee would +lighten them and make them change position, so as to +admit the second bee to the stigma. It was all automatic, +and should remind him of nothing purposive. +Yet inexorably it reminded him of Chicago. The first +bee was like the envoy of the vice trust, the second was +the ordinary libertine.</p> + +<p>Against such natural forces he felt himself to be +powerless. A vice commission had recently laid bare +the facts, long known to Trench, but he had no faith +that any good would come of it. He must learn to +think of men and women as bees and orchids. He +must not blame them. He must think vileness a matter +of instinct, and instinct a matter of chemistry.</p> + +<p>It was at this point, when his efforts to be impersonal +seemed to be succeeding, that he was intruded +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[5]</span>upon by persons. He heard a voice above him on the +slope, and knew it for that of little Mildred, the daughter +of his washerwoman. “If I was dead, Miss Edith, +now if I was dead and going to heaven, I’d want some +of them put on me to make me pretty.”</p> + +<p>He did not catch what the other voice said in reply, +but presently the cedars parted, and the two persons +came into the path above him, with their hands full of +such flowers as he had just tossed away. Mildred ran +to meet him, while the lady stood there in the path. +He reached out his hand to Mildred, but kept looking +at the figure above him.</p> + +<p>Fine balance, he thought to himself. It had required +a great many vain repetitions of the human biped +to produce a girl who could stand like that. She would +make a good mother, and at forty she would be almost +as slender as she was now.</p> + +<p>Little Mildred marched him up the slope and introduced +him in her own fashion to Miss Bridgman, who +lived in Chicago the same as the doctor, and why didn’t +he know her already?</p> + +<p>“The blossoms are just opening,” said Edith Bridgman, +“and it really seemed a pity to take so many.”</p> + +<p>“They are exquisite mechanisms,” said Trench, +forgetting that he had decided against the adjective. +Then he added, “It would be hard to name a finer +orchid.”</p> + +<p>She did not answer at once, but stood looking at him. +Then she slowly said, “They declare the glory of God +in the wilderness.”</p> + +<p>There was not much talking on the homeward way. +At the trill of a notably insistent cricket, Edith Bridgman +remarked that she had always wanted a cricket on +the hearth. Trench said “Well,” and seemed about +to discuss crickets, but ended by merely remarking that +he wondered what was the key of the cricket’s song.</p> + +<p>They came out at the brow of the steep hill and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[6]</span>stood looking down on the Straits of St. Mary, where +a can buoy was fading and brightening, like the superficial +daily routine of consciousness, on the surface of +the deep swift stream. It was pretty dark now, and +Trench saw to it that a neighbouring farmer took little +Mildred home.</p> + +<p>Then he himself took the lady home to the Jackson +cottage, where he met her sister, Helena Drummond, +and presented her with half his catch. Helena was the +Wife of John the banker. Trench knew the firm of +Drummond and Vevers well enough by hearsay. He +knew that both the founders were Scotch, that it was +now in the hands of the second generation, and that +John lived in a comfortable West Side house built by +his father. With Helena was her only child, Robert +Ogden, a boy of eight. He learned later that an older +brother of Robert had died.</p> + +<p>As Trench was leaving, to cross to the American +side, Edith Bridgman offered him a share of the flowers, +and he took a few for Mrs. Jamison, the old lady +who had mothered him during his vacations. Mrs. +Jamison was honoured by every white man and Indian +for fifty miles around, for in her veins ran noble blood +of both races. She had taught Trench to call her +Nokomis, the Ojibway word for grandmother. In +turn she called him medicine man, Mushkekeewinini.</p> + +<p>“Ah, you bring me the mokesin,” she exclaimed, +catching the flowers to her breast. “But you must +take back two and keep them—for the feet of your +first child.” To humour her, Trench put the two in +fresh water every day thereafter, till the blossoms paled. +They did not wither, but remained toughly delicate +in texture.</p> + +<p>He had met Edith Bridgman the second evening +after his own arrival. He always took his vacation +early, to be ready for the stress of summer work, and +there remained only ten days before he must return. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[7]</span>During these he made himself agreeable. Bobbie took +to him at once, and together they visited Indian camps.</p> + +<p>He rowed the Chicago women across the river +and introduced them to Mrs. Jamison and Moira +and Shane, and thereafter Edith and Helena went over +almost daily. Helena was an ardent suffragist, and +the old lady discussed the subject with an insight which +astonished her. Helena did not know that in her girlhood +Nokomis had stepped in and out of great London +houses with as little self-consciousness as if she were in +the wigamigs of her famous grandfather. “You are +tired of being squaws, I suppose. It is a hateful word, +and does not exist in the Ojibway language. With us +a woman is equay—just a woman. But with us, too, +women have sat in the councils. My dear, I shall call +you council-woman, ‘Gegidoquay.’ And this girl who +brings me sunlight every day I will call ‘Gizhegoquay,’ +woman of the morning.”</p> + +<p>On Sunday of that week, Potter, an unsuccessful +little man who lived in an unwholesome little bay, +came to report that Mildred was sick, and wanted to +see the doctor and Miss Edith. They ran down in the +Jackson launch, an old-fashioned naphtha affair, and +Trench found the child suffering from injudicious +feeding. Mrs. Potter, a tawny, fiercely maternal young +woman, marvelled at the gentleness and swiftness with +which the doctor made his examination, and the way +the child clung to him. Mildred was the one thing in +Mrs. Potter’s life. The cabin was poverty stricken.</p> + +<p>On the way back Edith was full of questions about +pediatrics, and managed to learn something of Trench’s +surgical work, and the fact that a certain finger-tip was +more useful to him than both eyes.</p> + +<p>As they passed the point it blew a gale, and suddenly +half the launch seemed to leap into flame. +Something had happened to those open rows of naphtha +jets. The cutoff was aft, and before Trench could +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[8]</span>move, Edith had thrust her left hand and arm into the +flame. She groped for the valve that supplied the +fuel, and found it and closed it. She had saved +Trench’s surgical finger, and scarred herself for life.</p> + +<p>When he had extinguished the remaining fire, +Trench turned to the victim, and she held up her burnt +hand. Instantly there rushed upon him a passionate +desire to press it to his lips, and he was surprised at +the degree of self-control he had suddenly to exert.</p> + +<p>But the impulse passed, and he stripped off his flannel +coat-shirt and ripped it into bandages. The girl rocked +back and forth to ease the anguish, but she joked as if it +were all a merry game. She should never want to wear +a short-sleeved dress again, she said, but she thought +short sleeves becoming to the doctor, who was now poising +above her in the tossing boat like a sea gull. Trench +unscrewed the oil cup from the engine, anointed the +wounds gently, and swathed hand and arm. Never had +he done a quicker or neater job, but he would much +rather have given his own hand for amputation. That +night in a dream he kissed the injured hand, and caught +her to his breast. He coldly charged up the dream to +physiological profit and loss.</p> + +<p>A week later he strapped his suitcase, helped Shane +Jamison carry down his trunk, and went back to make +sure that he had forgotten nothing. The two cypripediums +stood in the old bit of lustre ware that Nokomis +had lent him. He was about to toss them out the +window when another insane impulse mastered him, +and he hid them in his long pocket-book.</p> + +<p>Half an hour later he was standing on the deck of +the little mail steamer. Everybody had come to see +him off. Even Mrs. Jamison had got herself into a +canoe, and there she sat with a paddle in her hand, +pretending that her son needed help.</p> + +<p>“Good-bye, Nokomis,” called Trench softly, as he +leaned over the rail.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span></p> + +<p>“Good-bye, Mushkekeewinini,” she answered tremulously, +like the secret voice of all the woods bidding +a lover farewell.</p> + +<p>He gazed down at the swart and noble old face, and +thought of his little mother, tossing somewhere with +tangle and with shells. Once more he leaned down and +called. “Send for me, dear, if you need me.”</p> + +<p>The boat swung away, and he lifted his hat to all +the good friends on the pier. But what lingered in his +gaze was something that fluttered from a right hand—the +other being still in a sling. Edith’s handkerchief +rippled in the brilliant northern air, an evanescent +patch of light against the eternal shadow of the woods. +So she herself had gleamed across the shadow of his +life. Well, he had not made the mistake of offering her +that shadow to live in.</p> + +<p>But even as he reasoned, he wished that she were +there beside him on the deck, that he might throw +about her an arm which would neither press her nor +release her till he had kissed all that refinement of +feature. He walked forward and stood in the bow. +The fresh breeze smote him in the face like a restorative, +and he vowed that he would never set foot in +Drummond’s house, where she lived, an orphan like +himself.</p> + +<p>He thought to end it so. But Trench was the slave +of memory, the memory to which many a child owed +its life. During that winter he never saw her, and yet +the thing was happening to him. The infection was +in every vein. His unwilling blood was perfumed with +her. The dream he had suffered at Encampment began +to recur. Once more the launch would spring aflame, +and once more she would hold up her burnt hand, like +a child, to be kissed. He would catch her to his breast—when +instantly the boat would disappear and they +would drift side by side on a black ocean—where +steamers called to each other wistfully. She seemed +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span>a patch of phosphorescence, and he another, impotent +phosphorescence of reason on an ocean of instinct.</p> + +<p>The parting request which he had made to Mrs. +Jamison was earnestly meant and seriously taken. In +the dead of winter he was not surprised to receive a +wire from Miss Moira: “Mother has pneumonia. +We must not be selfish, but she wants you to know.” +Trench had a cold, but he caught the first train to +Sault Ste. Marie, was met next day by Shane Jamison +with a sleigh, and sped twenty miles down the frozen +straits under a lowering sky. Late in the afternoon, +far ahead of them, something crossed the ice like a +sinister thought. “Timber wolf,” said Shane.</p> + +<p>He frowned as his gaze followed it. “Last night,” +he said, “I heard a knocking at the back door, and +opened, and there was no one there. That is what I +heard the night before my father died. It was his +call.”</p> + +<p>After warming his hands, Trench went up to the +patient’s room, and found the windows admitting +plenty of fresh air. Mrs. Jamison was propped on +pillows, breathing rapidly, and coughing a little. The +massive, prophetic old face lighted up.</p> + +<p>“I knew you would come, and the tribes in Chicago +must spare you, because I have something to say to +you for their good.”</p> + +<p>Trench kissed her, regardless of the risk, and made +his examination. The red count and white count were +satisfactory, and there was some temperature, a fact at +which he was rather pleased than otherwise. The +heart was not so good.</p> + +<p>“Have you any hopes that I am going to get well? +I know that what you say will be the truth.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Nokomis. Good hopes.”</p> + +<p>“I would like to live another year,” she said, “for +two reasons. I want to eat huckleberries again. I +want to eat meenin and milk, but mostly I want to see +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[11]</span>you married. You brought your Gizhegoquay to see +me.”</p> + +<p>“Not mine, Nokomis,—and I am afraid that talking +will tire you.”</p> + +<p>“I have eyes, my son, and I looked into yours. I +still have eyes, and down the years there are children +waiting for the right parents.”</p> + +<p>Trench was silent.</p> + +<p>“Ah,” she said, “I feel better, now that I have told +you. I feel well enough to die. I am a foolish old +Indian, who needs to die and learn something. I want +to know why Gizhe Manido had to let his son die on +the cross. I want to know why it was necessary to +kill so many children when my grandfather drove the +Sioux out of this country. In my heart there is a +birch bark scroll with many questions to ask in heaven. +I’ll find my husband, and my two little boys, and we’ll +go to get our answers. There’ll be some sort of place +where He will answer—not one by one, for there are +millions in the class, all hearts together. There are +millions in the class, but only One to answer. He’ll +stand there in a seamless robe with light and a smile.”</p> + +<p>Trench seemed to choke as he listened. Strange world +of the imagination—illusions exhaled by the human +brain so soon to be resolved into silence and the winds—why +should it exist at all? And why should it tear +so at his heart strings? He could not say, but he must +try to think these matters out, in physiological terms.</p> + +<p>He rose now, and insisted that she must sleep. He +administered the heart stimulant, sent Miss Moira to +bed, and settled Shane on the couch downstairs in the +living room.</p> + +<p>The birch snapped in the fireplace, and he remembered +the Ojibway tradition that when the hearth burns +bright, the spirits of the children who have died are +laughing there. But the wind howled outside, and a +snowstorm was in progress. It must have been eleven +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span>o’clock when there came a knocking. He heard Shane +spring to his feet and go to open the door, for Shane +had no fear of ghosts, although he heartily believed in +them.</p> + +<p>Nokomis was resting quietly, and Trench slipped +downstairs. He saw the muffled form of little Potter, +standing in snowshoes. Under his arm he carried a +second pair, and in his hand a lantern.</p> + +<p>Mildred was very sick. She had been taken down +a week ago with a chill, followed by a fever. She +coughed all the time. Potter had heard that the doctor +had been sent for, and he knew he had no right to +take him away from Mrs. Jamison, but last night Mildred +was out of her head, and to-night she couldn’t +seem to get her breath. It was awful outside, and +probably the doctor had never used snowshoes, but +would he come?</p> + +<p>Of course he would come. But as he thrust his +hypodermic case into his waistcoat pocket, Trench realised +that he was taking chances. It would be necessary +to charge both Shane and Miss Moira with directions +as to what to do in case of a collapse. So Shane +aroused his sister, who was alert on the instant.</p> + +<p>Trench put on a pair of Shane’s boots, to which +Potter bound the snowshoes by deerskin thongs. He +wrapped himself warmly and set out into the night. +The wind seemed to tear his breath from him, even as +pneumonia was tearing hers from Mildred.</p> + +<p>They took to the frozen straits and kept to them. +They hugged the shore, being guided by the roar of +the wind in the trees, for the lantern was of no assistance. +Trench fell repeatedly, and had to be helped to +his feet. But after four miles of this sort of work +they got to the bay and saw the dim light from the +log cabin.</p> + +<p>They struggled in. Instantly Mrs. Potter was down +on her knees, slashing the thongs that bound the doctor’s +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span>feet. But at one glance he saw! Mildred was +going fast.</p> + +<p>“Calm yourself, Mrs. Potter—” and Trench had +her hand in his and his arm about her shoulders. +“Potter, open that window.”</p> + +<p>“It’s nailed down, doctor.”</p> + +<p>“Open it.”</p> + +<p>Potter seized a hammer, drew out two nails, and +shoved the window up. The storm roared in, but it +did not reach Mildred, who was on the other side of a +red-hot stove.</p> + +<p>Trench lifted the child and her wraps, and stood +beside the window. Even as he did so, the final wave +of purple swept upward on the little face. There was +a last heave of the failing jaw, and Trench turned away +from the mother to hide it.</p> + +<p>For the next half-hour, Trench had his hands full. +The mother was as maniac as any woman who was ever +put in a strait-jacket, but he managed at last to get +a shot into her arm. As for Potter, he suddenly +seemed a paralytic.</p> + +<p>Trench put Mildred back in the two chairs which, +lengthened by boards and lashed together by tarred +string, had served for her bed. He closed the sweet +eyes. He propped the jaw in place till the lips smiled, +as if she were thinking of ladyslippers. Then he sat +down beside her, holding a little hand as it grew cold.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Potter, partly relaxed, lay on the bed moaning. +By and by she struggled to a sitting posture, +started to leave the bed, and reeling, sat down on the +edge of it.</p> + +<p>“This is what comes of loving your neighbour as +yourself. If I hadn’t let that old Injun have you, I’d +have my baby now.”</p> + +<p>“No, Mrs. Potter. It was too late some hours +ago.”</p> + +<p>“It wouldn’t have been if Fred had left the word +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span>last night. He went over to the Jamisons’ and +knocked on the door, and then he got scared and +skinned away for fear of doing what he hadn’t no +right to do. I’d let all the Injuns in the world die for +Mildred’s sake.”</p> + +<p>“We can’t tell, Mrs. Potter. We can’t say I could +have saved her.”</p> + +<p>“Then what made you open the window?”</p> + +<p>“Fresh cold air is the best remedy for pneumonia. +I ought to have told you that last summer.”</p> + +<p>“They wan’t no call to tell me then. I’m a poor +ignorant fool of a woman, what didn’t deserve to have +no child. There don’t nobody deserve to have children. +Just you remember that.” She blindly struck the +edge of the bed, time and again, with clenched fingers.</p> + +<p>“I shall remember it,” said Trench, and Potter +looked up and shivered. Trench relinquished the little +hand, laying it across the breast. He turned his chair, +and spoke again.</p> + +<p>“You’ve had her, Mrs. Potter. Nothing can take +that from you.”</p> + +<p>The woman wailed, but checked herself. “It’s true. +My life wasn’t nothing till she come. But God knew +that. He knew that! No, he didn’t know it—for +there ain’t no God.” She stared at the black window +as if a fearful annunciation had been made to her from +out the night.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Jamison would make you feel differently. +You have been generous to her. She would say that +God will not forget that, and will give Mildred back +to you.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t see what Mrs. Jamison has to do with us. +Here’s me and you and Fred, and there lies Mildred. +You tell me there’s a God, if you dare! You tell me +I’m going to hold that baby in my arms again, and +maybe I’ll believe it.”</p> + +<p>Trench was silent.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span></p> + +<p>“Shut the window, Fred. I’m cold, and the doctor +is coughing.”</p> + +<p>“You’ve got to trust something, Mrs. Potter.”</p> + +<p>“I can’t trust things no more. Look at that white +thing.”</p> + +<p>“If I were you, I would trust in God.”</p> + +<p>“You ain’t me. You don’t trust Him, and I don’t +trust you. But you are a good man to come here this +awful night. I guess I can stand it without comfort. +I got to stand it. You and Fred sit over there awhile. +Talk to him if you can. He don’t know whether he’s +foot or horseback.”</p> + +<p>Trench moved over by Potter, but they could not +talk. Mrs. Potter went about her work calmly. She +knew what to do. She had helped lay out folks before.</p> + +<p>It was only when she brought out a little white dress +that she broke down again. “My God, my God! I +was hoping she’d be baptised in this. I made it out +of a dress that girl of yours gave me. May she never +see her baby lying like that.”</p> + +<p>Even at that moment Trench had a temperature, but +the blood retreated from his face. She came nearer +and looked at him.</p> + +<p>“So that’s where it hurts,” she said.</p> + +<p>Then she turned to her husband.—“I tell you one +thing. I ain’t going to have another child. And I +ain’t never going to church again.” She threw herself +on the bed, weeping with hard raucous intakes of +breath.</p> + +<p>Trench tried to brush the whole scene out of his +mind. He had another patient, and he must get back +to her. But how? Potter was obviously incapable of +making the trip again, and if a man fell with snowshoes +on, he would need help.</p> + +<p>At last Mrs. Potter recovered herself and finished +her work in silence. The two men sat on into the +grey dawn, and the woman lay down and slept.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span></p> + +<p>Then came a shout, and Trench stepped to the window. +He saw Shane Jamison standing on snowshoes +in the edge of the reeds. Trench went out to him bareheaded.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Jamison had had a sinking spell, and if the +doctor could come, he was wanted. Trench returned +for his things, silently shook hands with Potter, promised +to be back when they buried the child, and departed.</p> + +<p>One disaster was destined to follow another. When +Trench reached Mrs. Jamison’s side, she was dead. +Miss Moira sat by the bed, tearless, her proud face set +to endure the inevitable.</p> + +<p>In two snowbound woodsheds, two men fashioned +coffins, the one for his aged mother, the other for his +little daughter.</p> + +<p>A few neighbours were able to make their way to +the Jamison home when the mistress of it was laid to +rest. The wind sorrowed in the pines, as it sorrowed +a million years ago, before the days of sorrow. Miss +Moira stood bareheaded, straight and tall, and read the +service without faltering. Trench was one of the bearers, +and he too stood uncovered in the frosty air and +afterwards helped Shane fill the grave.</p> + +<p>On the following day he stood with Potter and Mrs. +Potter beside the grave in the pasture. Mrs. Potter +was burying her child without bell or book. The tiny +scratch which had been made in the surface of the +earth seemed like a chasm, august and forbidding. +When the two men had let the coffin down, and both +stood trembling in the cold, neither daring to throw the +first shovelful, Mrs. Potter turned to Trench, and beneath +her tawny hair her face was white as the one +now hidden.</p> + +<p>“Can’t you say nothing?”</p> + +<p>Trench could no more have spoken than he could +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span>have raised the child from the dead. He fell to coughing +painfully. But with numb fingers he took something +from his pocket-book, and knelt, and dropped his +two dead flowers on Mildred’s breast.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Potter bent and put a hand beneath his shoulder, +and he seemed to need that help as he rose. “I +understand,” she said. “You are giving her all you +got, and giving up all you got.”</p> + +<p>And then Trench went back to the desolate Jamison +house and had pneumonia. It was a swift and bitter +business. Getting a doctor was out of the question, +but Moira and Shane stood by as best they knew how. +What they found hardest to endure was his delirium, +when he kept calling on names they had never heard +before.</p> + +<p>“Jaffer, Jaffer, can’t you see it? Is there nobody +about me? Tell Becker to come, before it gets to the +door.”</p> + +<p>“I’m here,” said Shane. “What do you want me +to do?”</p> + +<p>“Stop that white hearse! Stop it! It’s there! +By God, it’s there.”</p> + +<p>There was a week of this sort of thing, and then +Trench knew where he was. He was up north, and +Nokomis was dead, and Mildred was dead, and soon +there would be silence for him too.</p> + +<p>But he did not die. He got well in about the usual +time and returned to Chicago. Only—his mind had +taken on a permanent set.</p> + +<p>To describe him as he was in 1912 or 1913 is not +easy. He had no philosophy—to have one would +have seemed to him like stopping to dramatise one’s +self. He was busier than ever, and self-effacing. To +call him a materialist or a pessimist would only raise +a dust through which the core of his activity would be +invisible. But he dealt as little as possible with “persons.” +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span>To him babies were now water of Lake Michigan, +thickened with colloids, enclosed for a while in +membranes, and returned to the lake.</p> + +<p>Meantime nearly two billion other human beings +were pursuing their hopes and fears. On June 28, +1912, the English women who wanted votes began to +smash windows at London, while Lord Morley was +carefully explaining the theory of democracy at Manchester. +On the same day the Democrats were taking +their first ballot—preferring Mr. Clark to Mr. Wilson. +On the same day certain Turkish troops mutinied, +a fact which pleased the Balkan states, who were +about to enter upon war with Turkey. On June 28, +1913, Bulgaria, not content with the Turkish territory +allotted her, began war on Servia. The Triple Alliance +was due to lapse on that date, but the Turkish +defeat led to its renewal.</p> + +<p>On June 28, 1914,—but we anticipate. All the +rest that we have to record comes before or on that +date.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="I">I</h2> + +</div> + +<p>The names which Trench had uttered in his delirium +were those of medical students who lived in his house. +The first floor of it was occupied by a drug-store, and +the second by his own quarters, but the third he had +divided into six little suites, of two rooms each. He +had intended them for Halsted Street boys, but he +found that foreign students had trouble in getting +rooms, and he threw open his doors to them.</p> + +<p>Of the five students who were living in his house in +1913, two cooked for him, and served as office attendants. +These were Chatterjee of Calcutta and Wu of +Hong Kong.</p> + +<p>It was late in August when Trench’s cool impersonal +way of regarding things was suddenly put to a severe +test.</p> + +<p>Chatterjee had just gone on office duty. The first +man gave his name as Ischl. Chat reported the name +to the doctor, who had on his desk a delicate piece of +apparatus, which he was repairing.</p> + +<p>“Ask him if he owns a clothing factory.”</p> + +<p>Chat vanished and returned. “He says yes.”</p> + +<p>“Then I say no. Show him out.”</p> + +<p>Presently Chat admitted Arschiak, an Armenian +painter, whose wife had been killed in the massacres +of 1909, but who had escaped to America with his infant +son. Trench had seen the child through an attack +of infantile paralysis and saved him from being a +cripple. Arschiak now unwrapped a package and set a +little canvas on the desk, against the piece of apparatus. +It was a sketch of the point below Encampment, as he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span>had guessed it from a photograph he had seen in +Trench’s library. It was painted in open sunlight, and +was really a remarkable little tour de force.</p> + +<p>“For me? Why, man, this is worth twice my services!”</p> + +<p>“One artist to another, monsieur, with love and +homage. You have a Della Robbia above your desk. +Pray have the poor Arschiak on it—about here.”</p> + +<p>After Arschiak had gone, Trench gazed at the little +treasure and remembered that day in the launch. How +incredibly clear and bright it had been. The mountain +on St. Joe had seemed as near as a reformer’s +ideal. It was the height of rudeness never to have +called on the girl who had given her beauty to save his +hand.</p> + +<p>Here Chat entered and closed the door behind him. +“The other man has not gone, doctor.”</p> + +<p>“Let him in, Chat.”</p> + +<p>Ischl entered, burly-boned and dewlapped, and +started to seat his great frame.</p> + +<p>“Stand up,” said Trench sharply, as he went on adjusting +a tiny screw. “So you are Ischl. Isn’t it possible +to insult you?”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“You know what I mean.”</p> + +<p>“I’m damned if I do.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I mean that you’re a bloodsucker and a dirty +dog.” Here Trench set his apparatus carefully aside +and stood up. “Now I’ve told you what I think of +you, and you needn’t spare the furniture.”</p> + +<p>“I come here to get help for a little girl. I ain’t +come here to fight.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you can go away again, and go quick. I’ve +done enough for you. I’ve patched up a scabby little +son of yours that you never saw. Get out!”</p> + +<p>Ischl stood irresolute. Then he sat down. “I +think probably you can knock me out,” he said, “but +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span>I’m too heavy to throw out, and I’ll kill that brown +man if you call him.”</p> + +<p>Trench took up the telephone and asked the nearest +police station for an officer. Then he lifted the apparatus +again, and finished adjusting the tiny screw.</p> + +<p>Ischl did not take the hint.</p> + +<p>“It ain’t my fault if my women go wrong.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t say it is.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose you think I should worry about them.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t say so.”</p> + +<p>“Then what in hell—I suppose you mean it ain’t +your fault if my Elsie is sick.”</p> + +<p>“Quite so.” Trench released a cylinder that began +to turn silently.</p> + +<p>“I ain’t sparin’ no expense,” continued Ischl doggedly. +“I’ve got the best man I know. His name is +Ernst, and he ain’t so young as he was.”</p> + +<p>“If Ernst can’t cure your child, nobody can.”</p> + +<p>“Ernst sent me to you. I’ve got a letter for you.”</p> + +<p>“Take the letter back and tell him that he adds insult +to injury. He introduced me to the world, and +now he introduces me to you. You’re rotten to the +core.”</p> + +<p>Ischl clenched his fists, but suddenly relaxed them. +“I may as well own the corn. Elsie got her trouble +from me.”</p> + +<p>At this point the telephone on the desk rang, and +the doctor lifted the receiver—“Yes,” he said.</p> + +<p>Ischl heard a light crackle, as of a woman’s voice, to +which the doctor presently responded. “Yes. I was +thinking only a few minutes ago that it was inexcusable.”</p> + +<p>Again the faint crackle. “The little boy? I am +very sorry to hear it. I shall be glad to consult with +Rowland. Ask him if eleven o’clock will do.”</p> + +<p>“My God!” broke in Ischl with a roar, “you can’t +be there.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span></p> + +<p>Again the faint crackle, and this time the doctor +turned to Ischl.</p> + +<p>“Is this case surgical?”</p> + +<p>Ischl held out the note, and Trench read it, and it +was profane. Ernst had not been called soon enough. +Had he seen the case earlier, it would have yielded to +treatment. As matters stood, the child was likely to +lose an arm.</p> + +<p>Trench turned again to the transmitter. “Yes, it is +surgical, and I will attend to it. I’m glad Girling is +the next man on the list. Good-bye.”</p> + +<p>Trench glanced once more at the note. “Mr. Ischl, +I wouldn’t lift a finger to save your life. But a lady +heard you and pleaded for you. Do you still want +me to see your daughter?”</p> + +<p>Ischl gulped hard, drew out a checkbook, and wrote +a check for a thousand dollars. Trench took it and +tore it up.</p> + +<p>Ischl protested fiercely. “I’m going to pay you.”</p> + +<p>“You haven’t money enough, Mr. Ischl.” Trench +touched a button. Chat instantly appeared, and was +told to send the officer back.</p> + +<p>“Look here, Doc,” said Ischl, “I know there’s girls +named Elsie in my shop. You visit my shop. If +there’s anything you want done, say so. I’ll do it, if +it puts me out of business.”</p> + +<p>Trench turned upon him—at the sheer poetry of +the man’s first sentence.</p> + +<p>“You are speaking before a witness. Mr. Chatterjee +will not forget your words.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. What’s-’is-name can damn well remember +them, then.”</p> + +<p>“Very good, Mr. Ischl. I will visit your shop to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>In the best room at the Children’s Hospital, Elsie +was lying with her right arm and hand immobilised. +She was not pretty, for her forehead was square and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span>her face flat. She was weak and restless. Part of +the night she had been in a stupor.</p> + +<p>The nurse was mildly busy about the room. Beside +the bed sat the white-haired Ernst, famous in his generation.</p> + +<p>“Elsie, my boy has come to see you. This is Dr. +Trench.”</p> + +<p>“Is he really your boy?” The voice was very little +and very hoarse.</p> + +<p>“No, but then you aren’t Isabel’s mother.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I am. Give me Isabel.”</p> + +<p>Trench lifted the doll and put it close to Elsie’s +heart. Then he pushed the doll gently aside and bent +down to listen. Elsie put up her good hand and +fingered his hair. It was not very soft, and it twisted a +little at the top of his forehead.</p> + +<p>“Can you make me well again, doctor’s boy?”</p> + +<p>“Of course. You do ask such funny questions in +the morning.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I wish it was evening. I want to go to sleep.”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t my little girl sleep well last night?”—It +was no voice Ischl had heard. It reminded him of a +woman dead these three years—dead of a broken +heart.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know. I guess I don’t wish it was night.”</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you take a nap, sweetheart?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t take a nap. Oh, I wish I could take a nap. +If you would take me up in your arms, maybe I could +go to sleep.”</p> + +<p>“I will,” he said, and knelt beside the bed, and +seemed to gather her in his arms. In five minutes she +was asleep. In ten she had sunk into the stupor again, +and later, in that condition, took the anæsthetic without +knowing it.</p> + +<p>Ischl went into the corridor. He walked up and +down, that big assemblance of a man, tears streaming +from his eyes. He saw Trench come out, saw him give +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span>some directions to an interne, saw him disappear into +the robing room. Then, like many another father, he +went into a waiting room—and waited.</p> + +<p>An hour had passed when he saw something white +wheeled through the corridor. He was quite sure that +Elsie was dead, and put his head down heavily in his +hands. Hardly had he done so when he felt a kind +touch on his arm, and Trench was saying,</p> + +<p>“Here, here, this won’t do. She’s going to be all +right now for years, and maybe always.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="II">II</h2> + +</div> + +<p>It was only half-past twelve when Trench got back +to his office, and Wu, who was now on duty, reported +that Dr. Rowland wished Dr. Trench to call him up, at +Mr. Drummond’s. Trench complied. Mrs. Drummond +had brought Bobbie down from Encampment, +sick. It had taken Rowland some time to see the +case as diphtheria. He had given ten thousand units, +but the child was growing rapidly worse. Rowland +would feel better if the case were transferred to Trench. +He had said as much to Mr. and Mrs. Drummond, and +they had consented.</p> + +<p>Trench guessed that what was really weighing on +Rowland was his loss of the older child. Otherwise he +would merely have repeated his request for a consultation. +Trench promised to come at once.</p> + +<p>Shortly after one he was admitted to the Drummond +house. Drummond came forward, his face tense +with anxiety. Helena Drummond was in the third +story, with the boy and the nurse and Dr. Rowland. +Presently in came Edith Bridgman. As Trench took +her hand the impulse again rose within him. Strange—almost +sinister—at such a moment!</p> + +<p>He went up to the third story, donned his gown, and +entered the sick room. Helena greeted him. “This is +terribly different from Encampment.”</p> + +<p>Trench smiled. “He is stored full with summer. +Don’t worry!”</p> + +<p>He went to where Rowland sat by the bed. Bobbie +noticed him, in spite of feeling so light in the head, and +reached out a hand. It seemed to take all his time and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span>attention to draw his breath. Trench guessed that +within an hour Bobbie would find it pretty hard to do +even that much.</p> + +<p>Dr. Rowland told all that he knew of the boy’s clinical +history, and then took his leave with the manners of +the old school. As he went downstairs he felt very +much chagrined, but he was a Christian gentleman, and +knew that he was doing the right thing.</p> + +<p>“Well, Bob,” said Trench, “I haven’t forgotten that +you are going to be a scout. Does your breath come +pretty hard, scout?”</p> + +<p>Bobbie grinned and nodded.</p> + +<p>“It will come harder yet, so that your mother will +be scared. You know what women are like. Think +you can stand it?”</p> + +<p>Bobbie shut his teeth—for one second—and +nodded.</p> + +<p>“If you say so, I’ll slip a little tube in there, and +you’ll breathe easier.”</p> + +<p>“Ready,” whispered Bobbie stridently, and it made +his head whirl.</p> + +<p>“Put a sheet around him, Miss Neale, good and +tight, so that he won’t biff me. Saw a papoose in the +hospital the other day, Bob. It couldn’t sleep, and +they couldn’t make it sleep. I remembered the one you +and I saw in the woods—the one that was set up against +a tree. I said to myself, if Bob Drummond were here, +he’d tell the nurse to set the kid up against a tree. So +I did. And she put a small board to his back—one of +those boards that they iron coatsleeves on, and strapped +the kid to it—that’s good, Miss Neale—and held +him upright, as Miss Neale is holding you, and he went +to sleep like a coon in the top of a gumtree. Here’s the +tube—which we fasten like this on the end—like a +trout on the end of a fork—while Miss Neale holds the +scout’s mouth open—from the side—very nicely—with +a bridle on the end of a pair of—steady, scout!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span></p> + +<p>Bobbie was struggling for breath. He was a bear +with dogs at his throat. Everything was growing +black, like night in the woods.</p> + +<p>There was a swift finger-tip in his throat—the +poising of something exactly beside it, a gentle pressure, +and still the finger-tip while the other hand withdrew. +Then Bobbie felt himself coming up out of dark, deep +water, because the bear—or maybe it was one of the +dogs had jumped down his throat—like Hiawatha +down the sturgeon—and let the air in.</p> + +<p>“Good scout! Shall have a decoration when the +war is over. Hear the breeze whistling up the river. +Cough all you please, but I don’t think you’ll cough up +that one.”</p> + +<p>When Bobbie’s arms were free again, Mrs. Drummond +followed Miss Neale into the next room.</p> + +<p>“Did it have to be done?”</p> + +<p>Miss Neale looked at her sharply. “Couldn’t you +see? No, of course not, for I didn’t myself. How +did he know that there was going to be that sudden +plugging? He deserves his reputation.”</p> + +<p>“And it was—a good job?”</p> + +<p>“Exquisite. Not a second lost. And gentle—why, +I’ve seen lacerations that would make you sick.”</p> + +<p>Helena returned to the sick room. Bobbie was still +coughing, but the doctor was smiling at him, and the +boy was smiling back. His head did not whirl, and +the scoutmaster was standing with him, shoulder to +shoulder.</p> + +<p>Trench gave more antitoxin that evening. Bobbie +drank his milk according to orders. Bobbie beckoned +to his mother, to indicate that he would like to kiss her +good night. Trench shook his head. Then Bobbie +reached out and pulled on the doctor’s gown. Trench +bent down, and Bobbie kissed him full on the lips. +Then the sufferer dozed a while, though real sleep +would not come.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span></p> + +<p>Grey morning, and Bobbie got to coughing again, and +up came the tube.</p> + +<p>“What’s this, what’s this? Scout carrying concealed +weapons? Let me see where it came from?—Ah, +sky’s clearing up. Pink morning at Encampment. +Good day to go fishing.”</p> + +<p>“They bite best when it’s cloudy,” said Bobbie, in a +drowsy but unobstructed voice.</p> + +<p>“So they do, so they do,” murmured the doctor. +But Bobbie was asleep.</p> + +<p>Miss Neale knew that they were by no means out of +the woods yet. The next night or two would bring their +own problems, and she was glad now to be relieved by +a second nurse. But before she slept, she expressed to +Mrs. Drummond her feeling that the worst was over.</p> + +<p>Helena telephoned the whole story to her husband. +“Try—try to express your feelings to him.”</p> + +<p>Feelings? When Trench descended, Drummond +seized him by both hands.</p> + +<p>“I’m not a rich man, as rich men go to-day, but you +can have anything I’ve got. I’m going to do something +for you. If you can’t think of anything better, perhaps +I will build you a children’s pavilion for the Lister.”</p> + +<p>“You mustn’t say such things to me, Mr. Drummond. +Nobody ever did before. I might take you +up.”</p> + +<p>Edith Bridgman brought the doctor his breakfast, +which she had prepared with her own hands. He did +not know that the silver was her mother’s wedding silver +and had not been used since her mother died. She said +something about the need of beefsteak after a hard +night—tried to say something else, failed, and left +the room.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="III">III</h2> + +</div> + +<p>Trench was pretty tired that morning, and handed +certain cases over to his oldest student, Becker, and lay +down in his office to rest. He could not sleep, however, +for he kept remembering Drummond’s words. Drummond +had of course spoken in emotional haste, and +would make no further reference to a children’s +pavilion. But how tremendously Lister Hospital +needed such a thing—a genuine place for bedside +teaching for the boys of Lister College. It was no +exaggeration to say that the average doctor graduated +without sense enough to strip a child before examination, +and without knowing how to hold it. Trench’s +own will was made out in favour of Lister, but it directed +all his fortune to be applied toward a research +laboratory. He had no heart to begin the enterprise +himself, or any enterprise. What the devil was the use +of supplying the Ischls with grist?</p> + +<p>At the same time, he had the habit. And if the +Drummond child got well, and Drummond relapsed +into the customary indifference, why, Drummond should +in due time be reminded. He, Isham Trench, who had +not asked a favour of any human being in six years, +would go to the man. He would go at Easter time, +when Drummond would be glad that one son was in +heavenly bliss and more glad that the other wasn’t. He +would go, and Drummond would turn him down to the +tune of the Hallelujah Chorus.</p> + +<p>Speaking of Ischl’s, he had promised to go to that +hell of a shop and criticise it. He might as well give +up this napping business and go. This he proceeded +to do. As he expected, he found Ischl in a sullen rather +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span>than a chastened mood. Trench pointed out numerous +deficiencies—the inspectors had done it before—and +ended by telling him that his wage-scale was a disgrace +to a white man. All of which was useless, competition +being competition, and Ischl’s scale being higher than +that of many shops in Rochester and New York.</p> + +<p>That afternoon he got a nap, and that evening he +returned to the Drummond house.</p> + +<p>The night proved better than he had any right to +expect. By four in the morning he was reasonably certain +that the heart would stand the strain. Nor did he +see any reason to change his mind when at six he studied +the pulse and the face. He washed up and went down.</p> + +<p>Again Edith had breakfast ready for him.</p> + +<p>“A very good night,” said Trench. “Errors and +omissions excepted, Bobbie is going to get well.”</p> + +<p>“I have been praying for you all night. Your news +is just like heaven.”</p> + +<p>Her hand trembled a little as she poured out his +coffee for him. She sat down opposite, but would touch +no food until she had seen him begin to eat.</p> + +<p>“Somehow,” she said, in a low tone, “I am haunted +by the feeling that this dreadful disease may be unreal—a +bad dream that we have conjured up in our fear.”</p> + +<p>“You are tired, my dear lady. May I ask where +that plant came from?” He pointed to the centre of +the table, where a single superb stalk of leaves, freshly +cut, rose from a vase.</p> + +<p>“It came from Encampment. I brought home +twelve, and gave Mrs. Potter a white dress for them. +Do you remember them?”</p> + +<p>“I remember perfectly. You said that they declared +the glory of God in the wilderness.”</p> + +<p>“And you”—Edith laid down her bit of toast and +leaned forward—“said that they were exquisite mechanisms. +Did you see my name in the commencement +list this June?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span></p> + +<p>“I regret to say that I did not.”</p> + +<p>“I took honours in botany.”</p> + +<p>“Glorious! Let me offer tardy congratulations.”</p> + +<p>“You’d better, because it was your doing.”</p> + +<p>“My doing!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir. I determined to know something about +the exquisite mechanisms.”</p> + +<p>“I trust that they still seem exquisite.”</p> + +<p>“They do. Every fact I learned seemed like a +loving response from God.”</p> + +<p>Then they ate in silence, and to Trench it was like +being married. To glance across and see her sipping +her coffee, to receive a second cup himself and note the +horizontal movement of her deft hands—as of advance +and retreat—it was all new to him.</p> + +<p>She finished first and sat regarding him thoughtfully. +“Helena telephoned me that Bobbie insisted on kissing +you last night. It was very wrong for you to let him +do it. You may pay with your life, as Phillips Brooks +did.”</p> + +<p>Trench rose, and was surprised at a sudden tremor of +his whole tired body. “I am immune,” he said. “My +blood has developed its own antitoxin.”</p> + +<p>“If you were twenty years older,” she cried, “I +would kiss you myself for saving our boy.”</p> + +<p>It was nothing much to say, but Trench caught her +hand and raised it almost to his lips before his nerves +stopped the lever of his elbow. He caught himself in +time, and seemed merely to scrutinise the scar. “I +wish we could do something for this place on the finger. +Some day your wedding ring will partly cover it. Tell +him to get a broad one.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="IV">IV</h2> + +</div> + +<p>When he had gone, Edith stood thoughtfully looking +at her hand. How his own had trembled! Then she +went to the telephone and called Helena.</p> + +<p>“Have you had your breakfast, you old dear?”</p> + +<p>“<i>Have</i> I? I’m so happy and so hungry. Has the +doctor gone, and is John up?”</p> + +<p>“John is not up, and the doctor has gone. He is +terribly tired, Helena.”</p> + +<p>“Of course he is. He hasn’t had his clothes off for +two nights. You should have seen him, Edith. He +chummed with Bobbie like a boy, and then when the +little man was asleep he’d sit and watch him like a +marble statue. I had the queerest feeling about it. +He didn’t seem quite human. What fools we women +are. Edith, I think I’m going to cry.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you dare, Helena Drummond! Be cold, be +cold like Dr. Trench, for I want some advice.”</p> + +<p>The telephone seemed to blow its nose violently, and +resumed its calm. “What advice do you want?”</p> + +<p>“Helena, I want to do something. Bobbie is just as +much mine as he is yours. So be a good girl and point +out a dove for my offering, and I’ll go after it, even +if it flies out the window.”</p> + +<p>“It’s dear of you, Edith. I suppose you can send a +check to some of the organisations for children. +There’s the Welfare Association, and the Home for the +Friendless, and St. Joseph’s Home.”</p> + +<p>“I was going to do that, anyhow. Which one shall +I send it to?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know that it makes any difference. When +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span>the husband is a deserter, the children have to be sent to +one of the homes for a while, and there are so many +deserters that both places need money all the while. +Dr. Trench told me last night of a deserted Greek +woman he saw last week. Her husband went home to +fight the Turks, and survived, but didn’t come back to +her. She was trying to keep her family from going to +either home. She has a baby two months old, and she +was starving herself and the baby to get food for the +other two children. His young Mr. Deland got track +of her and took her two quarts of milk one evening after +the children had gone to bed, and she made gruel for +herself with the whole two quarts, and ate till midnight. +I think the doctor tries to handle such cases personally. +He keeps his family of students looking after them, and +doubtless pays the bills himself. But it doesn’t cure +desertion.”</p> + +<p>“No, I suppose not. But I want action. Can’t I +work for the United Charities? It won’t cost them a +cent, and I’ll try not to bungle the job.”</p> + +<p>“You can telephone and find out. I don’t know how +much responsibility they would let you assume.”</p> + +<p>“What would I do?”</p> + +<p>“I suppose it would depend on whether you were in +the office, or out as a visitor. You might ask to specialise +in desertion. But you won’t get any thanks.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want thanks.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps not, dear, but you want to consider. A +friend of the doctor’s was in the Court of Domestic Relations +the other day for the United, asking to have a +professional beggar sent to the Bridewell. A paper +wrote him up as the authorised beggar trying to suppress +competition!”</p> + +<p>“Helena, are you trying to stop me?”</p> + +<p>“You know I am not. I just want you to know +what you’re entering upon.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Helena, I give you warning that I’m about to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span>enter upon something. I’ll send beggars to the Bridewell, +or I’ll bring the deserted here and enlarge the +family circle, unless you object.”</p> + +<p>“Edith—you might consult Dr. Trench.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="V">V</h2> + +</div> + +<p>The next day, as Trench came down into the hall, +Edith was waiting for him.</p> + +<p>“You haven’t seen my plants, Dr. Trench. Can you +spare the time?”</p> + +<p>She led the way to the conservatory, where, in a +shady nook, the cypripediums stood in a bank of +feathery moss, like green-robed girls awaiting bloom +and bridal. On the way back, Edith stopped beside a +wonderful begonia rex. “I learned something interesting +about the epidermis of begonia. In case of +injury, it has a quite exceptional power of restitution. +Some guardian angel seems to weave the pattern again.”</p> + +<p>“That is very interesting.”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it! When you said ‘exquisite mechanisms,’ +of course you didn’t mean <i>only</i> mechanisms.”</p> + +<p>“I’m not a botanist, my dear young graduate.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you are the inspiration of a college girl; so +you’d better answer my question.”</p> + +<p>“What question?”</p> + +<p>“Is it only photochemistry that makes the begonia +restore itself?”</p> + +<p>“I presume so. But who cares?”</p> + +<p>“I care,” she cried. “If it’s only chemistry in a +leaf, you’ll say it’s only chemistry in me.” She glanced +at the scar on her hand.</p> + +<p>Trench smiled gravely. “I shall not say anything +that I’m not compelled to say.”</p> + +<p>“But if life is only chemistry, there is no heaven. +Oh, if Bobbie—” She could not go on.</p> + +<p>“We love Bobbie,” said Trench, and the child’s +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span>father could not have said it more gently. “But love +would always stay the passing moment, and nature will +not have it so. I say ‘nature,’ regretting that it is +necessary to use any word.”</p> + +<p>“Dr. Trench—is it possible that you look forward +to absolute extinction?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Certainly.”</p> + +<p>She pressed the scar as if it burned again.</p> + +<p>“I have thought of you as the person who opened my +eyes to the glory of God’s world. I can’t get used to +the change in a minute. Won’t you sit down—here +on this long wicker affair where Bobbie loves to read +fairy-tales?”</p> + +<p>Trench did not comply. “I’m afraid,” he said, +“that we can’t agree about life, unless we agree that it +consists of vain repetitions.”</p> + +<p>“Surely not vain—oh, surely not. You must have +practiced a hundred times on dead throats, to have saved +Bobbie’s living one.”</p> + +<p>“This is a good place to stop, Miss Bridgman. I’m +glad to leave you cheerful.”</p> + +<p>“Cheerful about what?”</p> + +<p>“About the dead throats of other people’s nephews!”</p> + +<p>She did not flinch. “If I am hard-hearted,” she +said with dignity, “I am willing to be told so.”</p> + +<p>Trench sat down. He knew perfectly well that he +was a fool to do it, but he had long felt that it would +come to this; he was doomed to confess.</p> + +<p>“Very well, Miss Bridgman. Let us continue to +speak of vain repetitions. There are sunrises, for instance. +They are an old story, and I dare say that they +tell you the old, old story of Jesus and his love. But to +me they are impersonal, and I am glad of it.”</p> + +<p>“What bitter words! I fear that I have done you +no good by asking questions. I have—intruded.”</p> + +<p>“You are welcome,” said certain vocal chords huskily, +contracting against their will.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span></p> + +<p>“If I am really to be one of your friends,” she +smiled, “I must learn more. I think I’ll go back to +the University and prove that life is a good deal more +than photochemistry. If you’ll come here in June, I’ll +tell you the result. Come when the first cypripedium +opens. This year it was on the twenty-eighth.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll be here, June 28, 1914.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you. And now I want to ask your advice +about some social service.”</p> + +<p>“Please do not.”</p> + +<p>“But I feel so selfish. I am as useless as a cypripedium.”</p> + +<p>“You are more beautiful than any cypripedium, but +beauty is a sex fancy, like religion. And of course +you are useless. Use is another fancy.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you almost to death, Dr. Trench. And what +about yourself?”</p> + +<p>“I’m an atom. And being an atom I don’t believe +in the reformation of the world by young-lady power.”</p> + +<p>“You sound brutal, my friend, but I can’t forget +Bobbie or our little woodland Mildred. How is she?”</p> + +<p>“She is beyond the fear of brutality.”</p> + +<p>“What—our little one! Oh, was it necessary to +take our little flower-girl? She told me that she wanted +those flowers when she died.”</p> + +<p>“I saw her die, Miss Bridgman. I saw that operation. +Her mother came out of the ether badly.”</p> + +<p>“Ether?”</p> + +<p>“The ether we call religion. It is what deadens +everybody.”</p> + +<p>“Can you speak so, Dr. Trench? Can you ridicule +all this splendid collective effort that is beginning in the +churches?”</p> + +<p>“I do not ridicule a clinical picture. I see no +difference between the parents of illegitimates and the +parents of slaughtered legitimates. One group say they +couldn’t help it, and they couldn’t. The others croon +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span>a song called Precious Jewels, and breed again. For +such people to organise committees of fifteen is not collective +effort, but collective insanity.”</p> + +<p>It staggered her, of course. She was too deeply +shocked to speak.</p> + +<p>Trench softened his voice to a professional tone. +“Gentlemen, the work of saving sick babies is growing +magnificently. The Welfare Association is caring for +three thousand a year, and the death-rate is only thirty +in the thousand. Very low, gentlemen.”</p> + +<p>She smiled a little. “I love to hear you speak that +way.”</p> + +<p>“Of course.”</p> + +<p>“Doctor, you evidently think me securely etherised. +If you think my throat needs an operation before it can +tell the truth, I’m ready.”</p> + +<p>Trench looked at her—young, beautiful, beloved—and +would have turned back. But he heard within him +that echo of anguish—“May she never see her baby +lying like that.” He seemed once more to be in that +lonely cabin on that deadly night. At last he spoke.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Potter told her husband that she would never +bear another child, but she has one already. In speaking +of it to you, I don’t wish to be dogmatic or cocksure, +but I do wish to be impersonal and honest. And +it seems to me that every child born should be considered +a unit in infantry sent out against appalling odds. +By using the lives of infants man has overrun the earth. +He thins out his own numbers for the greater security +of the survivors—and is the only animal who does so. +I don’t call man the most cruel of all the animals, for he +doesn’t know what he is doing; he is born callous, and +the chemical impulses that drive him give off a religious +vapour that deludes him. Still there is the fact—comfort +at the expense of infanticide, whether bloodless +or armed. And the standard of comfort has risen so +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span>high that a great war is probably at hand. The barometer +of the birthrate is falling rapidly, but not because +we pity children. We are more considerate of cows, +grain, and mothers, because we’ve got to have cleverer +sons to exterminate our enemies. What is going on is +the unobserved, scientific extermination of every stupid +enemy. The Welfare Association is merely a group of +opium-eaters, who don’t know that they save weak children +because any one of them may have a brain that will +exterminate thousands. I do not blame them. I am +in the same business.”</p> + +<p>“Horrible!”</p> + +<p>“Exactly. If mothers understood the situation, +there would be no children. But it will take a great +war to make them see the point, and then they’ll forget +it.”</p> + +<p>Edith was silent.</p> + +<p>“Now and then,” continued Trench gravely, “an +animal has emerged who understood it. I conceive +Jesus to have been such an animal.”</p> + +<p>“It hurts.”</p> + +<p>“I thought it would. Shall I stop?”</p> + +<p>“No! This is your confessional!”</p> + +<p>“Jesus saw life as it is, and desired its speedy extinction. +The mechanism of his agony made him +dream of relief. It manufactured an idyllic future +life—a perfectly impossible cycle of nutrition without +reproduction. He declined myrrh and hyssop, but he +offered paradise to the crucified thief, and the uncrucified +thieves have been using that drug ever since.”</p> + +<p>Edith grew pale.</p> + +<p>Trench waited a minute till he saw the blood return +to her face. “Animal indifference still keeps us going, +and women protect themselves. They take this twilight +sleep, this belief in a future life for defeated young. +Women believe in heaven, and that is why they marry.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span></p> + +<p>“Doctor—I’m strangling!”</p> + +<p>“Steady! The blind instinct comes first. With +Christ, heaven was an afterthought of mercy. With +men and women, it is an afterthought of the reproductive +instinct. The operation is over, and you are coming +out of the ether. Steady—don’t struggle.”</p> + +<p>But Edith clutched at her throat.</p> + +<p>“Oh, base and cruel! And this is your unspeakable +philosophy. I don’t believe there is a thinker in the +world who would subscribe to it. I’ll find out. I’ll get +the arguments. Here and now I declare war on you.”</p> + +<p>But suddenly her voice softened. “In spite of all +your dreadful pessimism, you’ve got to advise me. +I’ve sent the Welfare Association a check, but that is +nothing. It is too impersonal. I want my love for +Bobbie to take some better form. I want to be personal—like +you.”</p> + +<p>Trench burst into bitter laughter as he rose. “‘Personal +like me’ is simply stunning. But I can’t advise +you. Personal effort is a gross illusion, as if one child +set out to stop a war. But waste your sweetness where +you will.”</p> + +<p>Edith caught her breath. His scorn had stung her +into a bold thought. “I won’t be laughed at, Dr. +Trench. I’ve stood my operation and live to tell the +tale, but if you laugh at me I’ll make you smart.”</p> + +<p>“You can’t.”</p> + +<p>“Think again, Dr. Trench. You like to be impersonal. +But what about impersonal passion?”</p> + +<p>Trench stopped short in his tracks. “I don’t understand.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you? Don’t you know men who have it? +Did it never occur to you that impersonal could be used +in that sense? There are wretched girls in Chicago +who have been loved impersonally enough.”</p> + +<p>Trench ought to have expected some such retort, and +might have been expected to meet it readily. But such +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span>was not the case. It struck him like an angina, crushing +the breath out of him. It disorganised all his old +adaptations. In this world it makes a difference who +says a thing, and this fact was coming home to Trench +as he stood with parted and paling lips. But he recovered +from that dismay, and the real Trench spoke.</p> + +<p>“I understand you at last. If you can be a personal +friend to any girl who stands within that danger, go to +her.”</p> + +<p>“Where shall I go?”</p> + +<p>Trench thought a moment, his face set like marble. +“Go to Ischl’s clothing factory.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="VI">VI</h2> + +</div> + +<p>When the doctor left the Drummond house that day, +Edith went to her room and thought over the situation. +The mirror showed her that her cheeks were flushed, +and she found herself walking around the room, unnecessarily +putting things to rights.</p> + +<p>What had she done? In the first place, she had listened +with reasonable politeness to some very extraordinary +language. There had been a certain austerity +about it, a surgical cleanness, but it had been merciless. +In all her life nothing had so surprised her. What +else? She had promised to be a personal friend to +some unknown girl. Personal friendship with the poor +was notoriously a chimera, but she had driven Dr. +Trench to a dramatic impasse where he had married +her off to some unknown girl forever.</p> + +<p>Finally, she had engaged to show Dr. Trench that +the chemical theory of life is impossible. At least, she +was going to get the arguments. And to understand +them, she must do laboratory work.</p> + +<p>Before she forgot all the things he had said, she must +make a memorandum. She hunted up a note-book, and +wrote down every sentence she could recall. More than +once she dug the pencil through the paper. She would +understand this man. She would analyse him as if he +were a starfish.</p> + +<p>She told Helena what advice he had given her, but +nothing of the discussion which led up to it. Neither +did she explain just why she was going back to the +university.</p> + +<p>At last quarantine was lifted, and the windows were +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span>opened to blow away the last reek of formalin, and +Bobbie came down. The car was at the door, to take +him out into the air.</p> + +<p>“Aren’t you coming with us?” Helena put her +arm around her sister’s waist.</p> + +<p>“Not I. I’m off—to enlarge the family circle.”</p> + +<p>Helena kissed her. “You blessed Don Quixote. +But you’d better do a little choosing, as I told you. +Take Mrs. Draper’s advice.”</p> + +<p>Edith watched the car whirl away triumphantly. +She closed her eyes and spoke within her soul to the +Presence there: “You are good to us still. Always +good to us.”</p> + +<p>Then she made ready and found her way to little +Mrs. Draper, of the Woman’s Trade Union League. +Mrs. Draper received her with a nervous handshake.</p> + +<p>“Helena Drummond’s sister is very welcome in this +office. It’s well that you didn’t let your brother-in-law +bring you, because he scares me with his handsome big +countenance before I can really remember my rights. +He banks for several of my bitterest enemies.”</p> + +<p>“Do you really have enemies? How can anybody +be your enemy?”</p> + +<p>“You are a nice girl to say that. But no member +of the Illinois Manufacturers’ Association would shed +tears if I caught something in the shops, and were +driven off in a beautiful automobile hearse.”</p> + +<p>Edith’s eyes looked very tender. “We’ve just been +spared something like that at our house. My little +nephew has pulled through a siege of diphtheria, and is +now out for his first ride.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Draper’s mobile face was all sympathy. “I +am so glad for you. Maybe Mr. Drummond won’t feel +so stern toward the factory girls he doesn’t know anything +about. And now what can I do for Helena +Drummond’s sister?”</p> + +<p>“You’ll laugh at me.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span></p> + +<p>“Maybe I shall, but you mustn’t mind.”</p> + +<p>“I want—a friend. I’ve always been to school, +and Helena’s suffrage craze has brought only her own +friends to the house. They’re very nice as folks go—but +they lack flavour.”</p> + +<p>“I can introduce you to flavour,” said Mrs. Draper, +thoughtfully, “if you’re quite sure it’s what you want.”</p> + +<p>Edith pondered. “Of late,” she said, “I hardly +know what I want or what I mean. I want to find out +whether I can be real personal friends with a factory +girl, and it must be a girl whose moral surroundings are +against her.”</p> + +<p>“It’s a curious wish, Miss Bridgman, but it does you +credit. Praise God, the great majority of the girls are +wise in their generation. But there are exceptions +enough. I think of one shop—there’s no worse shop +in Chicago—where no virtuous girl can hope for good +wages.”</p> + +<p>“Will you name it?”</p> + +<p>“Ischl’s. A girl named Clara Narcisco told me last +week that she was going to be a forewoman at Ischl’s, +and I did my best to stop her.”</p> + +<p>“I’d like an Italian friend. We spent a winter in +Florence when I was a little girl.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Draper glanced at her watch, drew a pad of +paper forward on her desk, and scrawled an address. +“Go over at once and ask for her. And may the good +Lord give you tact out of His abundant tactfulness. +Amen.”</p> + +<p>Twenty minutes later, having threaded her way down +side streets, up a flight of stairs and between crowded +power machines, Edith found the object of her search. +Clara Narcisco was sitting in a window and eating a +cream puff. Outside the window, on the platform of a +fire escape, sat another girl. Edith introduced herself, +and Clara brought a chair for her.</p> + +<p>“Are you slumming, Miss Bridgman?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span></p> + +<p>“I am, Signorina, and I wish you to come slumming +in my street. The way I keep my room is a sight.”</p> + +<p>“That is a great big whopper,” said Clara judiciously, +elevating one end of the cream puff so that it +would not trickle. “Anybody whose clothes fit ’em the +way yours do don’t leave no muss about a room.”</p> + +<p>“Do you really like this dress? I made it myself.”</p> + +<p>“It’s too plain,” said Clara, “but it hangs something +elegant. Are you an inspector?”</p> + +<p>“No. I’m a sort of fraud, because I don’t often +make my own dresses.”</p> + +<p>The girl on the fire escape was listening to all this, +and now she leaned forward. “Are you a representative +of the idle rich?”</p> + +<p>“I am.”—As she spoke, she feared she was carrying +the pose too far, but she was vastly mistaken.</p> + +<p>“Miss Bridgman,” said Clara, “this is just as good +as a show at the Venezia. We welcome you to our +palazzo Ischl. Allow me to present my humble +friend, Elsie Shaviro on the new fire escape.”</p> + +<p>Edith was equal to the occasion, and rose and bowed. +“I am highly flattered to meet Miss Shaviro, and I +request the honour of both your presences at my mansion +this evening to dinner.”</p> + +<p>“Brava! brava!” shouted Clara. “You done that +fine, Miss Bridgman.”</p> + +<p>“You are to call me Edith. I want you two girls +for friends, to have and to hold, for better for worse, +for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health. You +two are it, if you’ll have me.”</p> + +<p>“Quit your kiddin’, Miss Bridgman.”</p> + +<p>“Whom are you addressing?”</p> + +<p>“Gee! You dare me to try it on? Well, watch me! +Edith Bridgman, did I hear you invite me to eats this +evening?”</p> + +<p>“You certainly did. I’d rather go to your house, +but you don’t want me.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span></p> + +<p>Clara looked at her long and keenly, and then she +pulled a handkerchief from her belt and pressed it +against her eyes.</p> + +<p>“You’re all right—Edith. But what’s the use? +I can’t go after any pipedream like that. I got a +brother and sister to look after. My mother is dead, +and my dad—God only knows where he is. Maybe +Elsie will go.”</p> + +<p>The girl on the fire escape leaped lightly in, and +Edith saw that she was no ordinary person. Edith +could think only of Nazimova, though Elsie’s face was +untrained to pretence.</p> + +<p>“I am a socialist,” said Elsie.</p> + +<p>“I don’t care,” said Edith.</p> + +<p>“But I do. If I go to your house I am disloyal to +the workers. If you would join the socialist party—that +would be different.” Elsie took off her eyeglasses +to wipe them, a process which revealed the loveliness +of her dark eyes.</p> + +<p>“I should cut a pretty figure joining the socialist +party for love of you,” said Edith. “All I know about +socialism was learned in one quarter of economics, and +it struck me as what Clara calls a pipedream.”</p> + +<p>“Of course it did. But if you would be as poor as +Clara and me you’d be a socialist.”</p> + +<p>“I ain’t so sure of that,” interrupted Clara. “I’m +a good Catholic. It’s only Sheenies like you that get +nutty over socialism. Anyhow, you ought to give the +poor little rich girl a chance. You can’t say, Edith, I’ll +love you if you’ll send a hundred beans to socialist headquarters.”</p> + +<p>“That’s so,” reflected the Yiddish girl. “Could we +be friends for a year, Miss Bridgman, and then quit +if you would not have succumbed to propaganda?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, that’s fair. But you must call me by my first +name, and come to dinner.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll call you Edith, and it’s a pretty name. But +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span>I’m proletariat, and if I will dine in a rich house I will +not feel comfortable. I spend most of my evenings +studying. When you would study with me, perhaps we +could be friends after all.”</p> + +<p>“I’m to be in the University this year. But we +could spend Sundays together.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear, oh, dear,” cried Clara. “I was the first +one she spoke to, and now I ain’t in it a little bit. I +ain’t highbrow enough. I see little Clara going with +Gino and Maria to the nickel show forever and ever.”</p> + +<p>“Do you love the theatre?”</p> + +<p>“Do I love teatro? Santa Chiara, what a question! +There’s girls in this shop that would go wrong to get a +ticket.”</p> + +<p>Edith opened her pocket-book. “You give this dollar +to some nice old woman to get dinner and stay with +Gino and Maria, for you and Elsie and I are going to +see the best play there is in this town to-night. La +prego umilmente.”</p> + +<p>Clara took the dollar bill and put it back into Edith’s +pocket-book. “If Madonina can talk Italian, she is +coming to eat spaghetti al pomidoro with Clara and +Gino and Maria. Altro! The awful Sheeny can +come too, and we three will go to the big show.” She +suddenly leaned down and kissed Edith, and friendship +was sealed.</p> + +<p>Clara’s quite unexpected surrender seemed to impress +Elsie.—“If you are going to Clara’s house, you must +come to mine. My sister is going to be married next +week, and you may as well see what we are like.”</p> + +<p>“I shall be more than happy to come. And isn’t +there something friendly I can do for you? Think +hard, Elsie.”</p> + +<p>“Well, when you would help me with shall and will +and should and would and a few things like that, it +would be very kind. You could call me down every +time I make a break when I talk. And I’m reading +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span>Westermarck, and I could write out the main things +in each chapter, and send them to you, if you would be +so very kind and correct them.”</p> + +<p>“Splendid! Send your papers to me at the address +I’m pencilling on this card. Do you mean the Westermarck +who wrote about the origin of moral ideas?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. That’s the man. I’ve written one chapter +already.”</p> + +<p>“Here, you girls,” cried Clara, “don’t you get agoing +on any more highbrow stuff. The whistle’s going to +blow pretty quick. But tell me who sent you here.”</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Draper told me your name.”</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Draper’s all right, but she’s too swift. She +wants us to organise this shop. You ought to see my +girls upstairs. They’re just over and they can’t speak +a word, and they don’t know enough to go in the house +when it rains.”</p> + +<p>“We did think of organising,” said Elsie, “but +there’s a good reason why we aren’t trying just now.”</p> + +<p>“What reason?”</p> + +<p>“Because Ischl has turned decent already so sudden. +Look at the new fire escape. He was reported +already by the inspector time and again, but he’s got +such a drag that he ain’t got to obey the law. Look at +the new fans—why, we nearly died this summer with +the heat. Look at the carpenters over there. That +place wasn’t fit for a decent girl to go into. There’s +handrails on the stairs and rubber on the steps, and +they’re fixing the exits. And, listen, Edith Bridgman, +last week he actually raised the scale! Ischl is going +to die.”</p> + +<p>Clara tossed her beautiful head. “’Tain’t that, +Elsie. He is cleaning up in my honour.”</p> + +<p>“I wonder,” said Edith apprehensively. Her desire +to help was obscuring her sense of humour.</p> + +<p>“I’m kidding you,” said Clara. “Ischl is scared. +There’s going to be trouble in the shops again this +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span>winter, just like we had three years ago. Things is +awful dull, and the girls are working for nothing.”</p> + +<p>“Never you mind, my dear! I promise right now +to go on picket duty with you and Miss Starr. And if +we get arrested, my sister will bail us out.”</p> + +<p>“You’re all right, Edith. But there’s worse things +than being arrested. Flesh and blood can’t stand what +I stood across the street.”</p> + +<p>“What was that, Clara dear?”</p> + +<p>“Why, I was over there and I was an experienced +girl. I knew how many coats a girl could make. To +make them good with small stitches I could make seven +in ten hours. Well, the boss comes along and he says to +me, ‘I want ten coats a day from you. I want all these +girls should make ten coats a day.’ ‘Basta, basta!’ I +says, and I stuck my fingers in my ears. ‘I don’t mean +no basting,’ he says, ‘I mean whole coats.’ ‘Well,’ I +says, ‘you’re the boss, but no greenhorn can do it. I’m +an experienced girl,’ I says, ‘and I know. They can’t +make five!’ ‘Let ’em take the coats home,’ he says, +‘if they want six dollars a week.’ Then he went off, +and the greenhorns had to take coats home and work +fifteen hours and they couldn’t make seven coats then. +He kept coming round to me. ‘I want somebody to +make them fools work,’ he says. ‘The contractor he +cuts me twenty-five cents on a coat, and I got to live.’ +‘You got to live, have you?’ says I. ‘You’re a rich +man and you talk like that. What about me? Where +do I come in? Ain’t I got to live?’ ‘Oh,’ he says, +‘you’re pretty. You don’t have to work.’ He wasn’t +far off and I slapped his face for fair. ‘Come now, +Clara,’ he says, ‘I didn’t mean nothing. I’m going to +make you forelady so you can learn ’em something.’ +First I didn’t say nothing, I was so mad. But then I +began to think about little Gino and I began to cry. +‘All right,’ I says, ‘I’ll be forelady, but if you ever +speak like that to me again, I’ll kill you, and after this +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span>I’m going to carry something that ain’t ribbons in my +stocking.’ So I was forelady. But then I couldn’t +stand it at all. I was such a fool I didn’t pipe that +all he wanted me was I should wring the girls out like +dishrags. I went to him and I says, ‘I’m going to +quit. I’m going to try it at Ischl’s.’ ‘Ischl’s!’ he +yells. ‘He’ll say things to you I never said.’ ‘Don’t +fret yourself,’ I says. ‘I’ve got that thing in my stocking +yet.’ Would you blame me, Edith?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I come over here and told Ischl I was an experienced +girl and I was a forelady, but I didn’t want +no job to drive niggers. So Ischl took his cigar out of +his mouth and looked at me. ‘My forewomen,’ he says, +‘don’t drive no niggers. I seen some handwritin’ on +the wall. Damn it,’ he says—Ischl swears something +awful—‘damn it,’ he says, ‘you can ask Elsie Shaviro. +She’s forewoman on the second floor, and she’s a good +one. But I got a fool for a forewoman on the third +floor. Mebbe I’ll put her back on a machine and let +you try to boss ’em. You sure can’t do any worse,’ +he says. And then he showed me a peach of a scale he’s +just drawed up. ‘Well,’ I says, ‘Mr. Ischl, I guess +you did see some sort of handwriting on the wall. I +ain’t asking what,’ I says. ‘But I’ll say this right here +off the bat, that if I give satisfaction there won’t be no +walkout in this place.’ ‘Damn the walkout,’ he says. +‘Go and see Elsie, unless you’re sore on Sheenies.’ +‘Sheeny or Catholic,’ I says, ‘they all look alike to me +in the shop.’”</p> + +<p>Clara stopped, quite out of breath, as the whistle +blew.</p> + +<p>“Wait just a second,” said Edith. “I want your +address.”</p> + +<p>“No, you couldn’t find it, cara mia. Be at Hull-House +at six, and Gino will find you.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[51]</span></p> + +<p>“All right. I’ll stay there in the car till he comes.”</p> + +<p>“The car! Santa Maria Vergine! I’ll be scared to +death and my other dress ain’t much better than this +one. But oh, you automobile!”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="VII">VII</h2> + +</div> + +<p>They had an extremely good time at the play, and +the very different but very real impulsiveness of all +three girls drew them closer together as they laughed +and wept at the same things. On the way home Clara +confided the fact that the leading juvenile strongly +reminded her of her own <i>innamorato</i>, who was the best +of all possible men, and who had a job in the Chicago +Public Library. Edith heard this with satisfaction. +Clara was clearly in no danger from Ischl.</p> + +<p>During the entire evening Elsie held a long envelope +in her hand, and on parting from Edith she handed it +over—her first paper on Westermarck. Next day +Edith read it, and a baffling thing it was to correct. +The author’s most significant phrases were there, the +harvest of a discriminating eye, but they were innocently +linked by curious slang and un-English idiom. +To raise the tone of the one and straighten the deformity +of the other took Edith a whole evening. But +could she have seen Elsie poring over those corrections +and fixing each in mind, Edith would have been well +rewarded.</p> + +<p>That first paper was about marriage customs. As +each division of Dante’s Commedia ended with the +stars, so each paragraph of Elsie’s summary ended with +the Jews. She focused everything on the enslaved +condition of Jewish women. Marriage is indissoluble +among such creatures as Papuans, Igorrotes, Veddahs, +and Roman Catholics, but a Jew can divorce his wife +for any one of many reasons. It would be better to be +a Moslem’s wife—divorceable for no reason at all! In +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span>like manner every part of the Jewish ceremony came in +for ridicule. The custom by which the young men lean +against the wall and watch the girls dance was a survival +of days when girl slaves were put through their +naked paces before being bought. The wearing of a +kittel, or white cloak, by the bridegroom, was a device +to scare the bride with the thought that even in death +he was to be her master. The crushing of the wine-cup +on the floor was a similar bit of intimidation. And +above all, the use of two ceremonies—one religious and +one civil—showed clearly enough that the lofty masculine +sentiment was hypocritical. In short, Elsie had +embroidered Westermarck with her own red thread.</p> + +<p>Edith was therefore not surprised, on the evening of +the Shaviro wedding, to see Elsie go through the bridesmaid’s +part without the least attempt at charm of manner. +A proud oriental figure she made as she stood +there by the white canopy, but a certain calm disdain +flashed from behind her eyeglasses as she watched +Rachel march seven times around her Marcus.</p> + +<p>Perhaps if Marcus had been more to her liking, Elsie +would have had more patience with the ancient ceremony. +But Marcus was what is technically known as +an “allrightnik.” He united a profound veneration +for antiquity with an insolent adequacy in the clothing +business. Rachel was graduating from the dingy flat +to a rococo house near Douglas Park.</p> + +<p>When the ceremony was over, Marcus made his +<i>Drosche</i> speech, and was rewarded at the end of each +paragraph by the presentation of a gift for his bride—or +himself. Edith listened with amazement as he +turned toward her and began to talk about dishes. He +quoted from the Talmud concerning clean and unclean. +He told how a Jew had turned the tables on a goy by +giving him the uncleanest of <i>tref</i> basins to wash in. +Then he had the nerve to refer in luscious terms to the +friendship of Rebecca and Rowena, and stopped.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span></p> + +<p>Elsie whispered to Edith. “The fool expects you +to bring him a cup or something from the set you are +giving Rachel.”</p> + +<p>Edith flushed, but rose to the occasion with plenty +of dignity. As Marcus waved a bit of Limoges in air +he cried, “It never came from Klein’s!” and the crowd +cheered.</p> + +<p>The disgusted Elsie drew her friend away. “I +want you to come in my room and see where I live.”</p> + +<p>They entered a little rear bedroom. It was doubtless +a dark room in the day-time, but it looked very +cheerful now.</p> + +<p>Edith glanced at two photographs that stood on the +dresser, and Elsie advanced and picked one up. “I +cut this out of a magazine and pasted it on an old +photograph, because it looks so much like you.”</p> + +<p>Edith laughed, but she was touched by the little +tribute. “You shall have a photograph of me by the +very next mail, and I’m going to photograph you myself +in about nine different poses.”</p> + +<p>“Eyeglasses and all?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, indeed. The eyeglasses are a part of your +beauty.”</p> + +<p>“I’m not beautiful, Edith. I wish I was, but I’m +not.”</p> + +<p>“I would not hear your enemy say so, honey. +When you get a little bit wrought up about socialism, +you look like a French aristocrat ready to go to the +guillotine. Who is this other person?”</p> + +<p>“That’s Marie Sukloff, and they’re scared to death +of her in Russia. When I see a farce like that in the +other room I wish I was a revolutionist, too.”</p> + +<p>“I thought it very impressive.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes. Mothers have to weep. But it’s a long +time since I heard a prayer, and I never want to hear +another.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you go to the synagogue?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span></p> + +<p>“No. I wasn’t to Shul in two years. My folks +feel awful about it, but there’s no sense in religion. +It keeps people contented with things as they are, and +everything is all wrong. Folks think too much about +heaven, and not enough about earth. We’ve only got +one life.”</p> + +<p>“Do all the socialists feel that way?”</p> + +<p>“Most all of them. They tell about Christian +socialists, but I never saw one. It will be a monstrosity.”</p> + +<p>“Would be,” murmured Edith. “I hate to correct +you, dear. You say there is no sense in religion, but +there is certainly none in idioms.”</p> + +<p>“Edith, are you going to try to make me religious? +If you are, we can’t be friends. Suppose I got married +without any nonsense like that in there, or any +marriage certificate. You wouldn’t invite me and my +man to your house. You know you wouldn’t.”</p> + +<p>“I would if I had a house of my own.”</p> + +<p>“Would you come to see me?”</p> + +<p>“Of course.”</p> + +<p>“But you think marriage is a sacrament, and I think +it’s a habit.”</p> + +<p>Elsie was sitting on the edge of her little bed, and +Edith came and sat down beside her. “My dear, you +aren’t going to put me to any such test, are you?”</p> + +<p>There was silence for a moment, and then Elsie +smote her white hands together. “I don’t suppose so, +oh, I don’t suppose so. The right man will not come +along. But if he did come—I would go with him +even if he was married.”</p> + +<p>Edith was silent.</p> + +<p>“I know what you’re thinking. Edith Bridgman. +You want me to be perfectly respectable like your +friends. You say your sister works for suffrage, but +people like you and her don’t know anything about it. +Russia is the only place where women are alive.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span></p> + +<p>“I’ve read about them, dear. I’ve read ‘Anna +Karenina.’”</p> + +<p>“Piffle! I hate to be jabbed with a hatpin.”</p> + +<p>Edith was silent again for a little while, but her +blood was slowly rising.</p> + +<p>“I thought you were a socialist.”</p> + +<p>“I am, if there ever was one.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I thought socialists stood for peaceful revolution.”</p> + +<p>“We do. We believe in the ballot box.”</p> + +<p>“Then why do you talk like Emma Goldman?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t. I want love, and I want a child. Emma +says that the workers have no business to bring children +into the world to be slaves. It’s a nasty thing to +say, Edith, unless you are going to be a nun. I want +a child, and I want him to grow up and fight for the +workers. And I’m twenty years old, and haven’t seen +a man who has any fight in him. I won’t marry a +creature like Marcus. My husband has got to be willing +to die for the workers.”</p> + +<p>“Well, my dear, I can’t object to that—unless he +is already married before you meet him. May I tell +you a secret?”</p> + +<p>Elsie put an arm around her and drew her close. +“Maybe you <i>are</i> a friend,” she murmured.</p> + +<p>“It isn’t much, but I have refused two men because +they were not the kind I could look up to.”</p> + +<p>“I thought it was going to be more of a secret, but +it’s quite a good deal. I suppose they were both rich.”</p> + +<p>“One was. The other will be.”</p> + +<p>“And you didn’t dope yourself with the idea that +you could use your husband’s money to help the poor. +The poor! Say, Edith, you ran a risk making love to +Clara. She was one of the girls who smashed a movie +that some of your friends took in the Italian quarter. +She’s sweet as sugar, but when she has told you about +that stiletto she has told the truth. Oh, what a mixup +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span>folks are! Clara’s a Catholic, but what’s the difference +between a Catholic with a stiletto and an I. W. W. +with a gun?”</p> + +<p>“None at all, my little bunch of black pepper. And +they are both like a socialist without a wedding certificate.”</p> + +<p>Elsie pondered, and saw the point quickly enough—but +thought is not always efficacious. “I will make +no promise,” she said, haughtily. “You judge everything +by your silly New Testament, just as my folks +judge by the Talmud. You haven’t any passion or any +courage.”</p> + +<p>Edith’s love for Elsie was only a week old, and infant +loves are easily strangled. “I think you’ll find, +Miss Elsie Shaviro, that the New Testament is about +as impassioned and daring a book as was ever written. +The third of John is the boldest thing ever said on the +planet. But you are so wrapped up in Jewish prejudice +that you dare not read it.”</p> + +<p>Elsie lifted kindling eyes. “You’ve got more stuff +in you than I thought, and I won’t take a dare.” She +turned and gave Edith a vigorous kiss, and infant love +got its breath again.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="VIII">VIII</h2> + +</div> + +<p>The preceding events bring us up to September 11, +shortly before Lister opened for the college year +1913-14. All of Trench’s family of students had +stood by him through the summer except the one +Yankee, who was working in a boys’ camp, and who +had now returned.</p> + +<p>On September 11, the Persian student, Ameen, went +over to Lister to carry a message to the dean. He +found the “old man” conversing with a new student—apparently +some sort of oriental. The dean’s eye +brightened at once.</p> + +<p>“I was on the point of telephoning you. This is +Mr. Saadi Sereef of Bokhara, and I want to place him +in the care of Mr. Ameen of Isfahan.”</p> + +<p>“You could do me no greater favour, doctor. +Salaam alêkom, Mr. Sereef.”</p> + +<p>The stranger arose and bowed gravely. “Wa-alêkom +salaam, Mr. Ameen.”</p> + +<p>“So that is the way orientals salute each other,” +smiled the dean. “Salaam means peace, does it not?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, doctor,” said the new student. “It is first +principle of my religion to say peace and mean war.”</p> + +<p>The dean turned to Ameen. “Mr. Sereef comes to +us from Vienna, with credentials which cover four +years above the Matura examination. He enters with +us as a junior, though I suspect that he knows more +surgery than most of you. He would naturally report +to Dr. Trench. He has been in Chicago a month, but +if there is a possibility of changing his boarding-place—well, +I leave that to you.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span></p> + +<p>Ameen delivered his message, and the two orientals +bowed themselves out.</p> + +<p>“Who is Dr. Trench?”</p> + +<p>“I live with Dr. Trench,” said Ameen, his dark +eyes glowing like pansies, “and the dean meant that +perhaps we could find room for you in the Caravansery. +That is what I call his house. It is in Halsted Street.”</p> + +<p>Saadi Sereef nodded. “I know Halsted Street. I +went to Hull-House to find teacher to teach me idioms. +I know all American slang.”</p> + +<p>Ameen laughed. “In the Caravansery we have a +sophomore who will keep you in practice. His name +is Deel’nd, spelled Deland, and he comes from Salem +in Massachusetts.”</p> + +<p>“Where you learn such beautiful English, Mirza +Ameen?”</p> + +<p>“Do you think I speak well? I try very hard. I +began in the Protestant College in Beirut, and I have +done much translating.”</p> + +<p>“I will never learn beautiful English. I always +say v when I should say double-you.”—This piece of +self-criticism was entirely accurate. Saadi never captured +a w.</p> + +<p>“I shall never speak good English,” he repeated, +“but you and I can talk Persian.”</p> + +<p>“As you wish, but we stick to English at the Caravansery. +It is our only safety, because there are Wu +and Chatterjee and Becker.”</p> + +<p>“Chinese, Bengali, German,” commented Saadi +without enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>“Becker is a Russian.”</p> + +<p>“Becker should not change good Slav name. I do +not like Germans, and Germans do not like me. Well, +you offer me room in Caravansery?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Mr. Sereef, subject to the doctor’s approval. +It is the room Dr. Jaffer had for two years. Jaffer +likes the Germans as much as you dislike them.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span></p> + +<p>“Dr. Jaffer is from Stamboul?”</p> + +<p>“No, from northern India. He is there now, as +interne in a private hospital. He is coming back next +June as interne at Lister.”</p> + +<p>Saadi Sereef counted the names over on his fingers: +“Ameen, Wu, Chatterjee, Becker, Deel’nd, and Jaffer. +It is not Caravansery. It is Menagerie.”</p> + +<p>Ameen laughed again, and wondered that his new +friend could say such things without the shadow of a +smile. But when Saadi Sereef presently put his hand +on the back of his neck and pressed it, while lines deepened +between his eyes, Ameen understood.</p> + +<p>“You are in pain, Mr. Sereef. I think you must +surely join us in Halsted Street, and let Dr. Trench +take care of you. His specialty is pediatrics, but that +will make no difference.”</p> + +<p>“It will be very proper,” said the sufferer, drawing +in his breath sharply. “I feel like little child in +Chicago. I am what you say wandering kid to-night.”</p> + +<p>“Shall we go to your lodgings and have your trunk +sent over?”</p> + +<p>“Pretty quick, yes. First I will hear about Dr. +Trench. Is he old man?”</p> + +<p>“No. Let me get a book and show you.”</p> + +<p>Ameen ran up to the library, returned with a copy +of “Who’s Who in Medicine,” and read aloud:</p> + +<p>“Trench, Isham, pediatrician. Born Chicago, +April 23, 1882. Son Darius and Eleanor (Isham) T. +Matura, Vienna, 1901. M.D. Vienna, 1907. Resident +physician, Lister Hospital, 1908. Instructor in +Pediatrics, Lister College, 1909-1910. Asst. Prof. +ibid. 1911-1912. Professor since 1912. Adviser foreign +students. Member Am. Pediatric Soc., Chicago +Pediatric Soc., Chicago Med. Soc. Inventor Trench +Kymograph. Translator Czerny-Keller: Ernährungsstörungen +und Ernährungstherapie des Kindes. Contributor +<i>Amer. Jour. Diseases of Children</i>, <i>Archiv für +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span>Pediatrik</i>, etc. Address, Lister Medical College, Chicago.”</p> + +<p>“What do you think of that, Mr. Saadi Sereef?”</p> + +<p>“I think he is wonder, and then some,” responded +Saadi solemnly. “What for genius like that has he +menagerie of wandering kids to-night?”</p> + +<p>“To tell you the truth, Mr. Sereef, he does not see +much of us. Wu and Chatterjee cook for him, but even +they do not know him well. But he unites us in the +spirit of science.”</p> + +<p>Saadi glanced at him suspiciously. “Perhaps he +unites you and perhaps he unites you not! I have been +in Eshkabad, and I have seen new temple where what +you say renegade Moslems and Jews and Christians are +united. They are called Bahais, and they think themselves +<i>seikeli rui zemin</i>—the hub of the universe. +Are you Bahai?”</p> + +<p>Ameen smiled more kindly than ever. “There are +several sects of Bahais, and I am a little afraid of +names.”</p> + +<p>“Why you are afraid to wear dog-collar with name +of Bahai Pope?”</p> + +<p>“Well,” laughed the Persian, “after a life of +struggling to wear it, I might awake in paradise and +find that God is neither a Muhammadan, nor a Jew, +nor a Christian—nor even a Bahai.”</p> + +<p>“Paradise!” ejaculated Saadi. “I hate and despise +religion. I am bad man, Mirza Ameen. I am +liar and thief and infidel, and what will you do with +me?”</p> + +<p>Ameen put a hand on the stranger’s shoulder. “I +will love you like a brother, and I will call you Saadi.”</p> + +<p>The grey eyes looked into the pansy eyes. “Well, +Ameen, I do not think you are liar, but I am sure you +are damn fool. I will join menagerie, and make all +troubles for all animals in it.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="IX">IX</h2> + +</div> + +<p>As the two students were returning through Halsted +Street, they passed an Italian bank where shattered +glass was lying on the pavement.</p> + +<p>“Bank has busted,” remarked Saadi, dryly.</p> + +<p>“It was a bomb,” explained Ameen. “The papers +were full of it this morning.”</p> + +<p>Saadi stopped and scrutinised the building. “It +was not money they wanted?”</p> + +<p>“No. Just a matter of intimidation. Such +methods never accomplish anything.”</p> + +<p>Saadi slowly resumed his former gait. “That is +big question, Mirza Ameen. Just now it is fashion to +say bombs do not accomplish. But nothing accomplishes. +It is no use to explode or talk.”</p> + +<p>Ameen answered gently. “Your head is hurting +you, Saadi. Sometime, when it is well, I should like +to discuss bombs with you.”</p> + +<p>“Help, help!” groaned Saadi. “Baveddin belagerdan!”</p> + +<p>Ameen laughed. “It is clear enough that you are +a Bokharan. Nobody but a Bokharan would call on +St. Baveddin for help. What is so terrifying in the +thought of discussing bombs?”</p> + +<p>“English, Ameen. Your beautiful English. You +will not let me talk bombs in Persian, and I cannot explain +in English. I was in New York five months and +in Chicago one month, and I have studied English sixteen +hours every day, and I could read English when +I left Vienna. But I cannot explain about bombs in +English.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span></p> + +<p>They reached the “Caravansery.” Ameen advanced +to the third floor, and flung open the door of Jaffer’s +study.</p> + +<p>“Ahlan wa-sahlan, Saadi! You are among your +family.”</p> + +<p>Saadi gazed. “Firdousi manend—it resembles +paradise, but it cannot last.”</p> + +<p>Ameen quoted a line from Omar—whom he personally +abominated, but shrewdly guessed that Saadi +liked—and continued to play the host. He showed +his new friend that no appointment of comfort was +missing, even to the shaving mirror and the telephone. +These rooms were such as an indulgent father might +have fitted up for a beloved son.</p> + +<p>“What I pay for paradise?”</p> + +<p>“The price is supposed to be three a week, but the +doctor was never known to take it. The chances are +that your tuition will be refunded, if you make good.”</p> + +<p>“My tuition shall not be refunded. I will never +take Dr. Trench’s money.”</p> + +<p>“In that case,” smiled the Persian, “it will continue +to be spent on such things as Jersey cows. The doctor +pays for cow after cow that he rules out of inspected +herds. Come now and meet the other boys.”</p> + +<p>“First,”—said Saadi, throwing himself back and +closing his eyes—“first I would like to die here. But +we may as well meet all animals.” And he sprang up.</p> + +<p>At Ameen’s knock, the punctilious Wu looked up +from behind his spectacles, came to open the door, and +received his visitors with a bow. On learning that +Saadi had come to stay, he immediately invited him to +dinner.</p> + +<p>“I will rather not, to-night, because my head is now +so bad. But I appreciate Chinaman’s salt. In Bokhara, +best salt comes from China.”</p> + +<p>“I believe so, sir. Karshi is on our side of the mountains.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span></p> + +<p>Saadi looked critically at Wu’s intelligent countenance. +“Mr. Wu does not seem like one of Chinese +doctors who cure all diseases with long needle stuck in.”</p> + +<p>“I bow,” said Wu. “And Mr. Sereef would not +exorcise filaria worms by an amulet made of a gall +stone from the stockyards in Halsted Street.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Wu, I like you. You have quick comeback. +Best doctor in Bokhara is big fat cook. He cuts out +filaria with knife, and then cuts mutton. But in Tashkent +is man who can cure filaria with medicine he +makes. I will be good to you and tell you where he is +living. It is Gospitalnaya numero 400a.”</p> + +<p>“I will call on Mr. Sereef’s medical man when I +visit in Tashkent,” said Wu with infinite dryness, “and +I will reciprocate by exhibiting the stockyards to Mr. +Sereef.”</p> + +<p>Somewhat brightened by these international courtesies, +Saadi cast an eye about the room. There were +several choice prints which Wu had brought with him. +These were not of distant chapels with the rising moon, +or of lonely reedbeds with flying fowl. Instead of the +conventions, Wu had selected studies of little children. +Saadi noted the fact.</p> + +<p>“Will you be pediatrician in China?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I have chosen. What is good enough for Dr. +Trench is good enough for me. I cannot hope to repeat +all his successes, but repetition is the secret of success.”</p> + +<p>“Shaitan belade! Devil knows if it is worth while +to save little repeaters called babies.”</p> + +<p>Wu smiled, while the western sun lighted his forehead +and made it look like weathered ivory. “I am +agnostic on that point. But in China we say, ‘Szifoo +bot ok siz—even the tiger does not kill its babies’—and +I will try to prevent the repetition of what I saw +in Yunnan. I saw fifty girl babies dead in one field. +Famine was not the cause. They were not wanted.”</p> + +<p>Saadi merely nodded. “It is so everywhere, but in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span>Bokhara and Chicago it is not custom to use open field. +Saadi prefers plenty of kids. It does not hurt them +much to die with steel-jacket bullet.”</p> + +<p>Wu bowed. “I prefer much offspring and much +peace, Mr. Sereef. I trust that your descendants will +not quarrel with mine over pink salt.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Wu, you trust too much. You are damn +fool.”</p> + +<p>Wu bowed. “Your judgment is approximately correct.”</p> + +<p>Saadi stared, and for the first time laughed. +“Jivio! Well, Mr. Wu will be pediatrician. What is +worst disease of yellow babies?”</p> + +<p>“A certain lung trouble found only in China, Mr. +Sereef. Perhaps my grandson will be the Kitazato +who discovers a remedy for it.”</p> + +<p>Saadi smiled wearily. “If Kitazato had not helped +Behring, it would be no diphtheria antitoxin. Well, it +has saved million boys. In one year more, Behring +kids will operate Kitazato kids with bayonets. That +is progress.”</p> + +<p>Wu bowed. “We cannot turn back, Mr. Sereef. +There will be no absorption of perspiration. And +when I have plucked the Kwei flower at Lister, I will +go back and sweat with the rest.”</p> + +<p>He showed them out, and went downstairs to start +dinner, while the visitors proceeded to Chatterjee’s +room. They found him in his native clothes, into +which he often slipped when the weather was warm.</p> + +<p>“A Bengali knows nothing whatsoever about Bokhara,” +he said, shyly, “but if Jaffer were here he +would be aware. He lives in Peshawar. He has probably +intervisited and interdined with Bokhara.”</p> + +<p>“There are many Punjabis in Bokhara,” answered +Saadi. “Some are bringing tea by Persian Gulf, and +little bit comes by Kabul.”</p> + +<p>“I am glad you like tea in Bokhara. We do not +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span>drink it in Bengal. In good sooth, however, the British +drink much tea.”</p> + +<p>“It is good enough drink for British. You hate +British?”</p> + +<p>“No. But many do.”</p> + +<p>“I hear you when you say so, Mr. Chatterjee. But +you are three hundred millions with Ehrlich’s sleeping +sickness. If you would what you say swat the fly—just +seventy-five thousand little flies—you would get +well. But I don’t care. You are only damfool Kali-worshippers.”</p> + +<p>“I am a Brahmo, like Dr. Trench,” said Chat +quietly.</p> + +<p>“What is Brahmo?”</p> + +<p>“A sort of Unitarian.”</p> + +<p>“How you know Dr. Trench is sort of Unitarian?”</p> + +<p>“Because like Rama he is the friend of living creatures. +You will find that the fatherhood of God and the +brotherhood of man is his credo, or some such thing.”</p> + +<p>“Well, if God is like my father, he is barbarian. +Now I will go and insult other animals and then go to +sleep. It is better to walk than to run, better to sleep +than to wake. You know rest—?”</p> + +<p>“Better to be dead than to sleep,” finished Chatterjee. +“I hope you will rest well in Jaffer’s room. I +hope too that you will breakfast with us.”</p> + +<p>Ameen took Saadi to Deland’s room and left him +there. Deland had yelled a careless “Come in,” and +removed his long legs from the table.</p> + +<p>“Proud to meet you, Sereef. Do you know this +little old burg pretty well?”</p> + +<p>“No, Mr. Deland. I have had nose in book all +summer.”</p> + +<p>“Sit down in chairs and ask me questions. Here’s +the map by wards. Highest infant death-rate is in the +first and seventeenth, followed by the twenty-ninth and +sixteenth. Nineteenth used to be the worst, but Hull-House +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span>yanked the death-rate down. Miss Addams got +herself appointed garbage inspector. What do you +know about that?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I saw Miss Addams in Hull-House, and what +I know about that is if Miss Addams has garbaged she +has garbaged with dignity and distinction. I wish +Franz Joseph would let her clean up diplomat garbage +in Vienna.”</p> + +<p>“What I want to be is a health officer,” continued +Deland. “Dr. Putnam of Boston sent me out here to +be next to Isham.”</p> + +<p>“Eyesham?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, that’s Dr. Trench. And Dr. Trench gives me +the right steer about it all the time. Funny he never +went in for public medicine himself. But dear me +suz!—look what he does in his own township. Internist +<i>and</i> surgeon—that’s what Isham is, and he’s +got the neatest hand in Chicago, and as for a clinical +eye—he’ll just look at a kid and see right through the +exterior integument down into the gizzard.”</p> + +<p>Saadi listened with gloomy admiration.</p> + +<p>“I will come and you will give me lessons in American. +What you do in summer?”</p> + +<p>“I was counsellor in a boys’ camp. That’s the kind +of thing I like—games, athletics, canoeing. And I +planted a cross in our camp. Made it of birch.”</p> + +<p>Saadi scowled. “I do not wish to hear. It is all +damn foolishness.”</p> + +<p>Deland opened his blue eyes wide. “You’ve got +another guess coming. If it weren’t for religion, life +wouldn’t be worth living.”</p> + +<p>“Life is not worth living. I cannot explain to you. +You are boy. I am old man.”</p> + +<p>Deland flushed, and sat down on the table directly +before his visitor.</p> + +<p>“Say, old man, I wish you were a Christian.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Deland, you are damn fool. You don’t know +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span>that Christianity is damn failure. Dr. Trench could +put you next.”</p> + +<p>“Dr. Trench is a Christian,” said Deland stoutly. +“He’s the kind of man I want to be.”</p> + +<p>“Did you once ask Dr. Trench is he Christian?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t need to ask him.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I will ask him myself is he Christian, and I +bet you one million microbes he says no.”</p> + +<p>Saadi rose, and Deland slapped him kindly on the +shoulder. “Say, old man, you’re a kidder from Kidderville. +Come on now and kid Becker by your lonesome, +for I’ve got to run over to the Juvenile Court +building.”</p> + +<p>Becker proved to be big and rosy cheeked. He might +have passed for a Teuton, but the visitor was not deceived. +As soon as they were alone, Saadi folded +his arms.</p> + +<p>“Pig of Jew,” he said, gloomily.</p> + +<p>“Dog of a Moslem,” retorted Becker promptly.</p> + +<p>“How old are you, Mr. Beckerovitch?”</p> + +<p>“Twenty-five.”</p> + +<p>“Well, it is same here. We are two old men. +Where were you in 1905?”</p> + +<p>“Moscow.”</p> + +<p>“And where were you in 1906?”</p> + +<p>“In prison nine months. Then a year near Archangel, +with nothing to do but think about it. I got +away all the same. And I brought my mother’s best +pillow with me.”</p> + +<p>“We will shake hands, Beckerovitch. But—you +will please not mention mothers.” Saadi’s voice was +trembling.</p> + +<p>Becker nodded slightly, and resumed. “Were you +ever locked up?”</p> + +<p>Saadi controlled himself. “Suremike. I was guest +of Nicky six months.”</p> + +<p>“We knew in Moscow that there was fighting in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span>Tashkent, but we did not know much about our comrades +there. Well, it is all over now.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, it is all over. Too—bad, oh, too—bad. +It was no use. Nothing is of use, except maybe body. +Oh, you beautiful white human body. Maybe I will +what you say bust loose in Chicago.”</p> + +<p>“That’s a rotten thing to say, my friend. That +won’t go with the doctor.”</p> + +<p>Saadi scowled. “Doctor won’t know.”</p> + +<p>“Make no mistake about that. He will look at you +some morning and you will feel like an interne who +failed to wash before operating.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t care. Always I have kept clean, and Bokhara +is not clean. But revolution has failed, and always +revolution will fail. I don’t care one micrococcus.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I care. Come and have supper with me.”</p> + +<p>“No supper for me to-night. Only nice soft pillow +like Becker’s mother gave him. I wish it was pillow +in dead-room. I was in hospital corps last year in +Old Servia. Dead-room was only room with ventilation.”</p> + +<p>“So! Do you think they are through their troubles +for a while?”</p> + +<p>“Shaitan belade! devil knows. Soon Austria will +jump on Servia. Then Russian intelligentzia will +march with mujiks.”</p> + +<p>“Stuff and nonsense, Mr. Sereef! We socialists +will never sacrifice our ideals like that.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Beckerovitch, you are damn fool. How began +all massacres in world? With ideals, by golly. +French revolution began with ideal, ended with hæmoglobin. +Turk revolution began same way, ended same +way. In 1908 Turk and Christian did kiss each other +in streets of Stamboul, then Turks murdered thirty +thousand Armenians and ten thousand Macedonians. +All you socialists need is one little excuse of body—just +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span>these fool words: ‘Defence of homes.’ Spokoine +noche—<i>good</i> night!”</p> + +<p>And having called each man a fool without disturbing +any, Saadi went to Jaffer’s rooms, threw himself on +Jaffer’s bed, and burst into deep sobs that no man +heard.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="X">X</h2> + +</div> + +<p>It was eleven o’clock that evening when Trench got +away from his last consultation. Having no car of his +own, he dropped off the trolley-car at his corner, and +stood fanning himself with his straw hat. Theatre +crowds were going home, and Halsted was alive with +young folks. Opposite his house a screaming woman +was being put into the patrol wagon. Down the side +streets everybody was out of doors. Babies were sleeping +on steps and pavements, and passersby were careful +not to tread on them. On the porch of a synagogue +men were lying like the dead on a battlefield.</p> + +<p>Halsted Street runs for thirty miles north and south +over the level bed of an ancient lake. Trench thought +of the St. Mary’s, that stream of melted glacier, and +wished that such waters once more rested here. If +the lake were back again, it would reach to the top of +his house. His eye travelled upward, and he saw a +light in Jaffer’s room.</p> + +<p>Burglars? No. Ameen had probably found a tenant. +He would go up and see. He let himself in by +the side door, ascended wearily to the third story, and +knocked. There was no answer. He turned the knob, +and was driven back by a burst of gas. The light he +had seen came from an electric bulb in the study. He +groped his way to the hall window, pushed it up, and +stood gasping. Then he took a long breath and went +through the rooms, turning off the gas and opening +windows.</p> + +<p>In a few minutes the rooms cleared, and he switched +on the light at the head of the bed. What greeted him +was apparently the body of a young and oriental Bonaparte, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[72]</span>dead before he had won a victory. The shaded +white ray fell on both their faces when Trench bent +above the body, as some pitying Girondist might have +bent above the Corsican, had he died as a cadet. Then +down on his knees went the doctor, with ear pressed to +the boy’s chest. What he heard reassured him.</p> + +<p>He took the pulse now at the wrist. As he sat on +the edge of the bed he loosened the high collar, for the +stranger was fully dressed, and in so doing noticed at +the nape of the neck a long scar, faintly flushed, and +apparently the work of a sword. Still holding the wrist, +Trench shifted the shade of the electric bulb till the ray +fell squarely on the closed eyes. In a few seconds the +stimulus was effective. The eyelids quivered, opened, +and closed again. Trench shifted the shade back, and +took his seat at some distance from the bed.</p> + +<p>In a few minutes Bonaparte stirred, moaned, and began +to mutter incoherent words of some stock unknown +to Trench. The incoherence passed, and the boy lay +still. Presently a low voice began to speak English.</p> + +<p>“Is it Dr. Trench?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. I apologise for interrupting the experiment.”</p> + +<p>“I am damn fool configuration of energy called +Saadi Sereef, and I am sick in solar plexus.”</p> + +<p>“Your stomach will be all right in a little while, and +you will find me in the next room.” So saying, Trench +went into the study and began to consider his appointments +for the next day.</p> + +<p>By and by the low musical voice called to him. “It +is better now, but my head will split.”</p> + +<p>“In a minute,” said Trench, and slipped downstairs +for a sedative. When this was administered, Saadi +lifted himself in bed, and the doctor propped him with +pillows.</p> + +<p>“Before I died I was going to ask you, doctor? Are +you Christian?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span></p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Do you believe in Bog?”</p> + +<p>“What is ‘Bogue’?”</p> + +<p>“Excuse me. I mean gaseous vertebrate called +Allah. Do you believe?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“That is good. Do you believe Saadi has ghost?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“That is good again. It is bad enough to die with +Dr. Trench’s perfectly good gas, but it would be too +much if perfectly good gaseous vertebrate should lecture +ghost. Half hour ago I was happy nothing. But +now I am same old fool something. Too—bad! +Why you wake me up?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know.”</p> + +<p>“You do not care if I should die?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“If I would have typhus, would you nurse me?”</p> + +<p>“Of course.”</p> + +<p>The low pleasant voice summed up conclusions. +“You care not one damn if I die, but you would die +for me.”</p> + +<p>Trench smiled. “It does sound rather absurd.”</p> + +<p>“It is not absurd, doctor. It is deep.”</p> + +<p>Trench was silent.</p> + +<p>“Doctor does not ask questions, and Saadi is much +obliged. What is in medicine?”</p> + +<p>“Only bromides and codein.”</p> + +<p>“Of course. It does business. By and by I will +sleep.”</p> + +<p>“You can’t begin too soon, Mr. Sereef.”</p> + +<p>“You will call me Saadi. You have saved my damn +fool configuration of energy. It is kismet to be grateful. +When you call I will answer.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” said Trench dryly. “Meanwhile, +what assurance have I that you will be alive to answer?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span></p> + +<p>“Well, I could go down and sleep on divan in doctor’s +office.”</p> + +<p>“Are you afraid of yourself?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, doctor.”</p> + +<p>For answer, Trench gently pulled a pillow from +under his patient’s head, and settled him in bed. He +let a light hand rest for a moment on the boy’s temples. +Then he darkened the room, and lay down on Jaffer’s +leather couch.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XI">XI</h2> + +</div> + +<p>Trench was awakened by a noise, but not that of +Halsted clanging into its sweltering day. He sat bolt +upright, and saw Saadi Sereef. Saadi was studying a +map in the Britannica, while he unconsciously tapped +the desk with a nervous finger-tip.</p> + +<p>“Good morning, Dr. Trench. It is five o’clock, and +my head does not ache much, and I have bathed damfool +body.”</p> + +<p>“I usually get up at five,” said the doctor, proceeding +to the telephone. “Is coffee ready? Will you +bring some to Jaffer’s room?”</p> + +<p>While the doctor was absent for his bath, Wu entered +with a tray. There was a steaming coffee-pot. +There were blue grapes in a blue dish, hot rolls wrapped +in damask, and a tiny Chinese hen sheltering boiled +eggs in a porcelain nest. Wu held up a salt-cellar. +“Not pink,” he said, “like salt of Karshi, but equally +good for purposes of friendship.”</p> + +<p>Wu placed the tray on Jaffer’s desk and moved the +desk to the window. “If you sit here you can see down +Halsted Street and imagine the people—Austrian, +Belgian, Bulgarian, French, German, et cetera.”</p> + +<p>Saadi caught up the refrain. “Greeks, Hindus, +Irish, Poles, Russians, and all other slaves. Bog milui—God +help us.”</p> + +<p>The doctor presently returned, and the two sat down. +Saadi sipped his coffee and looked out into a sunsmitten +vista.</p> + +<p>“Why they call it Halsted?”</p> + +<p>“The Halsted brothers of New York bought a frontage +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span>up by Goose Island. Dr. Halsted of the Hopkins +is a son of one of them.”</p> + +<p>“And why does doctor live here?”</p> + +<p>“My father’s first house stood here.”</p> + +<p>“Why you did not build house in Lake Shore Drive +and doctor babies of too-busy rich?”</p> + +<p>“Couldn’t afford to.”</p> + +<p>Saadi cocked one eye and then the other, like a dog +who much desires what is withheld. “Are you philanthropist?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, lord, no.”</p> + +<p>Saadi waved his hand and selected a small bunch of +grapes. “I know all. Doctor has some big internal +wound, like Saadi, and doctor is naturalist without +courage. To Halsted he comes, same as monk goes in +desert. Here in desert doctor would cure all diseases if +they would permit. But when baby machines go wrong, +parent machines call in gaseous vertebrates to help. +Now is doctor waiting for Halsted Street to outgrow +all gods and bogs and allahs, and get down to business, +which is metabolism. Do I know part?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“If races will get together in Halsted and be civilised, +it must be on atheistic bottom. What makes foreign +boys come in Dr. Trench’s house? Is it Mirza +Ameen standing on roof and calling ‘Come to prayer’? +It is not. It is nice smell of clean hospital. It is +microscope and Trench kymograph. And it is Dr. +Trench, who did not give one damn if I died.”</p> + +<p>“I bow, as Wu would say.”</p> + +<p>“I bow back, Dr. Trench, for I think you are awful +strong man, because you are not person; you are machine. +One machine gun can lick whole army of +priests and mullahs. But even if races get together on +atheistic bottom, they will fight. By and by it will be +war in Halsted Street. Industrial Workers will march +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span>down street under window here, and it will be much +blood in gutters. I will like it if I am here.”</p> + +<p>Trench set his coffee cup down exactly in the middle +of the saucer, and addressed it. “First a suicide, +then a maximalist.”</p> + +<p>Saadi lost his sprightliness. “No, doctor. It was +what you say vice versa.”</p> + +<p>Trench had no further remark to make to his coffee +cup, and presently Saadi resumed his former tone.</p> + +<p>“Dean gave me credit for four years in Vienna.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! That makes you a junior with us. Is +Wurtz alive and well?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, doctor, and this is way he lectures.” Saadi +put one hand behind him, elevated his glance toward +the ceiling, and changed his soft voice to a high nasal: +“‘Meine Herrschaften! Wir kommen jetzt zur Besprechung +Darmkanals—’”</p> + +<p>Trench interrupted. “Talk English, Saadi.”</p> + +<p>Saadi sighed and began again.—“‘Gentlemen, we +now approach subject of alimentary canal. Length of +life depends to very considerable extent on length of +alimentary canal. In your case, gentlemen, I could +wish length greater. If you had canals which would +permit you to exist for ninety-five years, I could perhaps +instil a few facts which I am now about to state, +and you are about to forget.’”</p> + +<p>“Capital!” laughed Trench. “You are a born +actor.”</p> + +<p>“No, I am born fool. But I can speak German. +Listen, doctor, it is not six o’clock yet, and if you will +let me speak language of bloody Teutons, you will know +how bad man I am.”</p> + +<p>“Fire away, if it will ease your soul. But no German. +In Halsted we speak Halsted.”</p> + +<p>“Soul? Did devil bring me ghost in night-time?”</p> + +<p>“Well—we are talking Halsted.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span></p> + +<p>“First, will you give me physical examination?”</p> + +<p>“Not now. You are in good shape, except for the +wound that bothers you. You might tell me how you +got that.”</p> + +<p>Saadi became very grave. “Doctor has sharp eyes. +My father gave me that.” He rose abruptly and paced +the room.</p> + +<p>“It was such little thing to begin with. It was my +brother’s fourteenth birthday. When Karoul was +twelve, my father promised to give him best horse +in Bokhara when he was fourteen. But Karoul did +foolish thing—he played with Jewish boy. Karoul +loved to put on mask and go to bazaar with Isaak +Chaim. My father found it out. He sent for Karoul, +and dog of mullah brought him in.”</p> + +<p>Again the speaker paced up and down, like a wild +creature.</p> + +<p>“My father cursed Karoul, and ordered him to be +whipped. Karoul said, ‘You will not whip me. You +will give me horse and maybe I will give him to Isaak +Chaim if I wish.’ Doctor! you do not know what such +words would do to my father. My father struck, but +he is fat, he cannot move quick. Karoul cries to him, +‘You beast of tyrant. Sunni boys will smash your +windows soon and it will be revolution.’ Then my +father draws talvar and runs him through. It was +such long sword—such little boy.”</p> + +<p>Trench involuntarily put his hand to his side.</p> + +<p>“I was not there,” continued Saadi. “Dog of mullah +told me. They put Karoul away in night. Where? +Nobody dare ask. Then I went to my father. +‘Where is Karoul?’ ‘Karoul is gone to country to +my villa in Kermineh.’ ‘That is lie, my father. Go +in Galerie Tretiakov and see how shamed looks Ivan +Fourth with dead son in front of him.’ Then my +father flung talvar at me, and zip, I got it in neck. I +picked up talvar and gave back. ‘Now,’ I said, ‘I +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span>will leave Bokhara-i-Sherif. I will not come back till +you say you are brute. When you are shamed, you +will send me word. My mother will know where to +send. You can open her letters—you can open all +letters in Bokhara—you will not know from letters!’”</p> + +<p>“It is a ghastly story. We must help you to forget +it.”</p> + +<p>“You cannot help, doctor. All times I see Karoul’s +face. I know where it is. It is in bottom of Zerafshan, +with stone round neck.”</p> + +<p>Though the morning was warm, Trench gave a +shiver.</p> + +<p>“I have spoiled doctor’s breakfast. I have been bad +guest.”</p> + +<p>“Forget it, Saadi. But I must say that a brother’s +death doesn’t often drive men to suicide.”</p> + +<p>“No, doctor, but it can help. My thoughts were +enormous mixed. I did not intend to give you what +you say surprise party.”</p> + +<p>“I see. You received it yourself.”</p> + +<p>“Doctor is keen. Biggest surprise was to see what +is in Dr. Trench’s house. All boys of different races +seemed best of friends, way down deep. Always I have +preferred war. This morning again I prefer war. +Last night I thought maybe science is enough.”</p> + +<p>Trench pondered this. “Your reasons seem curiously +impersonal.”</p> + +<p>“I try awful hard, doctor, to be what you say impersonal. +Persons are only damfool configurations of +energy. I ought not to yelp with sorrow for Karoul’s +atoms in Zerafshan. But my head hurt very bad, and I +thought maybe I will go crazy. And I thought if I +stay in Chicago I will get some baby and kismet will +make me kill him. I said, one like my father is +enough, and one like me is too much. All off. This is +as far as we go.”</p> + +<p>“I see. It was your fear of being cruel.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span></p> + +<p>Saadi hesitated, and his voice sank lower than ever. +“I can tell no more.”</p> + +<p>“You need tell nothing. But I was interested in +Karoul.”</p> + +<p>“Well, doctor, it was eight years ago when Karoul +went down to feed filaria in river.”</p> + +<p>“Wait a minute. Let me look at that wound again.”</p> + +<p>Saadi knelt, and Trench inspected the scar. “Go +on.”</p> + +<p>“I went first to Kabul to see my older brother, Ali +Khan. He is doctor—he studied in Riga. Why is +Ali Khan in Kabul? He is spy for Nicky. I found +out and went away quick.”</p> + +<p>“To Vienna?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, not so soon. To Russia. Same month +was general strike in Russia, and everybody was happy +in hopes. I took tutor with me and kept studying. I +went in Moscow, waiting for letter from Papa. No +letter—only letters from Mamma Ila with money and +sad words. In spring I went to see her, and boys in +Tashkent said, ‘Come on, Saadi, we will make revolution +in Turkestan.’ So I fired tutor and went in revolution +with boys. I was only seventeen. I wanted to +forget Papa and be alive, and we broke down wall of +prison in Tashkent, and gendarmes caught me and put +me in unbusted part of prison. It was then so bad for +six months. Often I wished it was gas or gun. When +I came out I knew it is no use of anything. Revolution +had failed, revolution will always fail, and parents do +not love children. It is all blind chemical push that +drives men to have children. It is no sooner done than +said—and then what you say makes no damn difference.”</p> + +<p>Trench was plunged in thought—his own thought +strangely given back to him. It dawned upon him, like +a differential diagnosis, that this was his own style exaggerated.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span></p> + +<p>“I said,” continued Saadi, “I will never marry any +woman, but I will have hell of good time and forget all +fool dreams. But I could not. Other boys did. It +was strange in Russia to see way schools went. Government +almost taught freedom. Government wanted +boys and girls to be free with each like animals, and +forget politics. Boys and girls had all night parties in +woods, and parents could not stop them.</p> + +<p>“So I went in Vienna and took Matura exam. +and entered University to study damn chemical machine +called human body. In winter of 1910 what +Karoul said about Papa came true. You see, Papa +was Vazee, what you say prime minister. All Sunni +boys hated him for taxes. He took one-third of cotton +crop. So boys in secret societies sent committee in +1909 to Emir, with demand to fire Papa, or we will yell +‘Yar charyah’—which is warcry of Sunnis. Emir +would not hear, and boys smashed Papa’s windows, and +beat up guard, and Emir was scared. He fired Papa in +exile to Petersbourg. Now no more sits Papa every +morning in Gate to settle all fool questions. Where is +Papa? Shaitan belade—devil knows. But in Tashkent +is still his business office, and money from cotton +lands goes to him, maybe in Petersbourg or Yalta.”</p> + +<p>Saadi paused. “Well,” said Trench, “that brings +us up to 1910.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, and next year Emir died, and all were glad in +Bokhara. Last year came war with Turks, and I went +to Belgrad and got in hospital corps and went to Kumanovo. +So little amputation you never saw, but thousands +of wounds without first aid.”</p> + +<p>“You will go back, shall you not, and practice?”</p> + +<p>“It is no use. In Turkestan we cure dysentery +with blood of sheep poured with prayers on feet and +hands. They would kill me if I used modern method.”</p> + +<p>“What of it, Saadi! A bullet in the neck is pleasanter +than gas in the throat.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span></p> + +<p>Saadi pondered this, apparently fixing the words in +mind.—“It is true, doctor. But I do not love human +sheep. Did I go in revolution to save sheep? No. I +went for thrills in nerves. Paradise is only pipedream +of thrills in nerves.”</p> + +<p>“You are strictly selfish?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Dr. Trench. I will kill, I will be kind, I will +lie or steal or seduce girl to please myself. When I +say self, I mean body. Me is body. Person is body. +Soul is just excuse of body, or else streak of phosphorus +long side of body. You see how bad man I +am.”</p> + +<p>“No, Saadi. But I see how bad your English is.”</p> + +<p>“I can say in three four languages, doctor. I am +devil come to visit you. I am just body, without +apology.”</p> + +<p>“Saadi, when people talk like that and mean it, we +lock them up.”</p> + +<p>“Lock me up, doctor.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think it will be necessary. Just remember +that language, like most other things, is no use. The +world’s atmosphere is composed of spent breath, but life +is the great miserable unrecorded fact, and sane people +let it stay such. People who are too brave of speech +get into trouble—as I did lately.”</p> + +<p>“I understand doctor, and I did not think he was +so what you say conventional. Life is only metabolism, +and I do not see what is difference between clean words +and dirty words.”</p> + +<p>“That’s a lie, my dear boy.”—The words came +promptly, and Edith Bridgman was responsible for them. +A month earlier Trench would not have spoken them. +He would have preserved a cold silence.</p> + +<p>Saadi stopped, and tried to reflect. “Well, it is nice +to have great man call Saadi liar, because I sure am liar. +But Bismillah! What use is medicine if body is not +me?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span></p> + +<p>“Well,” laughed Trench, “you are right enough +there.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, I will again talk English. Body is +self, and I am ended with good habits. It will be only +little time to live before body will succeed to kill itself. +Nothing is left but thrills in nerves, and soon I will bust +loose.”</p> + +<p>He watched to see how the doctor would take it. He +saw the fine brow slowly contract till a great bunch stood +out over the eyes.</p> + +<p>“Saadi, it would have been better if you had died.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, much better.”</p> + +<p>“Frankly—why do we feel so?”</p> + +<p>“Fear, doctor. Doctor is afraid of some woman. +We will see if he has courage to fire Saadi if Saadi gets +gay.”</p> + +<p>“Of course I’ll fire you. If I know of your wronging +a girl—well, as between murder and seduction, I +prefer murder.”</p> + +<p>“Same here, Dr. Trench. But I will do both if I +damn please.”</p> + +<p>“Saadi, we seem to be a bloodthirsty pair, but I have +no doubt we are as much under social control as if we +believed all the commandments to be of divine origin.”</p> + +<p>“Speak for self, Dr. Trench, but do not speak for +Saadi. You are naturalist without courage. I will not +go through fool ceremony with girl. I want rich-coloured, +hot-blood girl, and if she wants lover, I take her. +When I get tired of her I leave her.”</p> + +<p>Trench smiled one of the sardonic smiles which children +never saw on his face. “You are like all the rest, +my son. You are more or less grateful, and the next +week you return to the propagation of cannon-food. The +other day I saved an arm for a child named Elsie. If +she were older and had the right dermal tint, she would +be your proper prey. It would serve her father right, +and serve me right.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XII">XII</h2> + +</div> + +<p>Saadi was registered for pediatrics, and Trench found +him quick to learn. During lecture he was always a +bright-eyed listener, smiling every now and then. This +was odd, because Trench never made a joke, and had a +way of imbuing—almost of impassioning—his men +with cool attention to detail. Trench in lecture was impersonal +as a formula, but when he was fixing a point, +his eye would travel from man to man like the fire of +the machine gun to which Saadi had likened him.</p> + +<p>During quiz Saadi was demure and accurate. It soon +became clear that he had anticipated a good deal of the +junior work. Furthermore, Trench permitted him to +assist at an operation, and Saadi demonstrated that he +had seen service in surgical wards.</p> + +<p>The leisure thus commanded he was sometimes at a +loss to spend. He smoked great numbers of cigarettes in +Jaffer’s study, brooding over the view down Halsted. +In general he kept out of the other fellows’ rooms, because +none of them smoked, and in Saadi’s curious +makeup there were various little considerate habits. +But when the boys took him out for excursions he showed +no consideration. He tried every man’s patience to the +breaking point.</p> + +<p>Ameen was the first to act as guide. He proposed that +they go up the lake front to where Halsted, disguised as +Clarendon, begins. They did this on the afternoon of +Saturday, October 4. Arrived at the head of the street, +they dodged through the belt of motors which steadily +moves along the Lake Shore Drive, and looked out over +the hazy lake. Then they walked down to the car, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span>stood up in the front of it beside the motorman, and +Ameen pointed out things as they clanged along. District +succeeded district. It was as if every nation had +sent its peaceful contribution to this experiment station. +After two hours they were left at Eighty-fifth Street, +and walked till they reached open prairie.</p> + +<p>Ameen selected a seat on the anticipatory wooden sidewalk, +and a startled rabbit sprang out. “Bismillah!” +he exclaimed softly, not at the rabbit, but as an invitation +to his friend to be seated. But Saadi threw himself +on the ground and plucked some of the tall sweet +clover with which the prairie was redolent.</p> + +<p>“Ameen Jan, what you will be when you go back?”</p> + +<p>“An oculist, Saadi. And what shall you be?”</p> + +<p>“Military surgeon. I will not stay here long.”</p> + +<p>“We shall miss you.”</p> + +<p>“What for you tell lies, Ameen Jan? I am looking +up in sky, where you will never go if you tell lies.”</p> + +<p>“We shall miss you, Saadi. I shall say, Oh, Halsted, +Halsted, thou garden without a rose. Or I shall see +you lying as you now are, smelling those crushed leaves, +and I shall remember that Saadi of Shiraz called that +sweetness the breath of Issa of Galilee.”</p> + +<p>“Boro, little Ameen! Go way back and sit down. +Saadi of Shiraz said, ‘To pardon oppressors is to injure +oppressed.’ But every damn Persian licks boot of oppressor.”</p> + +<p>Ameen glanced at the sun. “It is rather late to begin +a discussion. But I wish that my father were here.”</p> + +<p>“Your father is old man?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, and few men have suffered more than he.”</p> + +<p>“Then I will not what you say lambast papa. You +may tell about papa.”</p> + +<p>As he spoke, Saadi let his left hand fall, and it lay +resignedly in the sweet clover, clasping a tuft of it.</p> + +<p>“Well, Saadi, I have learned two great things from +my father. And the first is that peace begins at home. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span>When there is no oppression in the family, there will be +none in the world. Every man must do what he can to +prevent war.”</p> + +<p>Saadi’s hand gave a convulsive jerk that uprooted +the tuft of clover. But he said nothing, and still stared +into the limitless blue.</p> + +<p>“The second thing,” continued the Persian, “is that +sectarian religion foments war, and that therefore every +city ought to have a school of comparative religion, where +a man may choose what fits his nature. Every man is +incurably religious, but—”</p> + +<p>Ameen stopped, for he saw that Saadi was not listening. +Saadi’s hand was crushing the tuft of sweet clover +till it exhaled the breath of Issa, and his eyes were straining +into the blue as if seeking an omen. But at the cessation +of Ameen’s voice, the fingers slowly relaxed, and +Saadi presently turned his head.</p> + +<p>“I am not in it with Sufi dreamer to speak pretty +words. But oh, you Ameen Beg, son of gun and joy of +my liver, listen here. We live in twentieth century, but +it is only dawn of world, and it will be damn bloody +dawn.”</p> + +<p>Ameen arose and dusted off his clothes. “Saadi, you +enhance the gaiety of nations. But we must be going +back, for Saturday’s sun is declining.”</p> + +<p>“All right. I will get up and swear by declining sun, +same as prophet in Koran. ‘Oh, you declining sun!’ +I swear that Mirza Ameen will answer Yes to Saadi’s +next question.”</p> + +<p>“Put the question.”</p> + +<p>“If damn Jew outraged your sister, would you outrage +some Jewess?”</p> + +<p>“No!”</p> + +<p>Saadi spat on the ground. “You lie, Ameen Beg. +You would do same as I will do—first chance I get.”</p> + +<p>Ameen looked at the blazing grey eyes, and answered +steadily. “Saadi, I have been put to the test of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span>non-resistance, and I have seen it met by others. When I +was a child, in Meshed, I saw Babis burned at the stake. +It made me faint, and I fell from my horse. Not one of +them but his family had suffered outrage. Not one of +them but could have escaped by renouncing his faith. +And yet they were singing in the flames, and all had +given gifts to the executioners, if only a flower.”</p> + +<p>Saadi was staring, speechless, at the sublimity of +Ameen’s self-deception, but Ameen was thinking of +Saadi’s terrible threat.</p> + +<p>“Saadi, it is written in Sura eighty-one that a Day +shall come when the stars shall fall, and souls rejoin their +bodies, and innocent girls shall ask why they were slain. +I suppose it is not a scientific statement, but I suppose +it to be in some profound sense true. You will see your +little sister again, Saadi Jan, and see her divinely +revenged by love.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XIII">XIII</h2> + +</div> + +<p>The fact that before Saadi’s arrival there had been no +discussions in the Caravansery, much less any quarrelling, +was due to a happy constellation of forces. Each +of the five students was a picked man, and Trench +evoked each man’s best. Each wanted to master the +master’s method and Trenchify some bit of the world. +And peace was strengthened by the very differences of +temperament. Ameen was peaceful because it was simply +not in his nature to give pain to any living creature. +Becker was peaceful on principle, having resigned himself +to the tedious march of economic evolution. Wu, +whose interests were strictly terrestrial, had a perfectly +celestial capacity for minding his own business. Chatterjee +was peaceful because nothing terrestrial was permanent +enough to quarrel about. And Deland was +peaceful because he was a Christian, and would have +peace even if he had to fight for it.</p> + +<p>All these types, from Trench to Deland, were new to +Saadi. He reacted to them as naïvely as a cat reacts to +a dog, or a fire to powder. But there was neither bite +nor explosion.</p> + +<p>Wu and Chatterjee were well-nigh inseparable, like +earth and heaven. They and Trench were having lunch +on October 7, when the doctor remarked that they might +take the afternoon off, because the one professor who +claimed them that afternoon had been called out of +town.</p> + +<p>Wu suggested that it would be a good time to take +Saadi to the stockyards, and invited Chat to come along +and see the sights. The invitation was purely formal, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span>for Wu was well aware that nothing would induce Chat +even to glance and pass. But Chat said that he would +show Saadi the region known as Back of the Yards, and +deliver him later at the portal of the inferno.</p> + +<p>Saadi fell in with the plan, and by three o’clock was +inspecting the Slovak district. School was out, and Chat +exhibited some scores of children in the street before a +single block. The crowding of that block was beyond +belief, but Chat explained how the children came to survive. +It was due, he said, to the destruction of the garbage +dumps. And the Augean task had been accomplished +single-handed by Miss McDowell, who kept after +the city for nineteen years.</p> + +<p>“It shows what one person can do. One person can +clean up a garbage dump, or some such thing.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Chat, we will make bronze statue of Miss +McDowell and set up here, and it will say: ‘This is +woman who saved all you damn rabbits.’ But I do not +see what is use of rabbits—”</p> + +<p>He was interrupted by a boy who pointed at Chat and +called out, “Nigger, nigger!” The boy darted past, +but he was not quick enough. Saadi had him by the +collar and into an alley before any one noted what was +up. The lad was perhaps fifteen years old, and made a +struggle, but he was like wax in Saadi’s hands. He was +set against the wall, like a prisoner about to be shot.</p> + +<p>“What is your name?”</p> + +<p>“None of your business.”</p> + +<p>“Look into my eye.”</p> + +<p>The boy looked, and saw murder.—“My name is +Gavro.”</p> + +<p>“Gavro is Gavrilo. You know what Gavrilo +means?”</p> + +<p>“No, I don’t, and I don’t care.”</p> + +<p>“It means Gabriel. Gabriel is angel by whom Bog +speaks to men. You know Bog?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span></p> + +<p>“You are hell of nice angel for God to send message +by! Are you hell of nice angel?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Say, no, sir.”</p> + +<p>“No, sir.”</p> + +<p>“You think Bog yells, ‘Nigger, nigger’?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Have you got sister?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“You know what some niggers do to white boys’ sisters?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“You do not, you hell of nice angel boy.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I do. I ain’t no kindergarten kid.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Gavrilo, you think it makes negro nice toward +your sister to call him nigger?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Gavrilo, you are damn liar. You would stand still +and see nigger insult your sister. Your father came over +here to get away from Black Austria, but he has black +coward for son. Who is little girl standing in front of +alley shaking in shoes?”</p> + +<p>“It is my sister.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! I think I will go kiss your sister.”—Saadi +turned away and approached the child. The boy hesitated +a second, dashed after him, headed him off, and +struck him in the face. An enraged boy of fifteen can +strike a hard blow. Saadi reeled, got his balance, and +smiled.</p> + +<p>“That is better, Gavrilo. You are not black coward. +May I have pleasure to speak to sister now?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Say ‘Yes, Your Highness.’”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Your Highness.”</p> + +<p>Saadi stooped and looked into the frightened face. +As he spoke, his voice was softer than a summer wind.</p> + +<p>“What is your name, little Slav woman?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span></p> + +<p>The child managed to moisten her dry lips and answer, +“Sophie, ma’am.”</p> + +<p>“Well, is your papa’s name Ferdinand?”</p> + +<p>“No, ma’am.”</p> + +<p>Saadi smiled.—“Why you call me ma’am?”</p> + +<p>“I forget. I call teacher ma’am.”—Sophie began to +smile back.</p> + +<p>“Do you like teacher?”</p> + +<p>“When she ain’t cross.”</p> + +<p>“Cross! Teacher is cross with little woman like you? +Sophie, do you know what I will do when I am Vazee?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir.”</p> + +<p>“I will hang only school teachers! Here is silver dollar, +dear Sophie. Go away buy big doll.”</p> + +<p>Sophie took the dollar and looked into the grey eyes.—“Please, +sir, you said you would kiss me.”</p> + +<p>“So I will, if brother permits.”</p> + +<p>Gavro grinned and nodded, and Saadi touched the +little forehead with his lips.</p> + +<p>Gavro went up to Chat. “Please excuse me, mister.”</p> + +<p>“Jak!” said Chat. “It is nothing.”</p> + +<p>The children departed, Gavro with an arm about +Sophie’s shoulders. Chat and Saadi proceeded down +the street.</p> + +<p>“Well, Chat, it is very kind to bring Saadi down here +to complete his education. If I was mean, I would ask +why you don’t go after India for nineteen years till she +cleans up garbage dump called British Raj, or some such +thing. But I won’t. I will think how I can be like +Miss McDowell and do something for Bo—” Saadi +stopped short.</p> + +<p>“For what?”</p> + +<p>“For Bokhara. It is no damn use, but I will go +through motions, anyhow.”</p> + +<p>“That remark pleases me, Mr. Sereef. Gita says that +we have a right to action, but not to the fruits of action. +Who can guess how far away his motions register!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span></p> + +<p>“Maybe Chat doesn’t know what motions Saadi +means. It was one brave man in India little while ago—he +chucked bomb at viceroy in Delhi. But damfool +only hit elephant. He needed Saadi to teach him motions—five, +like this: One, take off coverlock; two, +strike cap with lock; three, chuck lock away; four, raise +arm very slow, not excited; five—throw, by golly! +And throw straight. If at automobile, don’t throw underneath +like damfool who threw at Shah in 1908. +Drop it inside—bang!”</p> + +<p>“It is illusion,” replied Chatterjee, calmly. “You do +not know yourself.”</p> + +<p>“Self? What is self? I am piece of nature. When +I see enemy, blood vessels dilate, respiration comes +quick, arm goes up,—biff! More I biff, faster burns +oxygen, faster comes sugar out of liver, faster pours out +adrenalin. I am not tired. I yell ‘Na nosch! Na +pred na nosch—give ’em bayonet!’”</p> + +<p>“It is illusion,” repeated Chat, even more calmly. +“It is māyā. You can slay or starve the millions, but +they are safe within the One.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, ho, Chat, I get your little system now. God is +big Bokhara rug, very rich and red.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” smiled the Hindu, “and the coloured threads +of our little passions only enrich the pattern of God’s +impersonal love. You are a part of God, but you do +not know Him.”</p> + +<p>“You know him? Will you introduce me?”</p> + +<p>“Naham manye suvedite no na vedite vedacha—I +do not think I know Him well, or that I know Him, or +that I know Him not.”</p> + +<p>“I thought so. Chat’s exposition of acquaintance +with gentleman is clear as Ganges mud. It would be +better if Chat was Kali-worshipper. Bloody Kali I understand.”</p> + +<p>“I doubt it, my friend. Do you know what this day +may be?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span></p> + +<p>“It is October seventh. Five years ago to-day damn +Thronfolger Ferdinand annexed Bosnia.”</p> + +<p>“No! It is the happiest day of the year! It begins +our Pooja, the feast of the Mother, whom you +choose to call Kali. The shephâlika blossoms have +fallen, and the children have cried, ‘Mother is coming!’ +And now she comes, and families are joyfully reunited. +She is the energy of all the gods. She destroys all +demons and some such things that terrify humanity. +To her bosom she tenderly gathers all the slain, as some +day she will gather you.”</p> + +<p>“Pooh, pooh, Pooja! Take me quick to stockyards. +You bring me down here to show what one person can do, +and then show me it is not necessary to do anything. +All is done already. It is what Deland sings, Jesus paid +it all. All distinctions of right and wrong are merged +in Absolute. Bismillah! I will now go see butcher +merge all distinctions of blood in absolute red.”</p> + +<p>Chatterjee was silent, withdrawing his vexed soul +from the life of the senses into the central peace. In the +process he walked clear across Halsted at Forty-seventh, +whereas he should have stopped on the west side of the +street and turned north. He would have gone on still +farther east had not Saadi’s quick eye analysed the situation. +So, at the last, it was Saadi who guided Chat +to the portal.</p> + +<p>Wu was waiting for them. He was gazing at a window +full of neat packages to which living beings had +impersonally been reduced. Chat boarded the Halsted +car, and Wu stepped forward—like a yellow Vergil to +guide a new Dante.</p> + +<p>The yards seemed to fascinate Saadi. He occasionally +shuddered, but, gladly quaked, saw more.</p> + +<p>They came to the man who stands like a machine all +day and opens the throats of the imploring hogs that pass +him. Through such a din as Herod’s soldiers heard, +Saadi shouted to his leader.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span></p> + +<p>“Does it make you sick in stomach, Mr. Wu?”</p> + +<p>“No. Pork is excellent food.”</p> + +<p>“Well, most things that go round and round make me +tired. Every morning same old sunrise. Every morning +same old bath and shave. Every afternoon same old +clinic. Every dinner same old meats—animals do not +give any more kinds of meats. Every day Dr. Trench +fixes up same old baby. But this repetition—do you +hear me, Wu?—gives me thrill in nerves.”</p> + +<p>Wu bowed, and spoke close to Saadi’s ear. “On the +first occasion when I had the pleasure of receiving Mr. +Sereef, I suggested that repetition is the secret of success.”</p> + +<p>“I accept amendment,” yelled Saadi. “Reason why +this butcher butcherises so good, he is jolly old repeater. +He is essence of revolution. Always revolution has revolved, +but always more hogs are born. Watch history +repeated now before Mr. Wu’s honourable eyes. Here +comes Stolypin!”</p> + +<p>“You will not find our last emperor in the procession,” +said Wu, and led Saadi away from the ghastly +pageant.</p> + +<p>“It is true, but Yuan Shih-Kai will come along. Yesterday +he was elected president for life, and pretty quick +he will be emperor, and then he will have to join line of +assassinated pigs. But to change conversation, how is +starvation prospect in China?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Sereef, we shall never have famine after we get +transportation between the valleys. When my father +was a child, nine millions starved in three years. We of +the republic will change all that. One good engineer can +prevent the repetition of nine million deaths.”</p> + +<p>“One?”</p> + +<p>“One.”</p> + +<p>“It is pipedream, Wu. Republic is form pipedream +takes after opium joints are shut up. I am what you say +inconsolable for nine millions.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span></p> + +<p>Wu did not even shrug his shoulders. Like a machine +he said: “They have mingled with the weather.”</p> + +<p>“That is good answer. Very damn good indeed. +From fruitless pity may Allah deliver all us children of +Hassan Sabah. But I am not satisfied with China.”</p> + +<p>“We exist only to please you, Mr. Sereef.”</p> + +<p>“What I mean is this, Wu. For four five thousand +years China has been jolly old repeater of teacups and +babies. What is result? Nine millions mingled in +weather without starting drop of rain from Wu’s eyes. +And same eyes saw fifty girl babies thrown in one field +in Yunnan. It would be better to raise all girls and +breed them to soldiers, and leave fifty khaki kids in one +field in Nippon. Japanese are going to lick you, Wu, +because it is what you say psychological moment. Every +son of gun wishes to die for Mikado, because Mikky is +son of gaseous vertebrate in sky.”</p> + +<p>The imperturbable Wu replied to this lecture by +taking Saadi’s elbow and politely guiding him out of the +building. As they waited for the Halsted car, Saadi +perceived a very thin cat in the street.</p> + +<p>“See cat? Cat appears to be one of nine million. +About to-morrow cat will mingle with weather. You +think cat has owner?”</p> + +<p>“I am agnostic on that point. But in Mr. Sereef’s +present mood he is not bound to respect ownership. +Cats are carriers of Klebs-Loeffler bacilli, but even +bacilli are frequently captured in war.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Wu, you have most levelest head of whole damn +family. Look! I will take cat prisoner and name him +Jaffer. I will wash cat, and feed cat, and swab out cat’s +mouth with listerine in honour of Lister College, and +put cat on shoulder, same as Prophet in paradise.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[96]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XIV">XIV</h2> + +</div> + +<p>Becker took Saadi to one or two socialist meetings +and introduced him to several men, but to no women.</p> + +<p>For socialism in general Saadi had only contempt. +“What you want, Becker? More meats in walking +sepulchre? Real life is to fight with cold steel and +not care one damn what is in esophagus. Only kind +of socialism which is any good is in Servia. Everybody +owns nine acres, and nobody is allowed to sell. It is +hardly any cities in Servia. But Jews must get in big +smoky city and lift up voice and wail like jackals.”</p> + +<p>“Nitchevo!” said Becker. “I don’t care to discuss +it. Socialism is the one thing that has come to +stay. But what you say about Servia is interesting. +Tell me more.”</p> + +<p>“You do not read Sunday paper, Becker.”</p> + +<p>They had been walking home from Hodcarriers’ +Hall, Sunday evening, October 19, and had stopped in +Harrison Street to have tea from a samovar.</p> + +<p>“What was in the paper?”</p> + +<p>“Little piece about Balkans. Yesterday Austria +sent ultimatum to Servia to yank troops out of Albania.”</p> + +<p>Becker dropped a third lump of sugar into his glass. +“That means nothing to me. How did the Balkan war +begin?”</p> + +<p>“How begins anything? Everything begins with +Jews. It is only thirteen millions on whole football +of Shaitan, and they are more nuisance than all rest +put in one bunch.”</p> + +<p>“Oye, oye! And now the insults begin.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span></p> + +<p>“Suremike. I will explain. Young Turks were +dreamers in Paris, all about liberty, fraternity, equality, +which are damfool notions of kids. But it was no +money to make revolution. Salonika was Jew town, +with lots of money, but Greeks were grabbing trade. +Salonik Jews and Vienna Jews gave young Turks +money for revolution. Well, revolution revolved. +Then Jews said, ‘Shut eyes while we boycott damn +Greeks.’ Young Turks said, ‘All right. Maybe they +will give back Crete.’”</p> + +<p>“It sounds possible,” admitted Becker reluctantly. +“But who was the builder of the Balkan League? Who +was the one man most responsible?”</p> + +<p>“Beck, is this what you say conspiracy? Ameen +and Wu and Chat have been telling Saadi Arabian +Nights about what one man can do. It is no such +thing as one man, Beck. Every damn thought is +stolen, and every damn finger is moved by nature, same +as moon across sky. Your nice personal Jew nose is +public thing as moon in sky.”</p> + +<p>“Saadi, you are a quaint proposition.”</p> + +<p>“Beck, little bit scientific commonsense is so rare in +world it seems what you say quaint to idiots like you. +But I will talk Halsted about Balkan League and you +will not believe. Jimmy Bourchier did it.”</p> + +<p>“Who is Jimmy?”</p> + +<p>“He is deaf Irishman. He is journalist. He wrote +article on Balkans for Encyclopedia Britannica—you +can read it in Jaffer’s room.”</p> + +<p>“I never heard of him.”</p> + +<p>“Of course not. You will never hear of anything +till it is all over and I have run off with your pocket-book. +But Jimmy went to Venizelos in February of +1911, and suggested Greece, Bulgaria, Servia, and +Montenegro to get together and lick Turk. Venizelos +said: ‘Haidee, James! Go chase self. My folks +are Bulgar-eaters. It is impossible.’ Jimmy said: +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[98]</span>‘Nothing is impossible with Shaitan. I will come back +when May blooms on Pelion, and you will say yes.’ +So he went back in May and they walked up mountain, +and came down with Balkan League under hats. Then +Jimmy got Bulgaria ready, and Servia ready. Montenegro +was ready anyhow. Nikolas cannot eat breakfast +till he has taken shot at somebody.”</p> + +<p>“An Irishman, eh? And deaf! Maybe you can +do as much for Bokhara some day. I see you getting +Bokhara and Khiva and Afghanistan together to swat +Russia with a Central Asian league.”</p> + +<p>“Why you leave out Persia?” grinned Saadi.</p> + +<p>“I did not mean to. It was an oversight. But tell +me more about your own share in the Balkan game. +You came away before the second war, didn’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, in March. You see, it was fifth year in medicine, +but I lost October and November. On December +third came armistice, and Savoff and Nazim hugged +each and drank champagne with each, and I said war +is over. So I went back to make up work. But no +professor would help Saadi little bit. All were mad +because he went to help Servia. It was awful days in +Vienna. It was no Christmas trade, and every day +Jew paper <i>Neue Freie Presse</i> had bankrupt notices. I +began to be watched.”</p> + +<p>Becker gave a wink, and listened for revelations +which did not come.</p> + +<p>“All winter I expected Austria would jump on +Servia, and Russia would jump on Austria. I thought +so in January when Nazim was shot because it was +known he would surrender Adrianople. I thought so +in February when war began again. I thought so in +March when I gave up bad job and started for New +York to go out west young man and grow up with +country. When I got in New York, King George had +been shot and Adrianople had been gobbled. I said, +Austria will sure jump now. Then Nikolas took Skutari, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span>and warships of powers made fool blockade off +shore, and old Nik lay on cliff on belly with spyglass +and laughed till sick. But at last he let powers have +Skutari, to save peace of whole world.”</p> + +<p>“Grey was some help, wasn’t he?”</p> + +<p>“Suremike. Well, I have been waiting still for war +to begin. In May, boys in Bosnia were so anxious to +bust loose from Austria that whole country had to be +chucked into state of siege. Bosnia is still in state of +siege. In June Mahmud Shevket was shot in automobile +because he let go of Adrianople. For Mahmud +twelve boys were hanged. They were buried on June +28, day when Bulgaria jumped on Servia. Black Austria +told her to jump, but Black Austria had Servian +surprise party coming. Bulgaria got awful licking. +Becker, when you hear about only Turks raping and +mutilating, you can say it is damn lie. What Christians +did to Christians this summer—it is no words—Dr. +Trench says I must not try to tell such.”</p> + +<p>“I believe you, Saadi, but I thought you preferred +war to peace.”</p> + +<p>Saadi sighed heavily. “It can be what you say too +much of one good thing. It is not sin to wear buttons, +but it is crime to wear nothing but buttons.”</p> + +<p>“Oye, oye! You are just whistling to keep your +courage up.”</p> + +<p>“It is good word, Becker. I will remember. I +need to whistle all time, same as peanut-roaster.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” laughed Becker, “I have my grouch against +Nicky, but he will keep the peace. A man wrote me +from Moscow that when the Panslavists made a demonstration +after Adrianople, the Cossacks stopped it +with the lash. The Tsar does not want war.”</p> + +<p>“It may be, Becker,” said Saadi, dreamily. “I +will not know unless I go to Petersbourg, where it is +big strike coming soon. I would give four microbes to +know, and maybe I would give five. It would depend +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span>on size. If they were small, like little devils Dr. +Trench was telling, maybe I would give six. What +you think about those chlamydozoa? You think they +are microbes? They go through all filters. What you +think?”</p> + +<p>“I think you are trying to ditch me, Saadi. But +there is another good reason for not fearing war. The +Crown Prince of Austria will prevent it. He married +a Slav. He loves the Slavs.”</p> + +<p>Saadi was smilingly inspecting the sugary bottom of +his glass. “I love my cat and my cat loves me, I feed +my cat on green bay tree, my little cat goes mew, mew. +It is song Deland sings. You should pay me visit, +Becker, and get acquainted with my cat. My cat is +named Jaffer. Of course he will be fatter sometime—what +Deland says ‘some sweet day by and by.’ I love +to hear Deland sing on mandolin. It is like old blind +men in Servia making music on guzla. But Deland is +not blind. He made picture of me and my cat.”</p> + +<p>“Ditched again, Saadi! What has your cat to do +with the Crown Prince of Austria?”</p> + +<p>“Becker, you are Nick Carter, price ten cents with +coloured picture on front. My cat loves Slavs. My +cat goes down in cellar and makes love to Slavs.”</p> + +<p>“Be serious, Saadi. Franz Ferdinand is not only a +Slavophil, but he hates the Kaiser.”</p> + +<p>“Suremike. That is why Willie is so sorry his oldest +kid did not behave like gentleman at table of Franz +Ferdinand’s duchess. That is why Willie is telling all +Berlin what nice wife Ferdy has got, and how nice +empress she would make, by golly, no matter how much +Magyars hate her and Ferdy too. Also it is why +Willie goes to visit Ferdy in Konopischt. Next time +he will take Tirpitz with him. Behold whole damn +Teutonic bunch in Ferdy’s rose garden, singing <i>M’r san +M’r</i>, We are Us!”</p> + +<p>“You seem to know a lot about it.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[101]</span></p> + +<p>“Suremike. I do not read newspapers—that is +why I know so much. What I know about Ferdy is +first-hand, same as Chat’s acquaintance with God Almighty. +I will now say ‘Piffle!’ like girl I met. We +must go home, Beckerovitch. Doctor will lambast me +for not to know composition of breast milk. You suppose +Sophie and Maximilian and Ernest were brought +up on bottle?”</p> + +<p>“What?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing, Becker. I am talking in sleep about +clinic.”</p> + +<p>“Saadi, I’m a proletarian Jew and you’re a Moslem +noble, but you needn’t walk on me.”</p> + +<p>Saadi’s manner changed. “Becker, if you ever +again accuse me to have race feeling, I will what you +say knock block off. I will give you proof I respect +you.”</p> + +<p>Becker waited.</p> + +<p>Saadi set down his glass and gazed at it, while sadness +stole into his eyes.</p> + +<p>“On ninth day of August—day before Bukarest +treaty was signed—Vienna privately informed Rome +and Berlin that she would move against Servia very +soon.”</p> + +<p>“How do you know that?”</p> + +<p>“Becker, if I tell you it is sign of Jew to ask one +question too much, you must not blame me with to be +Moslem noble.”</p> + +<p>Becker flushed. “I withdraw the question.”</p> + +<p>“Of course you withdraw. And it is pleasure to tell +one more thing. Rome has refused to back Vienna.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[102]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XV">XV</h2> + +</div> + +<p>It is clear from the preceding narrative that Saadi +reacted in much the same way to all the boys of foreign +birth. But with Deland he was different.</p> + +<p>Deland had taken him to several of the small parks, +and these filled him with delight. He loved to see +young creatures at play, loved to see their freedom, +loved the games which gave them discipline without +their knowing it. “We will yet have some soldiers in +Halsted,” he cried.</p> + +<p>They were returning late one afternoon from a +small park when Saadi suddenly stopped.</p> + +<p>“What for are dagos coming out of church? It is +not Sunday.”</p> + +<p>“Hello,” said Deland, “we’re right in little Sicily, +and I’ll bet it’s the funeral of the two brothers that the +sawed-off shotgun got. Wait till I ask the cop.”</p> + +<p>He loped off across the street, and Saadi saw the +officer nod.</p> + +<p>“Come on in,” said Deland, returning. “I never +saw a Catholic funeral.”</p> + +<p>“St. Vitus was Sicilian,” said Saadi irrelevantly, +“but the Prussians have his bones at Corvey.”</p> + +<p>“What?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing. I was just wondering if it would be expensive +funeral.”</p> + +<p>“Well, let’s just slip in and see how things look.”</p> + +<p>They advanced along the edge of the crowd, up the +side of the steps, and into the church. No Sicilian +paid the slightest attention to them. All the passionate, +dark faces were preoccupied, all the voluble tongues +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[103]</span>silent. Every brain had but one thought—who would +be the next?</p> + +<p>Passing through the vestibule, the boys pushed +through the leathern doors, which swung behind them +like a bat’s wings coming to rest. Darkness met them—but +it was the darkness of a starry night.</p> + +<p>In the distance were tall candles—and beyond them +the lights of the altar. Fifty tall candles, rising as +high as a man’s head from candelabra as high as a +man’s waist. Fifty tall candles, forming a hollow +square of tardy defence. And there within the ineffectual +fortress rose two high, architectural shadows, +along the lines of which the unearthly radiance glinted.</p> + +<p>Deland left the shadow of a pillar and led Saadi to +a pew, standing aside to let him enter. Saadi knelt, +folded his arms on the oaken rail, and gazed. There +were still a few persons in the church—perhaps presently +the coffins would be taken out—in the front pews +mourners were kneeling, three children among them.</p> + +<p>Ten minutes went by. “Come on,” whispered Deland. +But Saadi did not hear him. Deland rose and +tiptoed out. At last Saadi appeared, and they descended +into the street.</p> + +<p>“Sorry to disturb you, old man, but I’ve got three +things to do. I’ve got my supper to get, and a prayer-meeting +to attend, and the blood vessels of the neck to +grind.”</p> + +<p>He led the way to a restaurant, and ordered spaghetti +for two.</p> + +<p>“Vino!” added Saadi.</p> + +<p>“Thought you didn’t drink.”</p> + +<p>“I have never drunk glass of wine in whole life. +But now I will drink.”</p> + +<p>Beyond this remark, Saadi said nothing during the +whole meal. He did not touch his spaghetti, but tasted +the wine, made a wry face, and fell to consuming +cigarettes.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[104]</span></p> + +<p>“Well, old man, I don’t wonder the funeral took +away your appetite. The worst thing was those poor +children in the front pew.”</p> + +<p>Saadi turned a dreamy eye. “Do you know names +of children?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t remember, though I saw them in the paper.”</p> + +<p>“I can guess names: Sophia, Massimiliano, +Ernesto.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps. People ought to remember that they +have names, and aren’t just orphans in the bunch. +Their dads put up as good a fight as they could.”</p> + +<p>“Bog dal srecu yonacku.”</p> + +<p>“Go easy, old man. Say your little piece in United +States.”</p> + +<p>“It is Bokharan, Deland. It says that their dads +were brave and lucky.”</p> + +<p>“Gee! I’m glad you think they’ve gone to heaven. +But it must be hard for their families to feel like Christians.”</p> + +<p>Saadi ignored the reference to heaven. “Deland, I +asked doctor is he Christian.”</p> + +<p>“Is that right? Did you have the nerve? What +did he say?”</p> + +<p>“I will not tell you, because I do not know what is +Christian. I know what is Orthodox, and Roman, and +Uniate, and Bogumil, and what you say fifty-seven varieties, +but I wish to know what is Christian without +varieties. You tell poor Saadi.”</p> + +<p>“What do you take me for, old man? a theological +professor?” Deland coughed, and fanned away some +of the smoke which, steadily pouring from Saadi’s +cigarette, drifted away with difficulty, like sectarian +fancies. Then he proceeded. “You can go to +prayer-meeting with me, if you like.”</p> + +<p>Saadi looked doubtful. “Has real Christian different +prayer from all varieties?”</p> + +<p>“In my church we have no forms at all.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[105]</span></p> + +<p>“I do not understand. In Moslem prayer-meeting +all pray together at one time. So it is in Orthodox and +Roman. Maybe you are like Bogumils.”</p> + +<p>“You can search me, Saadi. But I promised my +mother that I would always go.”</p> + +<p>Saadi laid aside his cigarette. “Your mother is +alive?”</p> + +<p>“No, old man. It’s all I can do to please her now.”</p> + +<p>Saadi laid his hand on Deland’s in silent sympathy. +Then he sighed, beckoned the waiter, and paid the bill. +Deland tried to prevent him, but Saadi caught his wrist +and held it as in a band of steel.</p> + +<p>They took to the cars and went to prayer-meeting. +Saadi listened respectfully to it all, and after meeting +they walked in silence to Halsted Street.</p> + +<p>Deland settled down to his neglected work, and +ground steadily till eleven o’clock. Then he laid aside +his tasks, read a favourite chapter in the Book, and +dropped on his knees. As he prayed—silently using +a blend of Elizabethan archaisms and Halsted vulgarisms—it +crossed his mind that he was not doing his +whole duty. Might not the grace of God have touched +the heart of this strange wandering child? He would +tiptoe to Jaffer’s room, and see if Saadi had gone to +bed.</p> + +<p>He found a pencil of light emerging from the keyhole, +and knocked softly. No answer. Evidently +Saadi had left the light burning. He would go in and +switch it off.</p> + +<p>He opened the door. The room was blue with tobacco +smoke, but there by Jaffer’s couch knelt Saadi +Sereef. Deland’s heart gave a great leap of joy.</p> + +<p>Saadi arose, and Deland apologised.</p> + +<p>“It is all right, Deland. I am finished with bad +job.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t say so, old man. It was no bad job to get +down on your marrow bones and thank God you’re +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[106]</span>alive, and ask him to overlook a few things and make a +doctor out of you.”</p> + +<p>Saadi spoke with measured utterance. “I prayed, +Deland. I hunted for person I heard about in Deland’s +Bogumil prayer-meeting. He was missing. He was +absent on leave. He was gone to visit ghosts and vampires.”</p> + +<p>“Old man! My dear old man, you are plumb +wrong about it. He is here, Saadi. He’s the whole +thing, and all there is. Don’t chuck it, Saadi. Hold +on! Get a grip on Him!”</p> + +<p>Saadi shook his head.</p> + +<p>Deland collapsed into Jaffer’s arm-chair. “Oh, gee! +I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I don’t see how I can +stand it. Say—this is too much for a chucklehead to +figure out, but I’m dead sure that you wouldn’t try so +hard unless you had already got there. I don’t know +how to say it.”</p> + +<p>“Bedouin said it long ago, before Pascal or Deland. +If thou has sought Me, thou hast already found Me. +But it is not true.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll give you the Book. I’ll show you the places +in it. It would be the best that ever happened if you +could go back as a Christian doctor to poor old Bokhara. +What I know about your country could be put +in a two-ounce bottle, but if Bokhara is anything like +America, it needs Jesus Christ, and needs him bad.”</p> + +<p>“It may need Issa, my good Yankee boy, or it may +not. All it will get is fire and sword.”</p> + +<p>Deland saw he was making no headway. “You +called our prayer-meeting Bogumil. What does that +mean?”</p> + +<p>“It is name of dead Christian sect. Bogumils said +world is so bad nobody ought to have any kids. Good +many didn’t get married. But then Catholics jumped +on them, and they had to get kids to fight back. Bogumils +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[107]</span>believed there is big scrap on between Bog and +Shaitan—god and devil.”</p> + +<p>“Then they were dead right, Saadi. I’m glad we +struck you that way. ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’ is +some song.”</p> + +<p>“I liked it, Deland. But I liked other songs better.”</p> + +<p>“What ones?”</p> + +<p>“One that said that I’m pilgrim, I’m stranger, I can +tarry, I can tarry but one night. Also they sang about +ninety and nine. I understood. Men are sheep. I +am sheep. I am one that is off on hills astray.”</p> + +<p>Tears sprang to Deland’s eyes. “For cramp’s sake, +old man, can’t you hear the Voice that is calling you? +I’m not much on the gentle shepherd racket, but when +a sheep is lost, why, he’s lost. Jesus is mighty to save, +but you’ve got to repent. You’re a lost sheep, Saadi, +and you’ve got to bleat a little, so that he will know +where you are.”</p> + +<p>“I cannot repent, Deland. I am liar and thief and +man with sawed-off shotgun. I know about sheep. I +have been with shepherds in night on hills. I have sat +by fire and heard of ghosts and vampires and paradise—where +no Christian can go. But what I most know +about sheep is this. It must be big wolf-dogs.”</p> + +<p>Saadi was still standing, stroking the purring creature +that he had rescued from starvation. His eyes +were sad, but very calm, and Deland saw that the battle +was lost. The man from Salem arose.</p> + +<p>“Shall I make Deland little cup of Bokhara coffee +with copper toy I bought of Greek?”</p> + +<p>“No, old man, it would only keep us awake.”</p> + +<p>“Not me, Deland. I would like to do something for +Deland.”</p> + +<p>“The only thing you can do for me is to believe on +the Lord Jesus Christ and be saved. And I think you +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[108]</span>will. I think the time will come when you will feel +Him closer than your carotid artery.”</p> + +<p>The cat nestled on Saadi’s shoulder, and Saadi held +it against his neck. “You ask me to believe in Bog, +and I have to say no. Always it will be so—my last +word will be No.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[109]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XVI">XVI</h2> + +</div> + +<p>Edith found her new studies confining. There was +no more revelry in the riches of the sand dunes, where +the fringed gentian hides its glory. Invertebrates and +embryos, microscope and microtome—such was the +new order of the day. But she often dreamed back to +her botany.</p> + +<p>God’s love had spoken to her in the plants. The +very breath she drew was sweetened for her by the +leaves; girl and tree live by exchanging breath; you +cannot feed lovers so. And what fair thought had she +ever known but it grew fairer in the presence of flowers? +She was wont to read the very skies in terms of +a blossomy spectrum—violet, dahlia, hepatica, forget-me-not, +larkspur, crocus, poppy, rose.</p> + +<p>When God’s sunshine reached earth, love sprang to +meet love. Into the thin leaves the earth sent up three +elements, and His red and blue rays transformed them +into food. Then, by admitting the stream of nitrogen, +He transformed the leaf-sugar into living tissue, and at +last into bodies like her own. The elements of her +body would some day rejoin the circling streams, but +she who followed His art could never die.</p> + +<p>It was Trench who had unconsciously made her feel +the sacredness of all this. And now what was suddenly +happening to her under his conscious influence? +He had talked about looking at things impersonally. +Well, she had always so looked at food; she had never +eaten her bread with tears because it was the defeated +offspring of wheat-plants; but now even bread began to +taste of blood. And now she could not look at living +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[110]</span>plants without recognising the terrible overcrowding. +Death among plants, from the heartless oak to the +hooked liana, was a systematic asphyxiation of infants.</p> + +<p>When she turned to the insects, she could no longer +rejoice in the little marriage-priestlings of the flowers. +Once she had thought how wisely their unseen Bishop +had assigned them—butterflies for the red, bees for +the blue, moths for the white. But this was fancy; +this was nature-faking. Trench would explain all that +fertilisation in terms of equations. But when you got +down to scientific bed rock, there was no language left. +There wasn’t a verb along that path, and the result was +that instead of regarding the flower-marriages in noble +Ruskinian fashion, she now regarded them ignobly. +Elsie, for instance, was a passionate red flower, and +any passing butterfly like Edith might irritate her into +unhallowed union with the nearest reckless red.</p> + +<p>So much for the insects that live on nectar. Looking +now at the rest of the two million species, she saw +them as assassins. Their instinctive methods were diabolically +ingenious and cruel. They presented a closed +system of hunger, assassination, and rape.</p> + +<p>Nor was it only the male that was inexorably and innocently +hungry. The female scorpion and mantis eat +the whole of their mates, during or after pairing. +Even the cricket mutilates her mate. No wonder that +Trench had evaded the discussion of crickets on the +hearth.</p> + +<p>She began to understand him. He regarded life as +a unit, from bees to priests, and flowers to girls, and +crickets to matrons. And it was to avoid becoming an +utter misanthrope that he called it fate or machinery. +But if she ever came to such a conclusion, life would +not be worth living. That kind of view would paralyse +her will. It would make all effort a farce.</p> + +<p>The case was no better when she came to study the +sea-animals. From the barely visible slipper-animalcule +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[111]</span>to the shark, it was an unrelieved system of assassination. +And the formula of sea-water was nearly +that of her own blood. She was the descendant of +these assassins—before birth her neck had actually +shown traces of gills. Of course in theory it made no +difference who her ancestors were, if she had attained +decency. But how could she be sure? She had a maw +like the rest, and she liked small oysters alive. Was +her spiritual life but a self-deceptive egotism? Was +her anxiety over Bobbie merely nature’s way of providing +a future defender of her appetite for expensive +shell-fish?</p> + +<p>“Nature” distributed claws and teeth and protective +devices quite impersonally, and left the rest to chance. +As things had worked out, the heavy-armoured trilobites +were a failure, as heavy-armoured vessels might +prove to be, in the war Trench thought so close at hand. +The alert and active destroyers had inherited the earth. +The especially triumphant tribes were three: the +cricket-tribe, the bacteria, and man. Well, people +didn’t worry about it. Preachers assured their audiences +that Darwin was a back number.</p> + +<p>How hard her heart was becoming. But she had not +come to the university to harden her heart. Whatever +God was, she must trust Him. Had He not guided +Dr. Trench’s hand to the saving of Bobbie’s life? Yes—though +now it was piteously necessary to look more +closely into the process of that salvation. Bobbie had +been saved from the membrane in his throat. And the +membrane was only a bed of foliage; the poison was a +secretion of little stems. The diphtheretic bacillus was +merely a colourless plant with a vicarious method of +blooming. It turned a rosy cheek to violet, and a carnation +lip to iris, and triumphed at last in one great +heavy white blossom. If God made that plant, Dr. +Trench had saved Bobbie from God. But perhaps God +was not a physical cause at all. Perhaps he was like +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[112]</span>heaven or Elijah—yet to come. She felt a bitter +sense of the ludicrous.</p> + +<p>Plunged in her new troubles, she saw but little of her +new friends. But when Elsie’s summaries of Westermarck +suddenly ceased, she decided to go and ask why. +On a crisp Sunday afternoon in the middle of December +she was starting out for this purpose when Clara +Narcisco came round the corner.</p> + +<p>“Giorno, madonna mia! It feels good to little +Clara, this nice coat that Edith said was too small for +her—and Edith had better go to confession for telling +a whopper. Invite me in to your palazzo, si piaca.”</p> + +<p>“Clara Narcisco, the colour on your cheeks is too +rich for words. I’m going to kiss them so hard that +I’ll leave a white spot on both of them. There! Come +in out of the cold.”</p> + +<p>When they were snug in Edith’s room, before the +glowing grate, Clara began:</p> + +<p>“Madonna mia, I’m worried sick.”</p> + +<p>“You’re a good friend, Clara, and here you are. Is +it your father?”</p> + +<p>“No, it’s Elsie. Last night I had a call from her +mother. Just think of it—that poor old Sheeny coming +to see a Catholic girl, and hardly able to speak two +words. I don’t know which she thought was worse, +the plaster shrine with the bambino, or the newspapers +I had down to keep the floor clean, or me alone with +two kids. I was putting Maria to bed, and Maria +didn’t want to go to bed when she saw Mrs. Shaviro; +she wanted to run away. Mrs. Shaviro has the biggest +black eyes you ever saw.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve seen her. What did she want?”</p> + +<p>“She wanted to know if I knew where Elsie was. +She had to tell there was a heavy scrap at home. Mrs. +Shaviro was talking to Elsie about never going to +church. She called it School, or something like that. +Aloro, Elsie got mad and said she would lead her own +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span>life, and she just packed up and beat it. Wasn’t that +fierce?”</p> + +<p>Edith reflected. “It was fierce—certainly. But +I don’t understand. I can’t see her getting angry about +nothing.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I’ve heard her call the sheeny prayers nonsense. +But I ain’t through yet. I says, ‘Mrs. Shaviro,’ +I says, ‘why don’t you send one of the boys to +follow Elsie and see where she’s living,’ and Mrs. Shaviro +says she done it and Elsie give the kid the go-by. +Then she asked me to find out, and I said I would, +and was going to talk to Elsie about it, and ecco! Elsie +don’t show up at the shop.”</p> + +<p>“She may be sick.”</p> + +<p>“She ain’t sick. I went straight to Ischl.”</p> + +<p>“That was right. You and I have the same idea.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll bet we have. I says, ‘Mr. Ischl, why ain’t +Elsie Shaviro here? Have you been saying something +to her that makes her feel insulted?’ He takes something +out of a pigeonhole and shoves it over to me and +it was two weeks old and in it she says she appreciates +the fair way Ischl has treated the shop, but she is going +to quit after two weeks because she is not going to +work any more in a factory and she is giving him +notice.”</p> + +<p>“Clara, this is serious. What do you make of it?”</p> + +<p>“Cosi Iddio mi aiuti! I ain’t got no more idea +than you have. This last two or three weeks she was +the happiest I ever seen her, and now it’s just like she +was killed by a street car.”</p> + +<p>“Clara, did you ever know of any other girl’s disappearing +this way?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes. But it don’t seem possible Elsie has gone +wrong.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t good girls ever take rooms for themselves, so +as to avoid mothers that don’t understand them?”</p> + +<p>“It may be. I shouldn’t wonder if there was girls +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span>that had the nerve to do that, but oh, dear—that don’t +help us none. I wish I could just forget it.”</p> + +<p>“We can’t, Clara! Did she ever go with anybody, +so far as you know?”</p> + +<p>Clara shook her head.</p> + +<p>“Well, Clara dear, there is only one thing I can +think of to do. There are plenty of young socialists +in the university, and to-morrow I will find out what +girl among them is most worthy of our confidence. +And I will tell that girl what our trouble is, and ask +her to keep a quiet lookout.”</p> + +<p>“I knew you would know the answer.”</p> + +<p>“Let’s not be too sure, Clara, but we three girls must +stick together. And we won’t think evil of her.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XVII">XVII</h2> + +</div> + +<p>Such was the interruption of Edith’s studies in +December. She did as she had promised Clara, and +easily found a sympathetic ally, who agreed to inquire +casually about Elsie. Edith did more. She went to +Hull-House, and laid the case before a woman who +knew the young idealists of the West Side well. This +lady also sent out casual inquiries, and sent them with +system. The casual inquiring went on for two weeks, +but with no results. It did, to be sure, reveal the fact +that at least twenty acquaintances of Elsie Shaviro +were wondering what had become of her. She had +taken part in the work of a certain local, and her vivid +personality was one to be missed.</p> + +<p>Christmas came, and the Narciscos spent it with the +Drummonds. Edith and Clara did not speak of Elsie, +but they both felt the hovering of a shadow above the +merry-making. When Edith had deposited the sleepy +children and their motherly sister at the Narcisco +rooms, and carried up dolls and Noah’s arks and +Christmas mangers and a whole railway system, the two +friends parted rather sadly.</p> + +<p>During the holiday vacation Edith got into the habit +of walking in places which she had never before visited. +Her steps turned to regions where flimsy apartment +buildings had sprung up like mushrooms—plants of +saprophytic origin, able to explode their way through +building laws. Often she would step into a vestibule +and scan the names under the row of speaking tubes. +But she never found Elsie’s name among them.</p> + +<p>Fear is a great breeder of convictions, and Edith +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[116]</span>gradually made up her mind that Elsie had done what +she had threatened to do. Elsie—she felt sure of it +at last—had now a paramour. The right man had +come along. He might be a man unhappily married, +but with money enough to support a mistress. Or he +might be some struggling young unmarried socialist.</p> + +<p>In either case, Edith’s venture in philanthropy had +come to grief. This was the result of setting herself +up to instruct a brilliant physician.</p> + +<p>Apparently it was the end of something. What did +it matter whether life was photochemistry or divine +handicraft? The laws of it were rigid, and it did not +help to call them spiritual. In Elsie’s case the mating +instinct had got the better of commonsense. Did it +help matters to call the mating instinct human and +commonsense divine?</p> + +<p>She knew very well what Elsie would do if brought +to account. She would quote her Westermarck. The +Wahabies regard smoking as a mortal sin, adultery as +a trivial one. Albanians feel that shooting a husband +is nothing as compared with eating an egg on Saturday, +and Osage Indians declare that an illegitimate is +not a person. In short, Elsie would say that morality +is only custom, and often silly custom.</p> + +<p>All of which would be Elsie’s afterthought. The +mating instinct had swept through her as something imperceptible +to human senses sweeps through insects and +brings them to each other across miles of perfumed air. +But once irretrievably mated, she would find excuses +to quiet her conscience. If now Edith were to consult +Dr. Trench, he would say, “You are beginning to see +things without prejudice. If Elsie’s child dies, she +will revert to the faith of her fathers and say that it +has gone to heaven.”</p> + +<p>She felt a great need of blaming Elsie, but in the +light of her recent studies she was tempted to regard +her as an animal pure and simple. That passionate +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[117]</span>dark-eyed creature was once a single cell, and the +chromosomes of it had settled her conduct from the +moment of its fertilisation. This was fatalism, but +Edith was on the point of accepting it, all for love of +Elsie. How different from her first study of chromosomes, +when she had rejoiced that Easter lilies have +the same number as Easter brides. How different from +her former assurance that chromosomes assure progress, +because they refuse to transmit bad traits produced by +bad surroundings.</p> + +<p>Was it so terribly easy, then, to be warped by personal +feeling from the scientific attitude? She would +not yield without a struggle. How hard she tried +in the next weeks to face the facts and live down her +sense of helplessness. How earnestly she prayed to be +delivered from the power of metaphor.</p> + +<p>She had been as good a reader of the daily paper as +the average woman, but now she did not open it. In +January she did not know that German officers were +acquitted of abusing civilians in Alsatia. In February +she did not know that William of Wied accepted +the throne of Albania, or that Mr. Carnegie gave two +millions to the Church Peace Union, or that the Senate +ratified treaties of arbitration with eight nations.</p> + +<p>Nor was there any news from God. Every hour in +the laboratory seemed to be closing the fetters about +her. Under the microscope she found life all of one +texture. Cells divided and sub-divided, death and life +going hand in hand, neither quite distinguishable from +the other. She saw the terrestrial web of life renewing +itself automatically. It would continue to do so +until a lowering temperature or a whiff of starry gas +should end it.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[118]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XVIII">XVIII</h2> + +</div> + +<p>Good Friday came, and with it the car to bring +Edith home. As she was whirled through the parkways +toward the West Side, she felt very unready. +Easter had always been a great day in the family, and +now she was reluctant to meet it.</p> + +<p>Finally she directed the chauffeur to take her to +Hull-House in Halsted Street, and leave her there, and +explain to Mrs. Drummond that she would be home in +time for dinner at seven.</p> + +<p>As the car drove away, Edith stood at the corner +of Polk and Halsted and looked at the scene. Her +thought had been to enter the settlement and inquire +of her friend for any news of Elsie. But there was +no use in doing this, and at that instant she was willing +to let Elsie go. An animal must have its fling.</p> + +<p>She boarded a street car and went north. She passed +Trench’s house, and longed to see him. How beautiful +his lips were. How endearing that little twist of rough +hair at the top of his forehead.</p> + +<p>She left the car at Division Street and turned her +steps westward across the bridges and the smoky mysteries +of Goose Island. This was Chicago—and Mr. +Kipling had declared that he knew a wretched crossroads +in India which was a better place to live in! +She walked west and then south again, coming down +through the great Polish district to little Sicily.</p> + +<p>Near a church—it was the same which Saadi and +Deland had visited—shops were selling religious gear. +A little girl who reminded her of Clara’s sister darted +into her father’s shop and came out with a crucifix, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[119]</span>which she offered for sale. For little Maria’s sake +Edith bought it.</p> + +<p>Then she looked at the church. She had done no +thinking during her long walk. Perhaps she had better +go in and rest.</p> + +<p>She found the interior very dark. She could see a +few lonely worshippers, but where was the altar? +There was no ruby gleam from the shrine, and no towering +mystery such as had enthralled her in European +churches. With a shock she perceived that the altar +had disappeared, and that in its place was the tomb of +Christ. She beheld the domelike roof of the rock-cut +sepulchre; and there beneath, lighted by the pale reflection +of candles, was the ashen body of the Son of +Man.</p> + +<p>For a moment she stood breathless. Then she reasoned +it out. A great painting had been stretched +over the altar. Rome did not stop at mere poetry. +Yonder knelt Sicilian pagans gazing at Adonis in his +grave, as they had knelt long before Jesus lived.</p> + +<p>She sank into a pew, unconsciously holding the crucifix +against her breast. She leaned forward against the +rail of the next pew, and gazed at the apparition, as +Saadi had gazed at the two coffins.</p> + +<p>What was the world of her studies? It was a closed +system of environment and response. The same energies +within the body as without, so that on close analysis +the body disappeared in the general atomic tissue of the +universe. The same general structure for each organism, +from lily to bride. And to produce a lily or a +bride, the same number of tyrannical chromosomes in +the impregnated cell. The lily was supposed to be an +unconscious creature, the bride a conscious. But the +researches of Bose showed them doing much the same +things, and though the morning stirred the bride to a +sense of being a bride, it never showed her the inexorable +chemical processes within her body. And in all +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span>scientific probability, the death of lily or bride was +merely so much dissipation of energy.</p> + +<p>If a spirit returned to animate that ashen, immobile +mass of dead cells yonder, why, the pattern of every +cell that ever lived would return. The case had only +to be stated to be seen absurd. There had been no +resurrection of the cell, and therefore none of the body. +And if the resurrection of the “spirit” was true, +biologists must believe exactly as savages believe. +Ghostly birds of paradise were restlessly walking in +asphodel meadows, unable to mate, and therefore refusing +food—the ghostly psyches of butterflies.</p> + +<p>It was all derisible nonsense. The simple fact was +that birds of paradise were mottled by the earth they +grew on, and carried their human origin on every +feather. So-called spirits of the dead were indeed half +angel and half bird, and all a wonder and a wild desire. +These things were merely secondary sex-traits +made to float away from the organs that generated them, +and fancied to exist in a limbo of their own. In such +bodiless creations ecstasy is very cunning.</p> + +<p>The pale cell-colony in the distance had its structure +like the rest. The jaw had fallen, and no longer +crunched the flesh of other animals. It was dead for +good and all. But self-deceiving hominidæ had used +it to serve their own desire for survival. They had +taken the grave-clothes of this Jewish specimen and +flung them over the whole earth, an enchanted veil of +false hope. The mechanism of desire had manufactured +the risen Christ.</p> + +<p>So she had come at last to Dr. Trench’s position. +She would never be able to win him to the fairy tale of +immortality. She would never be able to win him—she +paused at the words, and something struggled into +consciousness. She loved him!</p> + +<p>The thrill of it led her automatically to the next +step. If she admitted his point of view, might not she +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span>win him for herself? And if they had a child, let it +take its chances like the rest. Let it take its chances! +Let it be content with such brief joy and passion as +earth could afford. She would drink deep of this +sweet cup, and then sleep forever. She believed she +could win him—she gave new meaning to the trembling +of the hand which once had lifted her own nearly +to his lips.</p> + +<p>For a minute she dreamed. She saw the twenty-eighth +of June approach, and herself awaiting him in +the conservatory. She saw the feathery moss of the +orchids’ bed, where pink-veined bosoms lay revealed. +“Yes,” she would say, “they are but mechanisms, +and do not know their own love.” And she could hear +him reply as she wished him to reply, “But, dearest, +do we not know ours?”</p> + +<p>Then the reaction set in. She scanned her conclusion. +It was free from superstition, but was it free +from stain? Suppose that Trench did come in June, +though still determined not to marry; suppose he did +lose his self-control—for her words would lead him +as the lines of colour on the cypripedium lead the insect +to the stigma. How much would their conduct +differ from that of two uneducated persons whose excuse +was that they couldn’t help it? How much would +it differ from Elsie’s running off with a married man?</p> + +<p>The reaction grew sharper. They were taking her +Saviour from her, and she knew not where they had +laid him. God help her! What thoughts had she entertained? +Men had idealised that man in the tomb, +but in doing so they had thought nobly of man. In +the pathos of their desire to be freed from the remora +of desire, they had shown confidence at least in Him. +He had been tempted without sin. They had called +him the Prince of Peace, because he had mastered the +passions which are the cause of war. Though he had +felt the blind chemical urge of hunger and anger and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[122]</span>love, even as the machine called the scorpion feels it, +he had shown men how to control and refine their instincts. +Whole races had been less beastly for thinking +of Him. These things she long had known, and +yet she had been on the point of tempting impersonal +passion.</p> + +<p>She had read in books of the “necessity” of love. +She had read of lovers who spoke of something stronger +than they. But in the name of the Prince of Peace, +was there no necessity still stronger? She pressed +fiercely against the oaken rail, and the crucifix hurt +her breast. The pain felt good. It was as if she were +a mother, and her baby were hurting her. There +welled up within her an overwhelming pity for the +mothers of millions untimely slain—and she knew +once for all that she could never abandon the hope of +heaven for mothers and children.</p> + +<p>Thus her faith returned on the wings of a single +moral decision, and as the price of giving up the man +she loved. Whether God or chemistry had compelled +her made no difference.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[123]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XIX">XIX</h2> + +</div> + +<p>All the next day she kept testing herself to see if +that decision was final. By evening she was satisfied +that she had found the deeper necessity. And now +what could she do for the girl she had lost, and the +man she had given up? There must be active and disinterested +sympathy for both.</p> + +<p>As for Elsie, she must find her before she could +stand by her. And when she had found her, she must +show an interest in Westermarck on marriage, and no +fear of Marie Sukloff. A personal in the newspapers +would be the simplest method, but this had not occurred +to her while she had been bewailing scorpions +and crickets. That evening she wrote out a personal:</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p>Elsie.—Simply must resume Westermarck. +Not afraid of Marie or anybody +like her.—Edith.</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p>As for Trench, Elsie’s words about the socialists +came to her aid. Socialists were trying to make earth +a reasonable sort of heaven. Their disbelief in a future +life helped them to work at this task not less cheerfully, +but more cheerfully. Doubtless many a scientific +man was working in exactly that way. She must +grasp this point of view at its best, and present it to +Trench on the twenty-eighth of June, instead of quarrelling +about a hopelessly technical problem. Incidentally +she must read some current history, and try +to dispel his absurd fear of an impending war. The +days of great wars were over.</p> + +<p>Easter morning dawned glorious, and she thanked +God for it. The Easter after her mother had died +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</span>had been so raw and rainy that it was no fit symbol of +the resurrection, and good dry bones would have preferred +to stay underground. But this morning, this +twelfth of April, 1914, was everything that it should +be. She could reflect calmly that she was not anxious +about her new clothes, though she had some, and no +longer worried to death about her soul.</p> + +<p>At breakfast she found by her place a glorious lily +with a blurred card—“From Clara to her best friend, +and I got one for Elsie, too.”</p> + +<p>Bless her heart—that good red little heart, to which +no theory of physiology could ever do justice! An +idea! Edith would add that message to the personal. +She did so, after breakfast, and when later in the day +her druggist telephoned the personal to four papers, it +read:</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p>Elsie.—Simply must resume Westermarck. +Not afraid of Marie or anybody +like her. And Clara has a lily +for you.—Edith.</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p>At half-past ten the whole family descended from the +car and entered the church. It was an old building, +rich with autumnal glass. It was a church of gentlemen +for gentlemen, as Cardinal Newman would ironically +have said, but social problems were not bothering +Edith Bridgman this morning.</p> + +<p>At the opening of the service, Guilmant’s “Marche +Funebre et Chant Seraphique” was played, and she +yielded gladly to its spell. “The rest may reason and +welcome; ’tis we musicians know,” she quoted to herself, +and wondered if Trench ever heard any music. +She laid a plot to get him to the concerts of the Symphony +Society.</p> + +<p>She had come intending to get a good deal out of +the sermon, but she heard nothing after the first words +of the exegesis. “We shall be changed, in a moment”—and +the Greek for moment was the Greek for atom. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span>Instantly she recalled Trench’s contemptuous designation +of himself. She would take him at his word for a +few atomic moments and note the result.</p> + +<p>Flowers and preacher vanished. Light-years rolled +back. Out of nothing but unguessed energy arose innumerable +centres of it—ethereal but ponderable. +They combined, but not by impersonal passion or personal +command. They melted into two great drifts of +stars and nebulæ. One of the whirling spirals spun +till its core shone independent, and the rings condensed +into eight planets. She watched the third from the +centre as it whirled and grew. Planetesimals fell into +it with flash and shock, and at last it held the atoms +which would some day be Trench and his students, and +Elsie and Clara and Edith. Then it gave off gases +which formed an atmosphere, a great delicate bubble +rippling with storms. This in turn distilled water, +which spread like dew on a grape. The ever revolving +flash of sun against the earth had power at last to +gather from lithosphere, atmosphere, and hydrosphere +the elements of a third sphere, the film of life. It +pulsed faintly opalescent. It was green, with flecks of +red, and tiny white scars. Every millimetre of that +tissue bore some wound from which it had recovered. +If now she shut out the green and heightened the aurora-red +to carmine, she could see all the blood. To her it +seemed a ruby, and for her it obliterated the scars +triumphantly, as the blood of the Lamb obliterates sin. +But Trench was bound not to object if that rich, meaningless, +unvalued stuff was bought and sold. He was +bound not to flinch as he saw the currents pass from +body to body by agonised birth or pitiless crunching of +teeth. And the teeth and bones were calcium, caught +up from the rock to support the flesh tints of the bubble. +But the hot life pulsed and shock, and the calcium fell +like snow. Life clung to the rock, depositing death at +every pore. It damascened smooth surfaces with fossils, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span>it floored the sea with chalk and limestone and +marble. It fell on fields of battle from pole to pole. +Had these bones cost no more to the breeding than to +impearl a rifle ball?</p> + +<p>Trench would answer no. But how could he live by +such a view? No man could hold the impersonal focus +steady—she herself had felt her eye-muscles shorten +and lengthen as her human interest inevitably drew +some spot of the picture nearer. And if Trench really +insisted that the only reality was atomic energy, he +would face a blank field in which there were only equations, +mass having vanished like Shelley’s skylark, lost +in the light of heaven. Of such a universe he could +say nothing, and yet he was doomed to express himself +in the system of faded mythology which goes by the +name of the English language.</p> + +<p>What was more, he was in that web of life to stay. +If he thought he could lessen the pain of it by leaving +no child, he was just plain stupid. The minute his +calcium fell, the sunlight would laugh at him, pick up +his atoms, and put him back into the web. He would +begin as plant food, but presently he would be back in +human bodies.</p> + +<p>She couldn’t tell him so, but she could tell him that +he was fated to stand as he stood, touching the web +with steel or medicine, to make it rosier. If—when +he banished pallor with oxygen, or with tincture of fern +flicked out canker from the roseleaf tissue, or with a +moonlight trace of silver brushed a foul film from a +baby’s eye—he could not see that it was worth while, +he must at least see that it was fated. He was himself +a part of the web, and every red cell that emerged from +the marrowy caverns of his bones was literally breathing, +and almost as literally breathing hope.</p> + +<p>She could not leave the vision till she had drawn +him closer and analysed him. She did so, dissolving +him into a dozen impersonal Trenches—muscular, arterial, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span>lymphatic, boney. But she could not find his +very self, even in his nerves—that shadowy seaweed +ghost, swept by ethereal tides. She could not find him +in his brain—starred with all children but hers—where +between the centres flashed a lacy midnight of orderly +pale lightning. And when at last she reduced +him to atoms and peered among his shining electrons, +he faded and was lost in the light of heaven. She loved +him still, but she understood no atom of what she loved. +Never mind! The sciences which yesterday had frightened +her, to-day cheered her. He was apparently linked +with everybody and everything in the universe, and she +would have to show courtesy to all his brethren. Why! +that was the theory of God, wasn’t it? In spite of all +the bloodshed of life, God loved the world with a love +more than personal, more than impersonal.</p> + +<p>Oh, she would open his eyes on the twenty-eighth of +June. She would operate on them as he had operated +on her throat. That was a mere metaphor, but she had +a right to all the metaphors she wanted. To express +her new faith she would even say that God’s personal +love pulses to the very star-tips of the universe. To +crown all, Trench would some day be the most surprised +man that ever waked up in heaven. For herself she +asked no better heaven than to see him kneel and kiss +little Mildred.</p> + +<p>When the Hallelujah Chorus burst forth, she was +ready to join in. When the benediction had been said, +and all stood for a minute in silent prayer, she prayed +that Elsie might be found and Trench might be +changed.</p> + +<p>And when she turned round, she saw Trench.</p> + +<p>It was impossible. Yet there he stood in the rear of +the room, no vision, but real as hope or heaven. He +was waiting, and the crowd began to pass him on its +way out. He spoke to nobody, though many directed +well-bred glances at him as they passed.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</span></p> + +<p>John made his way forward to shake hands with the +minister. And now through the thinning stream she +saw Trench advancing.</p> + +<p>“Good morning, Miss Bridgman. Good morning, +Mrs. Drummond. Hello, scout!”</p> + +<p>“We’re terribly glad to see you, doctor,” said Helena. +“You have given us the most blessed Easter we have +ever known. Where do you usually worship?”</p> + +<p>“Nowhere, Mrs. Drummond. I am a wandering +sheep. This is the first time I’ve been to church since +I used to go with my mother.”</p> + +<p>“You poor man! You poor overworked faithful +doctor. You must come home to dinner with us.”</p> + +<p>Up to this time Edith had said nothing. She had +been standing there with strange new sensations—a +shyness she had never felt before. Helena’s invitation +made her panicky. She simply couldn’t have him accept.</p> + +<p>“Were you in at the first, Dr. Trench?”</p> + +<p>“I followed you in. I heard it all.”</p> + +<p>“Did the music please you?”</p> + +<p>Trench lifted his eyes, and a curious tenderness +seemed to stream from their grey depths. “Yes. +Somehow it made me think of this rascal here. You +put up a good fight, scout.”</p> + +<p>Bobbie swung the hand he was holding—“It’s only +two more years before I’ll be a really and truly.”</p> + +<p>“Good business! Here comes your father.”</p> + +<p>John was indeed coming, and he struck Trench like +a planet.</p> + +<p>“Hello, Director! Did you think I had forgotten?”</p> + +<p>“Am I to be honest?”—Trench’s hand was being +squeezed too hard.</p> + +<p>“Always be honest with your banker.”—John only +tightened his grip.</p> + +<p>“Then I did think so. I came here with the base +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[129]</span>design of finding out.”—Trench managed to free his +hand.</p> + +<p>“You are a wise youth, doctor. You deliberately +picked out the one day when you thought I might possibly +loosen up.”</p> + +<p>“I’m not denying it. It was a shabby trick.”</p> + +<p>“Nothing of the sort. Perfectly justifiable. But +you don’t know what a time I’ve had getting the land.”</p> + +<p>“You have bought? You have it already? I offer +the most abject apologies.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve got it—the whole block south—quit claim—all +straight, and back to the Indians. But the owner +held out for impossible figures.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Drummond, you are what I call a normal man, +so far as a man can be who is entangled in our present +financial system. I offer you a health certificate from +our faculty.”</p> + +<p>“What on earth are you two men talking about?”</p> + +<p>“Sh! not so loud, Helena. There’s just a little matter +that I haven’t mentioned to you and Edith. But +while nobody’s looking this way, let me present Dr. +Isham Trench, Director of the Drummond Children’s +Pavilion of Lister Hospital.”</p> + +<p>Helena looked at him—looked at him hard, and +thought at first that she saw him, but everything disappeared +as the April rose to her eyes.</p> + +<p>But Edith stepped up to her brother and kissed him +before everybody. “John, I’m a cypripedium, and +Dr. Trench is an atom—he told me so himself—but +you are a dear. Doctor, you must accept my sister’s +invitation.”</p> + +<p>“That’s right, Director, and we’ll talk business. I +feel an inch taller already.”</p> + +<p>And this time Drummond had him by one arm, and +Bobbie by the other.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[130]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XX">XX</h2> + +</div> + +<p>By Monday, Trench was all in a glow about the +pavilion. He forgot that he was an atom. He swore +to himself that if the Massachusetts General could get +constructive work done, Lister could.</p> + +<p>But Monday evening his glow was chilled by Saadi +Sereef, who came into the library holding the evening +paper in his hand. Trench, having had one consultation +with Drummond, was awaiting another, and was +turning the leaves of a medical journal.</p> + +<p>“Doctor, why they call it Easter? Dictionary says +Teutonic goddess of spring. But were human sacrifices +offered?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know. What excuse for mischief are you +seeking?”</p> + +<p>“Excuse for New York, by golly! Look, doctor. +Here are names of four boys. This morning New +York offered all to goddess of Easter.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! the gunmen.”</p> + +<p>“Not men, doctor. Boys. Kids.”</p> + +<p>Trench nodded. “I daresay they died game. Here +in Chicago I knew Ewald, Frank, Phil, and Tommy. +They too died game.”</p> + +<p>“What! No remorse?”</p> + +<p>“Not a bit.”</p> + +<p>They looked at each other. Saadi’s eyes were misty, +and the doctor’s fingers had closed around the medical +journal as if holding a severed limb together.</p> + +<p>Trench spoke, slowly and softly. “Tom was one of +eleven children, as nice a little boy as you ever saw. +His mother couldn’t—really—with eleven to look +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[131]</span>after. There was a fine school across the street, locked +for seventeen hours each day. There was a saloon +around the corner, and a hole under the viaduct. He +had those two resources, and he had us around him—a +million miles away. They killed a truck-farmer with +no more compunction than we had killed their souls. +But perhaps we had better not say souls.”</p> + +<p>“I guess doctor had better say it. In Halsted we +talk Halsted.”</p> + +<p>“All right—killed their souls. And—you’d better +forget them, like the rest of us.”</p> + +<p>Saadi gave a muscular twist which was half shrug +and half shiver. “Chicago is not afraid? Even +Black Austria would be afraid.”</p> + +<p>The bell rang, and Saadi rose to go.</p> + +<p>Drummond came in as Saadi went out, and banker +and physician got down to business. To quote words +once applied to a less humane plot, the great consult +began. After it was over, Trench sat up most of the +night making drawings. Tuesday morning the sheets +were in the hands of an architect with a demand for +clean blue-prints within twenty-four hours. Trench +telephoned for a reservation on the Limited for Wednesday +afternoon. He was going to New York, for a talk +with one or two hospital men.</p> + +<p>The prints were delivered early Wednesday morning, +and Trench was looking them over when Saadi +dropped in again.</p> + +<p>“I do not wish to intrude, doctor.”</p> + +<p>“You are most welcome, Saadi. I’ve seen very little +of you this year.”</p> + +<p>“Well, doctor, I see plans of building. Doctor will +not build one more Menagerie. Doctor will sure not +build Mosque. Therefore doctor will build hospital +for kids.”</p> + +<p>Trench laid the plans aside. “And Saadi,” he said, +“will keep his mouth shut for a month or so.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[132]</span></p> + +<p>Saadi bowed. “What doctor says to Saadi is more +binding than laws of Shariat. But on St. George’s +day, Saadi will celebrate. April twenty-third is doctor’s +birthday, and in Balkans April twenty-third, old style, +is birthday of St. George. St. George is patron of +kids. St. George was fond of lilies of valley, and in +this room on this table it will be one dozen dozen.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, my son. But you and I aren’t much +on symbols, and I am already enough in your debt.”</p> + +<p>Saadi stared. “You—you Schwabski hakim! +You save my life, you give me home,—and you dare +say thing like that!”</p> + +<p>“I mean,” said Trench, “that during these months +in which you have been mostly absent from me in the +spring, you have taught me something. I have been +shivering lest you should carry some of our common +ideas farther than I carry them.”</p> + +<p>“Doctor means Saadi is awful warning?”</p> + +<p>“That’s too strong, but let it go at that. Well, I’m +talking like a man of leisure. Fact is, I’m not going +to college to-day. I’m off to New York.”</p> + +<p>“So? Doctor will miss one day of Surgical Congress.”</p> + +<p>“I’m not going to the Congress.”</p> + +<p>“Well, doctor, I hope Trench hospital kids will not +have to fight Wu’s kids.”</p> + +<p>“I hope not.”</p> + +<p>“It will come, doctor. Panama Canal settles it. +But I much prefer peace.”</p> + +<p>Trench surveyed him quizzically. “I seem to note +a fall of temperature.”</p> + +<p>“Doctor thinks I have passed crisis? Doctor thinks +I may get well?”</p> + +<p>“I hope so. What serum have you been using?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, mixture. Trench and Jew mixture.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, Becker has been good for you.”</p> + +<p>“I did not say Becker. I have been reading New +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[133]</span>Testament. It is wild Jewish book, all about Bogs +coming down as doves, and prophets born without influence +of centrosomes. It is not so much commonsense as +Koran, but I am sick of commonsense. It is full of +wild dreams about all men must stick together in peaceful +love, because Bog sent down son to die for all. +That is craziest pipedream in world, worse than what +Chat says legend of Buddha turning self into rabbit to +feed brown men in famine. Oh, much worse. But, +doctor, think of nerve man must have to get off such +yarn as that. I like Issa of Galilee. He sure had +nerve. Doctor, I did even go once with Deland in +prayer-meeting.”</p> + +<p>It was impossible for Trench not to laugh. “I +hope—” he began, but had to stop and smother his +amusement.</p> + +<p>“Well, doctor hopes. This is third time he has +hoped to-day. Hope is most terrible of all passions. +I think most likely hope is body itself. You could say +heart of hope, esophagus of hope.”</p> + +<p>Having laughed again and recovered his poise, +Trench assented. “I have been discovering the same +thing, Saadi.”</p> + +<p>Saadi pulled out his watch and looked at it. “This +walking rose which Ameen calls Saadi will be late to +class. Oh, gosh! I am tired of medicine!”</p> + +<p>“Tut, tut! You have stuck to it admirably.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, doctor, but I will never be consulting +physician.”</p> + +<p>“Why should you be? Such fellows as I are already +out of date. Why not spend a few years in my laboratory +here? If you can find out what the exact cause of +rickets is, every negro in Chicago will bless you.”</p> + +<p>Saadi was much amused. “I see Dr. Saadi Sereef +analysing chemistry of nigger-baby, world without end +I don’t think.”</p> + +<p>“Well, what do you really want to do?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[134]</span></p> + +<p>“Be surgeon in war, doctor, if it comes this summer. +If not, get acquainted with Ewald, Frank, Phil, and +Tommy.”</p> + +<p>“I told you,” said Trench in a low voice, “to forget +those boys.”</p> + +<p>“Doctor tells me things I cannot forget. It is not +proper to hang boys who are not twenty years old. +Even in Black Austria it is not done. Even in Black +Austria—” Saadi was staring as if he saw a vision. +Months afterward, Trench remembered that look.</p> + +<p>“Well, so long, doctor, and have nice trip. At last +I go to college.”</p> + +<p>But Saadi did not get to college that day. As he +was descending the stairs he was met by a youth in uniform, +who removed his cigarette long enough to ask if +any guy named Sereef lived there. Saadi signed for +the message, took it to his room, and locked the door +before reading it. It was very short. It whitened his +face and stretched him on Jaffer’s leather couch. But +he did not turn on the gas this time.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[135]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXI">XXI</h2> + +</div> + +<p>In those April days the boys were already thinking of +the end of the semester. Becker was resting on his +laurels. Ameen and Chatterjee were not exactly resting +on their oars, but each in his own way was serene, +feeling that whatever we fail to be intellectually, we +are still immortal souls. Wu was grinding like a mill, +slow and sure. Deland was cramming as if the devil +were at his heels.</p> + +<p>At ten minutes past five, Thursday, April 16, Becker, +the man of leisure, found his leisure interrupted. +Saadi strode into the room, and laid a note on his desk. +It was written on the paper of the Congress Hotel. +“Mr. B. Rosenvine,” it read, “requests the honour of +seeing His Highness, Agri Sodde, at the Russian Consulate, +to-morrow, Friday, at ten o’clock.”</p> + +<p>“Apparently a gentleman of my race,” said Becker. +“And somebody who knows what they call you in Bokhara. +Highness sounds pretty elevated for a good +mujik like you.”</p> + +<p>“It is my father’s agent,” snapped Saadi. “He +will be registered at hotel as Roskoff. Damn him up +and down and upstairs and downstairs.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I see. You and he are not exactly pobratims, +as they say in Servia.”</p> + +<p>“We? We elective brothers? If he speaks to me I +will kill him.”</p> + +<p>“Then you had better let me write a polite declination +for you.”</p> + +<p>“I have already written and sent by District Telegraph +kid. I said, ‘His Highness presents compliments +to Pig of Jew and will he please go to hell.’”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[136]</span></p> + +<p>Becker laughed. “The gendarmes were very wise to +lock you up in Tashkent prison. Now, I don’t want to +butt in, but why are we so hard on Mr. Rosenvine?”</p> + +<p>Saadi stamped his foot. “I cannot tell Becker. I +wish Dr. Trench was here. My father is murderer. I +have sworn I will not see him till he has called himself +brute.”</p> + +<p>“Bozhemoy, bozhemoy,” murmured Becker. “A +social democrat enraged about a trifle like murder! +Well, this gentleman may be bringing your father’s +apologies for removing your friend, whoever she was.”</p> + +<p>“Cut it out, Becker. It was my own brother. My +father is worse than Fourth Ivan. It is me that he +wishes to bend. But he cannot.”—Saadi began to emit +tears of rage.</p> + +<p>“What does he want to bend you for?”</p> + +<p>“Becker, you are still damn fool. Can’t you see he +wants me to come back? He wants me to strut round +streets of Yalta, so he can brag he has educated son, and +say Saadi sides with him against my mother Ila.”</p> + +<p>Becker’s telephone rang. Chat was talking. +“Becker, some lady desires to speak to Dr. Trench, and +I informed same that the doctor is on his way to New +York, and the answer does not satisfy. I will put you +on the line.”</p> + +<p>The person proved to be the operator at the Congress +Hotel. She said that a gentleman named Roskoff had +left a message for Dr. Trench. Well, telephoned +Becker, what did the gentleman want of Dr. Trench?—He +wanted Dr. Trench to call on him that evening. +“Tell him,” said Becker promptly, “that Dr. Trench’s +oldest student will call.”</p> + +<p>As Becker hung up, Saadi whirled on his heel in disgust. +“You are Jew all right. You will go when anybody +calls.”</p> + +<p>“It is true that I am a Jew, your Bokharan Highness, +but I am also Dr. Trench’s friend, and I do not +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[137]</span>intend to see Rosenvine’s red count go trickling all over +the library rug. I propose to do business with Rosenvine.”</p> + +<p>“Well, go to it, and damn both sheenies. When you +want to speak to me, you won’t find me.” Saadi +slammed the door.</p> + +<p>Nothing daunted by his friend’s sarcasm, Becker kept +his appointment. At eight o’clock he was shown up to +Mr. Roskoff’s room. Mr. Roskoff rose to meet him, +and proved to be a dapper gentleman of fifty, with +grey hair, eyeglasses, and a closely trimmed beard. He +glanced at Becker’s card.</p> + +<p>“Es ist ein deutscher Name. Does Herr Becker +speak German?”</p> + +<p>“Not very well, Mr. Roskoff. I understand it, but I +am a Russian Jew. I changed my name for good and +sufficient reasons.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, ha,” said the suave, high voice. “I confess to +you, my friend, I also am of Israel, and am called Benjamin +Rosenvine. But German is my Muttersprache, +and my business in Chicago is delicate, and if it is your +kind permission, I now speak German.”</p> + +<p>Thenceforth he proceeded in German. He had the +honour to be the European business agent of His Highness +Astanakoul-beg-biy-Kushbegi, sometime Vasi of +Bokhara. His agency consisted chiefly in looking after +investments and the sale of cotton, and negotiating the +purchase of machinery for His Highness’ cotton mills at +Kermineh. Latterly he had purchased far more machinery +than His Highness could personally make use +of, the reason being that the present Kushbeg, Nasrulla, +was in constant communication with the Personage +whose representative Rosenvine had the honour to be. +He would not conceal from Herr Becker that his distinguished +principal was technically in disgrace, but +added that His Highness was almost as influential in +exile as he had been in office.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[138]</span></p> + +<p>Becker politely inquired where Mr. Rosenvine bought +his machinery.</p> + +<p>“In New London chiefly. Do you by any chance +know a Mr. Gardner, with the Brown Gin Company?”</p> + +<p>“No, Mr. Rosenvine.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Gardner has invented a wonderful machine +which picks cotton from the bolls. His Highness is +much interested, for a certain reason. Taxes are +farmed out in Bokhara, and the government is dependent +on the assessors. The assessors come when they +choose. If American cotton is grown, the bolls fall +open and are ruined before the assessor arrives. It will +be easier for His Highness, through Nasrulla Beg, to +introduce Mr. Gardner’s cotton-picker than to control +the assessors, and I have just placed a large order with +the Brown Gin Company. But I must not talk of these +things. You will wish to see my credentials.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Rosenvine brought a French document in which +the name of Rosenvine was prominently displayed, his +duties and powers were briefly specified, and the signature +of His Highness was written both in French and in +Persian.</p> + +<p>Now to the point. His Highness had a son named +Agri Sodde Sherif Hadji, who had long resided in +Vienna, but whom Mr. Rosenvine had easily traced to +the United States. Through his letters to a certain +Bokharan girl, Prince Agri was known to be continuing +his medical studies. Inquiry in New York had revealed +the fact that he had tried to enter the medical +school of Columbia University, but had been rejected on +account of insufficient acquaintance with English. He +was known to have started for Chicago.</p> + +<p>“You may already have guessed, Herr Becker, that +the young man who is living at Dr. Trench’s is no other +than Prince Agri. He applied at Columbia University +under the name of Saadi Sereef, and on my arrival yesterday +I telephoned to one or two medical colleges. I +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[139]</span>found him registered at Lister College under the same +name, and his address was given me as in the care of +Dr. Trench in Halsted Street. I am sorry not to find +Dr. Trench at home, but am exceedingly glad that he +has an able representative, because I have a certain +communication to transmit.”</p> + +<p>“From his father?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Herr Becker. I left Yalta with a message. +His father has never despaired of seeing this headstrong +youth take his position in the world of affairs. Prince +Agri is a young man of considerable ability, and is a +great friend of the present Emir of Bokhara. His +Highness has never abandoned the hope that Agri would +succeed Nasrulla Beg as vizier.”</p> + +<p>Becker smiled. “The young man does not strike me +as being of a judicial temperament.”</p> + +<p>Rosenvine answered somewhat sharply. “In the +Orient, Herr Becker, the arrogant judicial temperament +is unknown. As a Russian, you should be aware +of that fact. Cold pretence of justice is a mark of +England and my own country, and I do not admire it. +In Bokhara mercy is shown, and the occasional severe +judgments are justified.”</p> + +<p>Becker returned to his muttons. “Would it be indiscreet +to inquire the nature of the message?”</p> + +<p>Rosenvine sank deep into his arm-chair and joined +his finger-tips.</p> + +<p>“Herr Becker, there was a disagreement between +father and son about a certain affair that I am not at +liberty to disclose. His Highness is not prepared to +admit himself to have been in the wrong, but he desires +Agri to return to Europe, to join him at his present +place of residence in the Caucasus, and to make himself +master of his father’s political experience. In consideration +of Agri’s doing so, His Highness is prepared to +make him a large allowance—a matter of twenty thousand +roubles per annum.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[140]</span></p> + +<p>Becker shook his head. “The Prince, if I am to call +him so, is a very emphatic man, and I should hardly +expect him to look upon such a proposition favourably. +The Prince is sensitive about money matters. If the +misunderstanding was of a serious nature, Saadi would +regard the offer as little short of an insult.”</p> + +<p>“You are very diplomatic, Herr Becker. I know +Prince Agri. On a given occasion he struck me across +the face with his cane. Permit me to say that I am +glad not to have met him. I sent him a courteous request +to meet me at the Russian Consulate, and he replied +in—well, rather intemperate terms.”</p> + +<p>Becker smiled. He recalled the intemperate terms +himself.</p> + +<p>“I do not hold it against the boy, Herr Becker. +What difference does it make? As the Talmud says, +Mah nafke minoh?”</p> + +<p>“That is hardly a correct use of the Talmud phrase, +Mr. Rosenvine. ‘Mah nafke minoh’ is what these +Americans call pragmatism. It means, ‘Find out what +is the practical difference.’ Excuse me for correcting +a brother in Israel, and let me say that you show a +spirit worthy of Hillel.”</p> + +<p>“I accept the correction, Herr Becker. Fortunately +or otherwise, the message which I now have to convey to +the Prince is quite different, as you shall hear. On my +way to Chicago I stopped in Detroit to look at the automobile +industry. His Highness has an excellent German +car at Yalta, but he asked me to investigate +American cars. The automobile is popular in the Caucasus, +and even in Samarkand, though it has not yet +reached the city of Bokhara. At Detroit I received a +telegram relayed from New London.”</p> + +<p>Becker listened intently.</p> + +<p>“It contained the very unfortunate news of the death +of the Princess Ila.”</p> + +<p>“Who is the Princess Ila?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[141]</span></p> + +<p>“She is Agri’s mother, and he has always been devoted +to her. I violate no confidence in saying that she +has not for years resided in Bokhara. Bokharan standards +of masculine morality are not the same, my dear +Herr Becker, as prevail in Israel. You are well aware +of this.”</p> + +<p>“Of course, Mr. Rosenvine. Are you about to ask +me to inform Saadi of his mother’s death?”</p> + +<p>“If you will kindly do so. And I fear I shall have to +trespass upon your kindness still further. The Prince +must return to Turkestan at once. Not to Bokhara—that +is unnecessary and unadvisable—and perhaps he +should not go to Yalta until he can see the reasonableness +of his father’s wishes. But he must go to Tashkent, +and I should like to place in your hands a sum of +money sufficient for his needs—say four thousand +roubles.”</p> + +<p>“Very good, Mr. Rosenvine. But he needs no such +sum to reach Tashkent. I came from Moscow on a +tenth of it.”</p> + +<p>Rosenvine smiled sarcastically. “Some of our +brethren have done it for even less. But the boy will +be wealthy now, and it is proper that he should travel as +befits his rank.”</p> + +<p>“He does not care for rank.”</p> + +<p>Rosenvine waved a bland declination to argue. +“God knows what Prince Agri cares for. He is the +most baffling mixture of arrogance and democracy that +has ever come into my somewhat varied experience of +life.”</p> + +<p>“That is correct! Well, you will place the money +in my hands now?”</p> + +<p>“To-morrow, Herr Becker, as soon as the banks open. +As soon as you are good enough to telephone me of the +Prince’s consent to return, I will send cash by messenger. +He can catch a steamer on Saturday if he is +prompt.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[142]</span></p> + +<p>“Is this money from his mother’s estate?”</p> + +<p>“I wish that it were, but that is impossible. Agri is +his mother’s heir, but until he reaches Tashkent and +qualifies as executor, no more money can reach him +from that source. No, the money is his father’s—or, +let us say, I will advance it myself. If the sum strikes +him as insufficient, I will increase it, though I hardly +feel justified at present in going above five thousand +roubles.”</p> + +<p>“But will he accept his father’s money, or yours +either?”</p> + +<p>Rosenvine emitted a mild exclamation. “Quatsch, +quatsch, Herr Becker! If there were half a million +roubles awaiting you in Tashkent, would you long entertain +scruples as to railroad tickets?”</p> + +<p>There was evidently no more to be said. Jew had +met Jew and been answered, and Becker took his leave.</p> + +<p>He walked slowly down Michigan to Jackson, and so +west. The whole affair seemed like something out of +the Arabian Nights. In common Jewish prudence he +ought to check it up. There was no use to see the Russian +Consul in a matter like this. If there was any +screw loose, it would be political, and the Consul was +the last person to consult. Becker’s fear was that Rosenvine +might be an agent of the secret police to get +Saadi back on Russian soil.</p> + +<p>As he passed the Western Union Building, a thought +struck him. Rosenvine had mentioned the Tashkent +office of Astanakoul Beg. He would wire that office. +He concocted several queries in Russian, but they were +pretty long, and he tore them up. At last he got one to +suit him. It merely asked whether the Princess Ila was +dead, and ended with “Answer ten words paid, Becker, +care Western Union, Chicago.” He sent that wire and +it cost him more than fourteen dollars, and it left him +no carfare. So he walked home.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[143]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXII">XXII</h2> + +</div> + +<p>Becker awoke on the morning of the seventeenth +with the sense that he had a hard day’s work before him. +He was a thoroughgoing agnostic, and he did not fancy +the task of informing Saadi that his mother was dead. +The proper man to tell such news was Deland. At +least, he wanted Deland around when the operation was +performed.</p> + +<p>He bathed and dressed, and went to Deland’s bedroom. +That youth was yawning, but not yet risen.</p> + +<p>“Deland, you can’t go to college to-day. I want +you here.”</p> + +<p>Deland shied a pillow at him. “Get out, you husky +brute. Soon as the Doctor goes away, you’ve got to +boss me.”</p> + +<p>“Well, turn it around then. I want you to stay at +home and boss me. I’m in trouble.”</p> + +<p>“I should worry. I’ll be in trouble myself if I don’t +get to quiz this morning. Did it never occur to your +lop-sided senior cerebrum that we aren’t all vamoosing +the ranch in a few weeks?”</p> + +<p>“Deland, are you religious?”</p> + +<p>“Well, in a weak and feeble way, I guess so. What’s +the matter?”</p> + +<p>“Saadi’s mother is dead.”</p> + +<p>Deland emitted a long whistle, arose from bed, +stripped off his pajamas, and began to splash his six +feet of leanness, so that the sprinkled Becker hastily +retired into the study.</p> + +<p>In five minutes the Yankee emerged, still damp from +his ablutions.</p> + +<p>“Tell me about it.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[144]</span></p> + +<p>Becker narrated the whole affair. Then they went +together to Saadi’s room, but Saadi was absent, and his +bed had not been occupied save by the sleek cat “Jaffer.” +Then they went out to breakfast together, and on returning, +took up their position in Saadi’s study. The news +had driven all thought of work from Deland’s mind. +He brought in his mandolin and strummed minors on it +as they waited.</p> + +<p>It was ten o’clock before Saadi appeared. Deland +was playing a tune called “I’m just a-wearyin’ for +you,” and Saadi sat down to listen. Nobody said good +morning, and Deland played on till the tune was finished. +But “Jaffer” came out and rubbed himself +against Saadi’s ankles and finally jumped upon his +shoulder.</p> + +<p>“It is beautiful piece, Deland Chucklehead. Was +Becker telling you about pig of Jew?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, old man, I know the whole business.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Becker, it was no letter from papa with apology.”</p> + +<p>“No, Saadi.”</p> + +<p>“Becker is awful sober this morning. But I told +him it would be so. My mother told me my father +would never send. She is wise woman. My mother +is wisest and best woman in Bokhara. All people call +her Ila Lala, which is Ila the Blessed. Poor people +have about my mother a song.”</p> + +<p>He began in his softest voice to chant, but stopped +suddenly.</p> + +<p>“It is wonderful! Still they sing, though she lives +not now in Bokhara. She is in Troitsky near Tashkent.”</p> + +<p>“Old man,” said Deland, “have you heard recently +from your mother?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I had letter with money week ago to-day. +Friday is good luck day for Moslems, even if wandering +kids go not in mosque.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[145]</span></p> + +<p>Saadi opened the drawer of his desk and lifted a neat +package of square blue envelopes. He took the top letter, +sat down, and murmuringly ran it over, stroking +the cat as he did so.</p> + +<p>“Does she speak of her health, old man?”</p> + +<p>“She is well. My mother would always be well if +my father would be kind to her. Listen here, Deland. +Here is joke in mamma’s letter. ‘I am not allowed to +eat sweetmeats, because doctor says they make gas press +on my heart. But it is not gas which presses on my +heart—it is happy bahlul of other days.’ It is little +joke with tears in it, for bahlul means spirit; Ameen +would understand. Poor mamma, to make joke with +tears in it.”</p> + +<p>“Saadi kid—I can’t throw any airs about your being +a prince and all that, I ain’t used to it yet—but +say, boy, don’t you know that tears always lie close to +jokes? We never know when sorrow is coming our +way.”</p> + +<p>Saadi stared. “What is matter, Deland Chucklehead? +Is this another Bogumil prayer-meeting? Do +not be gloomy with me. I am gloomy enough. I wish +I could once again see mamma, and you will make me +cry. In letter she says, ‘Come home to me—it is not +necessary to come through Russia.’”</p> + +<p>“Oh, gee, old man, I’ve got something to say to you, +and I don’t know how, because I’ve been through it +myself and it just knocks you over when you hear it. I +wish you were a Christian, it would be so much easier.—I’m +terribly afraid you won’t ever see your mother +alive again.”</p> + +<p>Saadi turned violently, and the cat fell to the floor. +“Do not carry joke too far.”</p> + +<p>“It is no joke. Becker had it from your father’s +agent.”</p> + +<p>“If he had it from Rosenvine, it is sure no joke. It +is damn lie.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[146]</span></p> + +<p>At the same moment, however, he began to tremble. +He arose and paced the room, his teeth chattering. “It +is lie. Can’t you see through lies, you two chuckleheads? +My father says to pig of Jew, ‘Tell him his +mother is dead; that will bring him.’ I will go now +and kill Rosenvine.”</p> + +<p>Saadi dashed into his bedroom, emerged with a formidable +revolver, and snapped it open to be sure it was +loaded. But before he had got the barrel back into +place, Deland made a football slide which caught him in +the knees, and Becker had the gun out of his hands.</p> + +<p>“We don’t like to rough-house you, old man, but we +can’t let you go off your trolley, you know.”</p> + +<p>For answer, Saadi threw himself on the floor and +grovelled like a madman. The cat scrambled out of +the way and retreated to the bedroom. Weeping, choking, +rolling, the man seemed totally bereft of his senses. +The other men did not know what to do. Becker sat +quietly in Jaffer’s arm-chair, Deland stood gazing down +on the maniac. The two of them were strong enough +to tie him, but would that help matters?</p> + +<p>Deland, of course, was depending entirely on Becker’s +judgment. But if Saadi’s hypothesis was correct, +Rosenvine’s message was the last refinement of cruelty.</p> + +<p>The force of the attack spent itself in a few minutes, +and Deland helped Saadi to the leather couch, where he +lay in comparative silence, occasionally muttering to +himself.</p> + +<p>Lunch time came. Deland had telephoned down to +Wu, and Wu now appeared with a smoking trencher +of soup, and rice, and vegetables, and a plate of pork +chops. Saadi stared at him in silence. The situation +was different from that first situation, eight months before.</p> + +<p>But Wu held up the salt-cellar and said exactly what +he had said on the former occasion—“Not pink, like +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[147]</span>salt of Karshi, but equally good for purposes of friendship. +Also I have brought souvenirs of the Stock +Yards—fourth to sixth lumbar inclusive.”</p> + +<p>Saadi sat up, pressing his hand to the back of his +head. Trench had radiographed that neck and found +the vertebræ intact, but the emotions of the morning had +brought back the old pain.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Wu, you are gentleman and mandarin and +good judge of liquor. I will leave instructions in will +for descendants to go easy with all little Wus when war +comes.”</p> + +<p>Wu departed without asking questions, and the three +men essayed the meal. It was Wu’s supreme culinary +effort, for he had easily guessed that Saadi was in some +serious trouble, and his undemonstrative good-will took +the only form it was permitted to take. Saadi touched +nothing except the soup, but saw to it that Deland ate +the chops.</p> + +<p>After his soup, Saadi lighted a cigarette. Apparently +it gave his brain a fillip, for presently he exclaimed, +“It is all clear what to do. It was clear all +time, only I was crazy. I will cable old man in Tashkent +who was once servant of House. He cannot read +or write, but he will find help, and he will send me true +word about mamma.”</p> + +<p>“Good business, old man! You’ve got the best bean +of the bunch after all.”</p> + +<p>Becker said nothing. He was waiting for an answer +to his own wire.</p> + +<p>Saadi wrote his message, telephoned for a District +Telegraph boy, and counted out the money for message +and answer.</p> + +<p>“Deland, play more on mandolin. Sing something +funny.”</p> + +<p>Deland tuned up and twanged Jaffer’s favourite +song:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[148]</span></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Oh, du lieber Halsted Street, Halsted Street, Halsted Street,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Oh, du lieber Halsted Street, alles ist hin!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Magd is weg, Geld is weg, alles weg, alles weg—”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>“That is enough,” interrupted Saadi. “That is +German. Also it is about money which I am short of, +and girl which—is verboten. Play American tune.”</p> + +<p>Deland played “Old Kentucky Home,” and Saadi +listened appreciatively. “It’s fine. It is what makes +boys go in war. When you want to raise army in +America, play Kentucky Home in all brass bands. +How did Balkans send such big army against Turkey? +I was in hospital corps and I have seen. It was always +Kentucky Home. Especially it was brothers. In Balkans, +brothers are dearer than fathers, and sisters are +dearer than wives. Oh, yes, much dearer.”</p> + +<p>“That’s queer,” said Deland.</p> + +<p>“Man is queer animal, Deland. He lives in many +places besides Halsted and Salem. He has swept over +world like accidental fire of slow combustion. And +among hills of Balkans, man lives for brothers. Man +swears to be elective brothers. Becker knows about +that—he asked me sarcastic am I not pobratim with +pig of Jew. When army smashed Turks at Kirk Kilisseh, +did it yell, ‘Lick damn Turks for love of Cross?’ +It did not. Whole battalion heard one kid named Jivan +was captured. Every damn Serb yells out, ‘Go in after +Jivan!’ And they went in, by golly, and came back +with Jivan, but only few of battalion came back with +him. I saw Jivan in hospital. He was little sawed-off-son-of-gun. +Why should whole damn battalion die +for little sawed-off-son-of-gun? No reason. They +were pobratims with Jivan.”</p> + +<p>“Awfully interesting,” said Deland, glad to see +Saadi back in his old vein—too glad to protest against +the volley of oaths.</p> + +<p>The messenger boy came and took Saadi’s message +and money, but still Becker and Deland stayed on, unwelcome +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[149]</span>guests. Becker had the big revolver in his +pocket, but there were others in Chicago, and Becker +was taking no chances.</p> + +<p>They made him talk more about his hospital experiences. +They made him sing a Servian song which he +thought he remembered, though he broke down and +could not carry it through.</p> + +<p>It began,</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Shto Morava moutna tetche,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Da li Pasha konye poyie</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Il Pashina voyska brodi?”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">When they asked him to translate, he said, “Why does +Morava flow all bloody? Why do not Pasha’s horses +drink it? Why do not his soldiers cross it? It was +sisters who were bathing. It was soldiers who were killing. +Poor Todora lay there bloody. She was dead, +but lips were speaking. ‘Dearest sister, Olivera, tell +our mother not to sorrow. Say to her that I am married. +Say a big stone is my bridegroom.’”</p> + +<p>“I guess you like those folks pretty much, old man.”</p> + +<p>“Yes. It was best people in world. They were gentle +and brave. They did not make impersonal war-machine +like German army. They fought for brothers +and sisters. When they swore oaths, they did not break. +They loved their mothers, too. Oh—”</p> + +<p>Saadi was wringing his hands and walking up and +down the room.</p> + +<p>Deland racked his brain for something comforting, +but his brain was mostly full of statistics such as he +had shown Saadi at their first meeting. Finally he +blurted out,</p> + +<p>“What’s the percentage of illegitimacy in the Balkans?”</p> + +<p>“Zero, Deland.”</p> + +<p>Becker himself looked surprised. “Is that a fact? +Russia is Slav, and our percentage is therefore low—only +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[150]</span>about twenty-seven in the thousand, where Germany +has ninety, and Austria a hundred and forty. +But I didn’t suppose—”</p> + +<p>He broke off and answered a knock at the door. It +was that of an A. D. T. boy, with a message for himself. +Becker broke the seal. The note was in German, to +the following effect:</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p>Mr. B. Rosenvine begs to inform Mr. Becker that he has this +minute received wire from Tashkent office of Vasi that a message +was received signed “Becker” requesting confirmation of +news of death of Princess Ila. Tashkent office instructs Mr. +Rosenvine to inform Mr. Becker that in accordance with instructions +received from the House, it cannot communicate with +strangers. All information may be had from the agent of His +Highness.</p> + +<p>Mr. Rosenvine regrets that he does not seem to command the +confidence of Mr. Becker. Under the circumstances, Mr. Rosenvine +is leaving Chicago this afternoon by the Pennsylvania +Limited Express. Up to five o’clock Mr. Rosenvine’s offer will +hold good. He now has in hand the sum of three thousand +dollars, American currency, which he will despatch to Dr. Trench +or Mr. Becker, for the use and benefit of His Highness Agri, on +receipt by telephone of Agri’s promise to proceed without unnecessary +delay to Tashkent. The message need not be telephoned +by His Highness personally. Mr. Becker’s word will be +sufficient.</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p>Becker read it through twice. There could not be +the slightest doubt that Saadi’s mother was dead, or that +money was ready for him if he would take it. Becker +laid the open message on Saadi’s desk, as Saadi had laid +the message of the day before upon his own.</p> + +<p>Saadi picked it up and read it. Then he crumpled +it into a small wad, and went into his bedroom. They +heard the iron bed sing out sharply as he threw himself +upon it. They heard the muffled choking. They +looked at each other helplessly.</p> + +<p>Ten minutes went by. It was three o’clock, and time +was flying. “He’s got to call the man up,” said Becker. +“We may as well tackle him.”</p> + +<p>“Wait a minute, Beck.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[151]</span></p> + +<p>Deland picked up his mandolin, and softly played +Kentucky Home once more. Then he changed the key, +and began to sing the song he had been humming when +Saadi arrived:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Just a-wearyin’ for you,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All the time a-feelin’ blue—”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">He sang the song through softly, went into the bedroom, +and sat down beside his unhappy friend.</p> + +<p>“Did you hear me hitting up the music, old man?”</p> + +<p>No answer. Saadi’s face was hid in the pillow, and +“Jaffer” was purring beside it.</p> + +<p>“Do you know what I think, old man? I think your +illustrious old dad is lonesome for his wandering kid. +I think he’s just a-wearyin’ for you. And I’ll bet he’s +a-wearyin’ for her too. He may not have done the +right thing—and he’s proud, because he has had too +much power. But you are his boy and her boy. Think +of it. We want you just to take your nose out of that +pillow and say yes. Becker will pass the word along, +and your Ikey at the Congress will shuck out the simoleons, +and we will let him fade away on the Pennsy. +The doctor will be home Monday morning, early, and +you can wait and say good-bye. We’ll see you off in +grand style, and brag about you for the rest of our +natural lives. Be a good kiddo.”</p> + +<p>Saadi answered nothing, but he lifted his tear-stained +face from the pillow and slowly got up. He walked into +the study, and Becker thought that the day was won. +But Saadi merely locked the door leading into the hall +and put the key in his pocket.</p> + +<p>That was the end of Rosenvine and his propositions. +The three men sat there till half-past five—the time at +which the Jew’s train departed—and nobody said a +word. Saadi pretended to be reading the encyclopedia. +Becker looked out of the window. Deland gnawed his +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[152]</span>fingernails and reflected on the difficulty of bringing the +unregenerate soul to Christ.</p> + +<p>At half-past five there was a knock. Saadi unlocked +the door and Wu handed him the evening paper. +“Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes. Will the +Triumvirate eat with us?”</p> + +<p>Nobody answered. Saadi was glancing at the paper. +“Jivio! Good for Mitchell,” he remarked. “Mayor of +New York did just miss to join line of assassinated +pigs, Wu. It was damn shame to try to kill good man +like Mitchell.”</p> + +<p>“Who tried, Mr. Sereef?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Irishman, of course. If Irish or Slav cannot +be king, he wishes nobody to be king. Good night, you +Chuckleheads.” He took his hat, bowed profoundly to +Wu, and went out.</p> + +<p>Presently Jaffer’s room was deserted, but for “Jaffer” +on Jaffer’s bed.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[153]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXIII">XXIII</h2> + +</div> + +<p>Becker and Deland declined Wu’s invitation, went +out to dinner together, and ate in silence. But when he +had finished his meal, Becker spoke up.</p> + +<p>“Do you regard this business as finished with?”</p> + +<p>“Gee, I don’t know. What do you suppose the doctor +will say?”</p> + +<p>“The doctor will say nothing. He will hardly spare +us time enough to tell him.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I don’t know, Beck. He’ll be pretty busy, but +the doctor is an awfully good friend.”</p> + +<p>“Of course, Deland, but he doesn’t waste any pity. +He will think Saadi is a fool, and let it go at that.”</p> + +<p>“But how’s the kid going to live? His revenue is +all off.”</p> + +<p>“Very likely the doctor will pay his bills till the end +of the year, and then kick him out to shift for himself.”</p> + +<p>“Say, Beck, you’re a good deal more commercial than +the doctor is. If Isham is willing to pay Saadi’s bills +here, I’ll bet you a large red apple he says to Saadi, +‘Here’s a steamer ticket; now go to your dad and take +your medicine, and go to Tashkent—if that’s the name +of the place—and get what belongs to you.’”</p> + +<p>“He might,” admitted Becker.</p> + +<p>“You feel that the Ikey was sure enough authorised, +don’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, Rosenvine is straight enough. At first I +was afraid he had a political reason up his sleeve, but +the message from Tashkent straightens that out. I notice +that Russia is not following up her bad boys very +closely.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[154]</span></p> + +<p>“You ought to know.”</p> + +<p>“I do know. As for the doctor, it seems too bad +that he should have to pay Saadi’s way out of the country. +I should like to see Rosenvine offer <i>me</i> six thousand +roubles for a pleasure trip.”</p> + +<p>“Same here. I should admire it. Does it take that +much to get to the jumping-off place where Saadi ought +to show up?”</p> + +<p>“I should say not. Give me a tenth of it and I’ll go, +and have tea at every station on the trans-Siberian.”</p> + +<p>“How much <i>is</i> a tenth of it—in plain United +States?”</p> + +<p>“Three hundred.”</p> + +<p>“That isn’t such a much. Look here, Beck, a great +little idea has just floated across me sensorium. Three +guesses.”</p> + +<p>“I guess you would like to beat the doctor to it. But +you haven’t got three hundred. If you have, you may +pay for this dinner.”</p> + +<p>“Thanks awfully, my fat friend. But there are five +of us, and we ain’t any of us sore on Saadi.”</p> + +<p>“I am, Deland. I could kick him from here to Tashkent +for missing a chance like that. But I won’t stand +out if the rest want to play the loving brother.”</p> + +<p>“Beck, you are not so stingy as you look. Come on +home and help corral the bunch.”</p> + +<p>At seven o’clock they had the whole family assembled +in Trench’s library. Becker acted as chairman. He +laid the situation before them with great pains, but said +nothing about Deland’s proposition. He wanted to see +if the other fellows would have the same thought spontaneously. +When he had finished, he called for suggestions.</p> + +<p>There was silence for a minute, while the tall old +clock that had once stood in the Trench mansion ticked +steadily. The reader will remember that Huxley likened +the mind of man to the noise of a clock. It reports +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[155]</span>what is going on, but is powerless to move the wheels, so +Huxley thought, or so he thought at one time in his life.</p> + +<p>Ameen was first to speak. “I am sure that we all +grieve with Saadi, and I am sure that we all love him. +He says terrible things to us, but he does not mean them, +and everybody here has had the good sense not to be +drawn into a quarrel. I have my own reasons for thinking +that at some time in the past he has lost a sister as +well as a brother, and now he is called upon to lose +his mother. We must make him feel that he is in his +own family. I told him that in Persian, the day he +came.”</p> + +<p>Deland spoke next. “The kid has a heart. Once I +referred to my own mother—you know that she died +when I was a little shaver—and Saadi reached over +and put his hand on mine as gentle as a woman.”</p> + +<p>Chat bore testimony. “He is kind to children. On +one occasion I observed him reassuring a little girl, and +bestowing a dollar to buy a doll or some such thing. +Wu, what is your mature judgment?”</p> + +<p>Wu bowed, remembering what Saadi had said to him +at the stockyards. “It is my mature judgment that +His Highness is too complimentary to the Japanese, +but kind to cats.”</p> + +<p>Everybody broke into cheerful laughter.</p> + +<p>“Gentlemen, these remarks are interesting, but they +are not suggestions. We are face to face with a problem. +What is to become of our prince? He is not prepared +to practice. Perhaps some of you can suggest +employment for him in Chicago.”</p> + +<p>Ameen again took the lead. “Saadi cannot earn +anything in Chicago. It is a very great pity if he +must abandon his course. He would be a great power +if he could return to Bokhara with a modern medical +training.”</p> + +<p>Deland again followed. “Bet your boots, Ameen. +A real fighting prince with a medical training would be +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[156]</span>a hummer of a health officer. If the politicians got in +his way, he would jug the bunch.”</p> + +<p>Chatterjee agreed. “There are uses for a disposition +of Saadi’s nature. Gita says it is our duty to fight on +occasion, and Bokhara would offer excellent occasion. +I am sure we should like to hear Wu’s mature judgment.”</p> + +<p>Wu bowed. “My mature judgment is that if Boxer +indemnification money is to be spent in Chicago, His +Highness’ money, which is probably of the same sanguine +appearance, should also be spent here. I move +the honourable chair that an assessment be levied on all +present for the purpose of importing blood-money from +Tashkent to Chicago.”</p> + +<p>“I second the motion,” said Ameen.</p> + +<p>“It is moved,” said Becker, “that we offer to lend +Saadi the sum of three hundred dollars, the amount to +be raised by assessment, share and share alike. But before +putting the question, the chair will remind you that +we are poor men, and that Dr. Trench is a rich man.”</p> + +<p>“Question!” said Ameen.</p> + +<p>“Question!” said Deland.</p> + +<p>“Question!” said Chatterjee.</p> + +<p>“Question!” said Wu.</p> + +<p>“Before I put the question I wish to remove any misunderstanding +as to my own position. As you all know, +I received a Christmas present from the doctor. That +kit of instruments never cost him less than a hundred +dollars. I have never paid him a cent for room rent. +He has paid my tuition. Now all in favour of the question +will say ay.”</p> + +<p>They said it, and the clock ticked on.</p> + +<p>“I wish,” said Chatterjee, “that some gentleman +would advise me where I am to secure sixty dollars.”</p> + +<p>“Borrow of me,” said the Persian.</p> + +<p>“Say, Ameen, you don’t want to buy a mandolin, do +you?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[157]</span></p> + +<p>“Certainly, Deland. I know a Turk who will help +me out.”</p> + +<p>“I was just kidding you. I’ll be all right by to-morrow +noon. I shall spout the mandolin, and I’ve got +the balance in my jeans. How will you get out of this +scrape, Wu?”</p> + +<p>“I shall easily save my face, Mr. Deland. Presently +I shall telephone an importunate Japanese gentleman +that he may have my contemptible prints.”</p> + +<p>“Not presently, my highborn Daffodil! If Saadi +has come in, we have something to say to him.”</p> + +<p>He rang up Saadi’s room, and got an answer. In a +few minutes the door opened, and in walked His Highness, +cat on shoulder.</p> + +<p>“It is council of war? What does bunch want of +Saadi?”</p> + +<p>Everybody looked at Becker, and Becker looked at +Deland, and Deland looked at Ameen. “Old man,” +said Deland, “we want to talk to you about cats. +Ameen will address you on Persian cats and their superiority +to yours.”</p> + +<p>Ameen rose. “Saadi, we have been hearing about +your troubles, and we know that you are brave to bear +them. We want you to go home and come to us again. +The Caravansery would not seem right without you. +You are somewhat thorny, but we take the thorn with +the rose, and are grateful to Allah.”</p> + +<p>“Where does cat come in?”</p> + +<p>“The cat is named Jaffer, and if Dr. Jaffer were +here he would vote with us in our little question of +house-administration. To-morrow we shall hand you +three hundred dollars, which will see you to Tashkent +if you don’t give it away to children and cats. If you +need it to-night, I have no doubt the druggist will help +us.”</p> + +<p>Saadi stood perfectly still, looking from one man to +another. The tears overflowed and ran shamelessly +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[158]</span>down his cheeks, as it is possible tears flowed down +Bonaparte’s in his boyhood. At last he spoke.</p> + +<p>“I am sorry Becker is not damn German.”</p> + +<p>Everybody looked at Becker, as if his appearance +might elucidate the remark.</p> + +<p>“If Becker was damn German, I would believe race-hatred +is pipedream, and I would scratch arm and mingle +blood with all of you in elective brotherhood and +pobratimstvo. But I will never forget. Jaffer I shall +never see, but when you write to him you will say Saadi +Sereef sent love.”</p> + +<p>“Then it is all settled,” said Becker. “When shall +you sail?”</p> + +<p>“Settled? Yes, I settle it. I cannot take money +from men that need it more than I.”</p> + +<p>There was silence, while the tall clock ticked loudly, +as if to say that effort is nothing.</p> + +<p>“Oh, gee!” burst out Deland. “Won’t you discuss +it a little bit?”</p> + +<p>“No, Deland. I have eighty dollars. It will last +long time. I will write to lawyer in Tashkent. Good +night now, all dear boys. I go again to Chicago Beach +Hotel to spend night and see waning moon on water. +Same moon is looking down on ziarat where Ila Lala +lies very quiet, with April flowers on breast.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[159]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXIV">XXIV</h2> + +</div> + +<p>Thus failed the effort of the boys to help. They +spent a sad week-end, for Saadi did not come home till +Monday morning, shortly before the doctor arrived.</p> + +<p>Becker went to meet the doctor’s train. Trench was +looking very well indeed, and assured his student that it +had been a most satisfactory flying trip. When they +reached home, Becker told him the story, which the doctor +heard without interrupting.</p> + +<p>“And now, doctor, he has been spending two or three +days at the Chicago Beach Hotel. You can easily calculate +how long his eighty dollars will last.”</p> + +<p>Trench nodded. “I like the way you have handled +it, Becker. I will see him at once, alone.”</p> + +<p>Becker departed. Trench wrote a check, and rang +Saadi’s room.</p> + +<p>“Are you there, Saadi?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, doctor.”</p> + +<p>“I should like to see you a minute in the office.”</p> + +<p>Saadi presently appeared and shook hands.</p> + +<p>“Let me examine your tongue.”</p> + +<p>Saadi obeyed.</p> + +<p>“Now your wrist.”</p> + +<p>Saadi held out his arm.</p> + +<p>“The one is dry as a bone and the other feels like a +trip-hammer. Forget it, Saadi. You are among +friends.”</p> + +<p>“I know it. I am not afraid of doctor.”</p> + +<p>“That is good news, and I see that the cause lies +deeper.”</p> + +<p>Saadi was silent, and Trench studied him for half a +minute.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[160]</span></p> + +<p>“You want me to lend you a thousand, don’t you?”</p> + +<p>Saadi looked him in the eye. “Yes, doctor.”</p> + +<p>“How soon?”</p> + +<p>“I would like to leave Chicago at two o’clock to-day.”</p> + +<p>Trench touched a button and summoned Chat. “Get +this cashed at once, in gold, and give it to Saadi. Go +to the bank across the street.”</p> + +<p>Chat gasped at the amount, but showed his splendid +white teeth in a grin of pleasure, and was off like a shot.</p> + +<p>“You believe all that Becker told about, doctor?”</p> + +<p>Trench laughed gently. “My dear man, I paid not +the slightest attention to him. But you are in terrible +anxiety of some sort, and you can count on me.”</p> + +<p>Saadi broke into a choked sobbing that was nerve-racking +to hear. “You are best man in all world, doctor. +You are sure to get money back for babies. I +am taking away twenty thousand pints certified milk.”</p> + +<p>“Always right at heart—” said Trench, reflectively. +“Shall you return to us? Or is that asking too +much?”</p> + +<p>Saadi did not answer for some time—perhaps a full +minute. He seemed battling with himself about something. +Trench waited patiently till the words came.</p> + +<p>“God knows, doctor.” Saadi spoke with great solemnity.</p> + +<p>“I see that in your hour of trial you draw on the old +vocabulary.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, doctor. I cannot live by mechanical vocabulary. +I do not believe I have free choice—I must return. +I do not believe you have free choice—you +must lend. I do not believe there is God—but I must +say God. If in all world there is one ounce of ghost in +machinery, I want ghost to back me up.”</p> + +<p>“I understand you, my friend. It hasn’t much to do +with going to claim a fortune, has it?”</p> + +<p>“No, doctor.” Saadi arose. “My address will be +Grand Hotel, Tashkent.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[161]</span></p> + +<p>Trench also arose. He stood silent for a moment, +then reached out both hands and put them on Saadi’s +shoulders. “This is our good-bye, my dear fellow. +Becker will help you catch the Lake Shore. God bless +you, boy. You see, I partly accept the vocabulary. +It is no worse than to wish you good luck.”</p> + +<p>It was Saadi’s turn now. He took the doctor’s head +between his hands and kissed him on both cheeks, a most +un-Moslem performance. “Good-bye, dear man. If +I am dead, papa will send money back to you. If I am +alive, I will be in Chicago next September.”</p> + +<p>At this moment Chat approached unseen, and heard +the words. He paused, and then entered with the +money. Saadi put the bag in his pocket unconcernedly, +thanked his brown friend, walked into the library, and +held the door open for Trench to pass out. Chat followed +and went upstairs. But as Trench was stepping +into the street, he heard Saadi speak.</p> + +<p>“Doctor!”</p> + +<p>“Yes?”</p> + +<p>“Please come back! Please ’phone Dean to start +lecture with story of how nephritis baby was killed with +drinks of water because graduate did not remember what +Dr. Trench said. I cannot say good-bye.”</p> + +<p>Trench came back with a smile, and did indeed telephone +a colleague to keep the crowd busy a few minutes. +Then he sat down, and Saadi laid a trembling hand on +his shoulder.</p> + +<p>“It is much to lend Saadi thousand dollars. But +again it is nothing.”</p> + +<p>“Quite right. I follow you.”</p> + +<p>“But if damfool configuration of energy called +Saadi was allowed to ask big favour of great person +called Trench, all for sake of imaginary patient called +humanity, it would be something doing.”</p> + +<p>“Well, ask away. Something can be done about +those boys, if a little method is used.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[162]</span></p> + +<p>“My God, doctor! I do not mean boys—only boys +of your own body.”</p> + +<p>“What!”</p> + +<p>“Son of Beg did not mean to knock wind out of son +of Halsted. Saadi offers one thousand apologies to his +big brother, and begs him to get married. Doctor is +very perfect carcass. Doctor is scrapper that never +had good chance. Doctor is only democrat in Chicago. +Doctor is only man who will die for wandering kids and +say don’t mention it little thing like that. Doctor is +one of three four best men in whole damn world! He +should have three sons! If one does not succeed to +clean up West Side, but will get shot by white-slavers, +it will be two more to finish job!”</p> + +<p>“Saadi, you astonish me.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, wonderful son of gun than can so ’stonish pediatrician! +That is Shakspere. I heard in Haymarket.”</p> + +<p>“Saadi, you know perfectly well that no three +Trenches or three hundred can clean up the West Side.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, it is so. Nothing is completed, but it is artistic +to draw line somewhere. It makes mothers feel +better.”</p> + +<p>“Mothers!”</p> + +<p>“Sure, doctor. If my mother was alive she would +say, ‘My Saadi may die pretty quick now, but he will +make good job of it, and it will please me.’ If doctor’s +mother was alive she would say, ‘Isham, I want to see +you married before I die.’”</p> + +<p>Trench was silent. He sat looking straight through +Saadi, and Saadi knew when to stop talking. At last +the older man spoke.</p> + +<p>“I never thought of it before.”</p> + +<p>“Mothers last long time here,” answered a quivering +voice, as Saadi laid his hand on his heart. “Your boys +will forget you, but they will not forget one who carried +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[163]</span>them and took big chance to die. Well, it is enough +about mothers. You will promise?”</p> + +<p>“No, Saadi.”</p> + +<p>Saadi reflected. “It is because I have not saved +your life.”</p> + +<p>“I’m not sure that you haven’t. But I ask you +whether any woman would marry a cynic like me.”</p> + +<p>“Cynic? I think cynic is man who does not like +folks. Doctor likes all, same as sunshine, but doctor +would be ’shamed to say so. Doctor is like Issa. Issa +was so ashamed when any kid was sick or hungry, he +would not let one hand know what other was doing when +he did operation for him or gave him handout. Issa +did not wear sandwich-board to say he liked folks what +Deland says pretty much. Now we will not hear doctor +again say cynic.”</p> + +<p>“Saadi, you have become a shameless flatterer.”</p> + +<p>“Doctor, you have become damn liar. Dear doctor, +you will promise?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Doctor, in this fool world it is all accident whom we +know, where we live, whom we marry, by golly. It is +not scientific to make promises or keep promises. But +we make and keep, for some fool reason which is awful +strong. I guess it is just because those about us are +those about us.”</p> + +<p>Trench nodded. “I’ll promise you one thing. +Never again, so long as I live and have my reason, will +I say ‘What’s the use?’ Will that help?”</p> + +<p>“You bet! If you say that, pretty quick I will get +invitation to wedding. Maybe invitation will not reach +me in time. Maybe I will pass in checks first. But it +will be all right. Thoughts of Saadi will come to Dr. +Trench like pigeons flapping round head. They will +say, ‘Cheer up, doctor, worst is yet to come.’ Well, I +guess Dean has begun about nephritis baby, and boys +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[164]</span>will be ready to give you Lister yell when you come in. +So long, doctor! See you in heaven—I don’t think.”</p> + +<p>It was not Becker alone who saw Saadi off. The five +fellow students were there, and Saadi seemed in high +spirits.</p> + +<p>“In six minutes special train of My Highness will +get move on. Now it is to shake paws quick with all +dear animals of Menagerie. Good-bye, old Red Beckerovitch.”</p> + +<p>“Good-bye, Saadi Mujik. Skoro! Go to it! And +don’t blow it all in the first week.”—Here Becker, who +never smoked, handed the departing guest a Lord Lister +perfecto.</p> + +<p>“Good-bye, Mirza Ameen Djan Beg. Pray for me +on general subject of bombs.”</p> + +<p>“I will, Saadi. Take this rose from me, and upon +Your Highness be the peace of God.”</p> + +<p>“Good-bye, Wu, you yellow old grandson of Expectant +High Mukky Muk.”</p> + +<p>“Good-bye, Altesse. Eat Karshi salt and remember +me.”</p> + +<p>“Good-bye, Deland Chucklehead. Pray for wandering +sheep with sawed-off shotgun.”</p> + +<p>“Saadi, you can bet your last Bokharan cent I’ll do +it.”</p> + +<p>“Good-bye, you brown man. Tell Jaffer to come to +Tashkent, Grand Hotel, and I will show him hot time in +old town to-night.”</p> + +<p>“Good-bye, Saadi. Shall we see you again in September?”</p> + +<p>“Chat, in all inhuman probability you will never +again discuss red rugs with me once more. Go home +offer thanks to Kali.”</p> + +<p>When the luxurious train drew out from the La Salle +Street station, Saadi stood on the rear platform of the +observation car and waved Ameen’s rose till he was out +of sight. Becker was waving his cap. Ameen had a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[165]</span>hand uplifted as if in benediction. Wu stood at military +attention, his hand touching the edge of his spectacles. +Chatterjee’s palms were joined, the finger-tips +touching his chin. Deland wildly flaunted a pennant +on which L I S T E R appeared in large letters.</p> + +<p>“He was a good scout,” said Deland.</p> + +<p>“Let us not use the past tense,” said Ameen.</p> + +<p>They turned away to take the car, but Chatterjee +drew Ameen aside.</p> + +<p>“Ameen, Saadi invited Jaffer to visit him in Tashkent.”</p> + +<p>“Why, that was just a pleasantry.”</p> + +<p>“Well, do you not think it would constitute a compliment +or some such thing if Jaffer were to accept?”</p> + +<p>“That is a clever idea, Chat. Jaffer is starting for +Chicago very soon, I suppose. Would it greatly increase +his expenses?”</p> + +<p>“I think not. It might cost him twenty-five dollars +more, but we could share that. Let us cable him, and +not inform the rest. Can you lend me ten dollars?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly. But let me bear the expense.”</p> + +<p>“No. It is my own responsibility, but I will take +the ten now, if it is totally convenient.”</p> + +<p>Ameen gave him the ten, and Chat proceeded to the +telegraph stand. He wrinkled his smooth brow for a +minute, and then—oh, let it not be regarded as the first +rift in the lute of friendship—sent the following message:</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="hanging">R. R. Jaffer, M.D.,<br> +Peshawar, India.</p> + +<p>If convenient go Tashkent Grand Hotel remind Prince Saadi +owes doctor thousand dollars.</p> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Chatterjee.</span></p> + +</blockquote> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[166]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXV">XXV</h2> + +</div> + +<p>“If convenient!”—Jaffer stared at the bombshell.</p> + +<p>It had chased him through the alleys of his native +town to the little hospital, and exploded exactly when he +needed a steady nerve. This came of almost never writing +to Chat. Not once since Christmas had he entertained +the boys with a letter about the conditions of +things in Peshawar. The hill-tribes had kept the cantonments +busy all winter. After four years of docility +they had begun their old owl-tricks of swooping down +by night to carry off silver and guns. Everybody in +Peshawar lived in fear. Dean’s hotel had been guarded +every night, and so had every shop that could afford it.</p> + +<p>It was Tuesday, April 21, the sixth day of the second +month of Jomhadi. Jaffer had risen that morning +from happy dreams of travel. In a week he would be +starting for Chicago, and in six he would be shaking +hands with Dr. Trench. Consequently the Caravansery +had seemed sublimed in a golden haze. Why, then, +when one was so anxious to get back to one’s friends, +should one’s friends arise and smash the whole illusion?</p> + +<p>Had the cool Bengali the slightest notion of what he +was asking? Did Chat suppose that Tashkent was an +island where Jaffer’s steamer would stop? The expense +of turning aside at Bombay, sailing up the Persian Gulf, +and visiting Tashkent by railway could not be an anna +less than three hundred rupees.</p> + +<p>Oh, this was an absurd intrusion on a perfect morning. +To the north arose the eternal barrier, which he, a +born Peshawari, had never crossed. He had once been +up the Khyber Pass, as everybody had, but not beyond +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[167]</span>the limits of English supervision. He and his father +had proceeded in a tonga as far as Ali Masjid, and had +driven back the whole distance at top speed, before +their permit should expire.</p> + +<p>As he stared out of the window at the sunlit mountains, +a certain boyhood feeling returned. What lay +behind them? How often he had heard the stories! +But he had been away to school so many years that he +had grown to manhood without a single adventure in +the land of his nearest neighbours. Perhaps he had +better borrow the camel on which he had been exercising +all winter, and cross the Amir’s country. It +would not be safe, but it would be cheap, and if there +was any real reason why he should go to Russia, the +trip might be considered.</p> + +<p>He stood by his chief till they had taken out a ryot’s +appendix, and then he got excused. He went home +and told his mother that the message was nothing to be +alarmed at. He went to his room and got out all of +Chat’s letters, and read them over.</p> + +<p>So this Bokharan chap was a prince. The wire used +the phrase, though the letters only referred to him as +a vizier’s son. Here was a photograph of the fellow, +with the cat named “Jaffer,” taken by Deland. And, +apparently, Saadi had a brother in Kabul—a doctor, +not a prince.</p> + +<p>It was a pleasant proposition—this asking a man to +travel a thousand miles and back to dun a prince. At +the same time, Saadi had evidently stolen a thousand +dollars from the doctor. Chat was a careful fellow, +and would not make such a request unless he felt certain +that the man was guilty.</p> + +<p>The trip by rail and steamer was out of the question. +But he might possibly afford the trip if he went by +Kabul, and moreover he would have to go to Kabul to +make inquiries from that brother. But he would need +careful instruction. In this his father could not help +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[168]</span>him, for his father was merely a minor government +official. Who then? Some Peshawar merchant, preferably +an Afghan.</p> + +<p>Immediately he thought of Umar Khel, wholesale +and retail tea-merchant, whom he had known all his +life, and whose fleetest camel he had been riding for +exercise. Umar was an Afghan, a Gilzai, untamed by +age or sorrow. Umar had a cousin in Kabul who acted +as his correspondent there. Jaffer presumed that +there was also a correspondent in Bokhara, though the +caravan trade with Bokhara was small.</p> + +<p>Jaffer lighted a cigarette, strolled out, and made his +way to the bazaar.</p> + +<p>Umar Khel’s shop was open, but he had not yet appeared, +and Jaffer sat down to await the master. He +presently arrived, tall, thin, and gloomy, with beard of +snow. He had never stained it black, as so many Asiatics +do at the first onset of age.</p> + +<p>Jaffer rose and salaamed. “I am going away, Umar +Khel.”</p> + +<p>Umar gave him one sarcastic look. “Allah be +praised!”</p> + +<p>Jaffer took the rebuff silently.</p> + +<p>“Allah be praised!” repeated Umar Khel venomously. +“Rasul will be able to walk freely without +keeping his hand on his pocket-book.”</p> + +<p>“It is a thought which had not occurred to me, +Umar Khel, but I perceive the source and sense of it. +Your guards are expensive.”</p> + +<p>Umar Khel glanced at him. “Afreen!” he snarled +reluctantly, which was as much as to say that he approved +the saucy answer. “And whither goes my +Rasul? To Velait?”</p> + +<p>“No, not to England, thou friend of my father. I +had far rather go to Germany. In fact, however, I +return to the land of the free.”</p> + +<p>“Go in the safety of God, and beware of freedom.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[169]</span></p> + +<p>“Freedom, Umar Khel, is as the breath of my nostrils.”</p> + +<p>“Freedom, Rasul Rahim, is as the breath of a hillman. +Freedom is the breath of a thief. Freedom is +a djinn. Freedom is an infidel sect.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer let him bubble a moment, and tried a new +tack. “I venture to repeat that freedom is sweet to +me. I long to be out of the sight of Englishmen. +Nay, why should I not speak out? I weary of these +busybodies.”</p> + +<p>“Silence, Rasul! The British Raj is just, according +to its knowledge and nature.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer was silent.</p> + +<p>“It is not needful to be so suddenly tame. The Raj +has its faults.”</p> + +<p>“I come asking favours, Umar Khel, and I must +not speak my mind.”</p> + +<p>“Now, by Allah, thou shalt! I will not have it +said of me in my old age that I muzzled the young +camel, for the Khaneh is dead, and my sons are far +hence, and I am lonely.”</p> + +<p>But Jaffer held his peace, thinking of the aged La-aal, +the Pearl, the wife whom the Afghan would not +name, but referred to as “the head of the house.” +And Jaffer turned his head away, that he might show +some sympathy.</p> + +<p>The old man regarded that profile keenly.</p> + +<p>“Rasul has the eagle nose. He is like an Afghan. +He resembles my cousin’s son in Kabul.”</p> + +<p>“Then in Kabul I should like to see your cousin’s +son. I should like to mount the pass and see the +world.”</p> + +<p>“Bah! The frog mounted a lump of mud and said +he had seen Kashmir. Your duty is to the sick of +Peshawar. You are too young to remember the father +of Amir Habibullah, but when Abdur Rahman came +into the kingdom, no man’s life was safe. Did Abdur +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[170]</span>Rahman hold durbar with justices in wigs? No. He +made every man his brother’s keeper. If men desired +to escape that duty, he struck off a hand. But Jaffer +longs for freedom, not for duty. Tauba! Tauba! for +shame!” And Umar spat on the ground.</p> + +<p>“Umar Khel, the freedom which I most desire is +the freedom of Afghanistan. Will you lend me the +swift she-camel as far as Kabul? Perchance your +nephew would bring the Houri back and visit you +here.”</p> + +<p>“Perchance! It is what Abdul of all things most +desires, and what the Amir will not grant him. They +that are in shall stay in, and they that are out shall +stay out!”</p> + +<p>“And does Umar Khel approve such tyranny?”</p> + +<p>“Yes! Habibullah follows wisely in the steps of +the old lion. He does not want his best young men +contaminated by Stamboul.”</p> + +<p>“Contaminated, Umar Khel?”</p> + +<p>“Verily, thou fool. All Islam waxes soft save in +the land behind the mountains. Stamboul is full of +ether for the body, and ether of materialism for the +soul. It is not strange that the infidel has stolen certain +provinces away from them. Softness, ever softness! +Habibullah will have none of it. Too soon he +must face the Russian in a struggle for life.”</p> + +<p>“Nevertheless I must go, Umar Khel. I must start +with Thursday’s caravan, for yesterday’s has gone.”</p> + +<p>“My guest is speaking folly, and I shall attend to +my correspondence while he digests what I have said. +Amar Singh, bring me paper and reed.”</p> + +<p>While Amar Singh was getting the writing materials, +his master proceeded.</p> + +<p>“Does Jaffer recall why melons are not to be had in +the fruit market in Kabul?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[171]</span></p> + +<p>“Does he not recall that they are sold in Mandi +Kalan near the charcoal?”</p> + +<p>“I have never been in Kabul.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! Jaffer has not climbed the mulberry tree, +yet now he girds his loins to climb the kikar thorns. +Don’t you know that you cannot get to Kabul without +the special writ of the Amir?”</p> + +<p>“I had forgotten. I have been away six years.”</p> + +<p>“Rasul, I marvel that you tell it. Not all the asses +have followed the camels this day. One remains, and +if he tries to follow, he will eat the stick.”</p> + +<p>“Far be it from me to dispute my father’s friend. +Behold, I am an ass.”</p> + +<p>The writing materials came, and the old man slowly +began to write. When he had finished his first letter, +he looked up.</p> + +<p>“You have a passport?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“You have ocriti lista—special permission from +the Russian minister of war to ride on the Central +Asian Railway?”</p> + +<p>“No, Umar Khel. I have said that I am an ass, +and behold, Umar Khel is wise and of many years. He +will tell me how long it will take to get these things—the +Amir’s firman, and the Russian writ.”</p> + +<p>“The first,” said Umar Khel, as he took another pen +and deliberately began another letter, “you can get in +one month. The second you can never get. British +subjects living in Peshawar can never hope for ocriti +lista in Russia. Rasul will now forget that he is the +foolish son of a wise father, and Amar Singh will bring +us some tea.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer sighed a drop of his heart’s blood, and lighted +another cigarette.</p> + +<p>By the time the second letter was finished, Amar +Singh had brought a steaming infusion of the best +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[172]</span>Kangra, with cakes and strawberries. Jaffer accepted +a very sweet cake and a cup of tea, though he would +much have preferred coffee. Three weaknesses had +Jaffer, and these were cigarettes, coffee, and sweet +cakes. Three weaknesses—yet a month later they +served him well.</p> + +<p>“How soon, my ignorant son, do you leave for +America?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know. I had expected to start this week. +But What you tell me breaks my heart.”</p> + +<p>“Wait till it is healed. Peshawar is pleasant in +May, and the raiders are quieting down. With whom +do you lodge among the godless be-iman of Chicago?”</p> + +<p>“With Hakim Trench. He is my revered master.”</p> + +<p>“Do not speak like a Hindu. But you may speak +to me of Trench.”</p> + +<p>“He is a great physician, Umar Khel, and young, +and especially he has compassion on the sickness of +children. I thank the Compassionate One that I was +permitted to study with Hakim Trench in the book of +the body.”</p> + +<p>“Peace be upon him. He is only a Christian, but +in Sura second it is written that the Christian who believes +in the last day shall never be grieved. Well, you +have been to me as my own son this day, brave and foolish. +To-morrow I have new and wonderful teas due +from China. Come after two days, I will give you a +gift for Trench.”</p> + +<p>“I will come, and I will say many thanks in his +name.”</p> + +<p>“A trifle! Wretched stuff! But it is for the +friend of my friend, and we will choose a good canister.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[173]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXVI">XXVI</h2> + +</div> + +<p>The morning after Easter, Edith returned to her +studies with a light heart. She was full of joy about +the new hospital. Furthermore the personal had begun +to run in the newspapers, and she would keep it there +till it met Elsie’s eye, if it took five years and each year +cost her an Easter dress and a summer vacation. She +would see this thing through.</p> + +<p>Once more, as she bent above her microscope, God +seemed to be answering her. The nucleus of every cell +divided with a purpose, even if with no other than that +of distributing the chromosomes equally among the +daughter cells, and beyond that she was willing to +trust God. She even became rather enthusiastic about +pushing the physico-chemical theory of life to its logical +conclusion. Even if somebody should actually find the +formula, somewhere among those frightfully complex +colloids, no formula could explain the spiritual effort +by which it was found.</p> + +<p>Tuesday evening, April 21, she was at home, and +reading Haldane on respiration. He thought it inexplicable +by mechanics, and she agreed, but she was +looking for flaws in the argument, and quite willing to +trip him up.</p> + +<p>Then the door opened, and Bobbie bowed with exaggerated +politeness. “Aunty Highbrow, telephone +wants you.”</p> + +<p>Five minutes later, Drummond’s excellent Swedish +chauffeur was startled out of his evening smoke. And +thirty minutes later he had been dismissed by Miss +Bridgman, with the information that she would not be +home till morning.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[174]</span></p> + +<p>They were sitting together—Edith and Elsie—on +the couch in Elsie’s front room, and their arms were +intertwined as completely as the mechanics of the situation +would permit.</p> + +<p>“I’ve read that personal every day for nine days +and I just couldn’t stand it any longer.”</p> + +<p>“I’m terribly glad that you couldn’t.”</p> + +<p>“He’s a foreigner, Edith. And enough like Marie +to be her brother.”</p> + +<p>“Most of us are foreigners. Has he gone back +home?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, he went yesterday.”</p> + +<p>Elsie disengaged her left hand and held it before +Edith’s eyes. “You see, I haven’t disgraced you. +That ring is as real as anybody’s.”</p> + +<p>Another kiss, ending with a sigh of relief. “I’m +not heroic, Elsie. I was perfectly certain you had no +ring, and I couldn’t make up my idiot mind whether +to blame you or not.”</p> + +<p>“Now don’t you scold yourself, Edith Bridgman. +I’ve just been living on your convictions.”</p> + +<p>“Why, didn’t he want to marry you?”</p> + +<p>Elsie laughed. “It was too funny. I had refused +to promise you, and he had refused to promise a man +friend of his. But we talked about you—and wanted +to please you both. We—we knew you two were +older. Where do you think we met?”</p> + +<p>“At a socialist meeting, of course.”</p> + +<p>“No! At a dance hall.”</p> + +<p>“Elsie Shaviro Somebody, I’m ashamed of you. I +must kiss you again to prove it.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, ma’am. If I can’t be kissed by my +husband, you are the next best. But I was desperate, +Edith. I didn’t care what I did. And I went one +evening, and it made me sick. There wasn’t a decent +man or girl in the place. I was standing to one side +when he came through the gate and took a look. I said +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[175]</span>to myself, Who are you, my young Napoleon Bonaparte? +Then something slid up to him and spoke to +him. He reached out his finger and touched her lips. +‘Well,’ he said, ‘I might get some on my face.’ She +slapped him on the cheek and she said, ‘You’re no +gentleman.’ He moved his head up and down and +said, ‘You have Browning pistol of eye, kiddo. You +have shot me up for fair.’ She giggled and took him +by the arm. ‘Maybe you don’t think I’m onto you. +Browning is a poet. Do you think I’ve got some +eyes?’ He looked sober right away. Then he said, +‘When I monkey with slang, it sometimes turns out +buzz-saw. I mean you shoot straight when you say I +am no gentleman; but you, kiddo, are just poor pitiful +she configuration of élan vital. Now go away quick.’ +She looked at him, and moved off. Then he took out +his handkerchief and wiped his forehead, and saw me +looking at him.”</p> + +<p>Elsie stopped, evidently lingering over a happy moment.</p> + +<p>“Who spoke first?”</p> + +<p>“He did. He walked straight up to me, and he +said, ‘Miss Eyeglasses, I want to dance. I do not +know anybody. My name is Saadi.’ I said, ‘My +name is Elsie, and I want to dance, too.’ We moved +out on the floor, and we danced till we reeled. I don’t +think we said one word. We had been waiting for +each other a thousand years.”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t you even discuss élan vital?”</p> + +<p>“No. It was weeks before I understood. I didn’t +even know it meant vital impulse. And I had never +seen the word ‘Saadi’ before. That’s a Persian +word.”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Persian and Jewess! It’s a real romance.”</p> + +<p>“He isn’t exactly a Persian, though he speaks Persian +as perfectly as you speak English. He comes from +Bokhara. It wouldn’t have made any difference if he had +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[176]</span>come from the North Pole. He’s the noblest man that +ever lived.”</p> + +<p>Edith reached out her foot and touched the magnificent +red rug. “You evidently know about Bokhara +now. That’s a beauty.”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it! He ransacked the whole town for eastern +things. That coffee set over there, with the cunning +little cups and the long curving brass spout, came from +Bosnia. He knows all about the Balkans. Oh, maybe +I haven’t learned things!”</p> + +<p>“It’s hard to take it all in, Elsie. Does your mother +know? Were you married by the rabbi?”</p> + +<p>“My folks know all about it now. Mother was here +to see me this morning. She can’t get over the fact +that I was married by a justice of the peace, but she’s +taking it pretty well. My father is tickled to death that +it isn’t worse. He telephoned me about an hour ago +that Moslem is a whole lot better than Monzerim.”</p> + +<p>“I’m sure it is, Elsie. But ‘monzerim’ is beyond +me.”</p> + +<p>“It means illegitimates, Edith. Mother—mother +explained to me this morning why I’ve been so miserable +lately.”</p> + +<p>She hid her face on Edith’s breast, and the scarred +hand held the dark head close. “Bless your dear +heart, girlie! Bless your dear heart.”</p> + +<p>Elsie clung to her—crying a little—tears of joy. +“Just think, Edith—just think—my dream will +come true. It is sure to be a boy.”</p> + +<p>“A fighter for the workers,” murmured Edith. +“Have you seen a doctor?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Will you let me send you one?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll do anything you say. I want everything to +be all right.” She lifted her face and brushed away +the happy tears. “I want my boy to be strong and +beautiful, like his father.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[177]</span></p> + +<p>She arose and brought a photograph, and Edith +studied it. “It is a very unusual face, Elsie. But +what long eyes, looking out of the corners. Did you +never mistrust him the least bit?”</p> + +<p>“Never! His simplest word—why, I’d take my +husband’s word against all the bibles in the world. He +was always joking, and I did enjoy it so, for I could +never make a joke. But when Saadi says he’ll do a +thing, he’ll do it even if the sky tumbles down. Yes, +and if it tumbled down, he’d catch the birds on his +shoulder and pet them.”</p> + +<p>“Does he know who’s coming?”</p> + +<p>Elsie shook her head. “He never dreamed. And +I can’t telegraph him, because I don’t know what +steamer he is taking to-morrow. But he will be the +gladdest man in Asia when he gets my letter. If I +may see your doctor to-morrow, I’ll write to-morrow +night. Who is your doctor, Edith?”</p> + +<p>Edith hesitated. “Bobbie had a specialist. But I +will send you our family physician, Dr. Rowland. I’ll +telephone when he can come, and you can have your +mother here to meet him. But for goodness’ sake, don’t +wait about writing. Do it now, and I’ll mail it when +I go out in the morning.”</p> + +<p>“All right. But I must go to my bedroom to write, +all by my little self.”</p> + +<p>And away she went. She was gone for fifteen minutes, +while Edith availed herself of the opportunity to +pull her wits together, and study the face of Elsie’s +husband. Something about the brow made her think +of Trench. But there was no resemblance to the doctor’s +clear, steady gaze. Presently Elsie returned, +radiant at a good task performed, and placed in Edith’s +hands the letter, addressed to Mr. Saadi Sereef, Grand +Hotel, Tashkent, Turkestan, Russia. Edith put it in +her handbag, and they sat down together again.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’m so happy,” sighed Elsie. “And it is so +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[178]</span>nice to feel that I can pay the doctor. My husband is +rich—that is, he seems rich to me after what I’ve +gone through. He left me five hundred dollars in gold, +and I’ve got a bank account. His father is some sort +of nobleman. They call him a Beg.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” exclaimed Edith. “Perhaps that is why he +is so much interested in politics.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps. I’m making a big scrapbook of the +clippings he collected, though I can’t read half of +them. He had a dozen foreign papers sent here, and +he’d sit over there and use the shears, and sort of rub +his teeth together in tune with them. I can tell you +just how much every nation in the world spent on its +navy last year. I can tell you the gold reserve in +every capital. Saadi is the most practical revolutionist +I ever met.”</p> + +<p>“I inferred as much, my dear. You said he was +like Marie. But I supposed Marie to be very poor.”</p> + +<p>“That’s true, but lots of revolutionist girls are rich, +Edith, and of noble blood. Saadi is the son of a +nobleman, but he was in the Russian revolution. As +soon as he gets to Tashkent he is going to take a hand +in politics again. I don’t know just what he’s going +to do. It is dangerous, but I told him I would be +ashamed of him if he didn’t do his duty. I’m not +worrying. Nothing will happen to him—he’s too full +of resources. And some day he will probably be prime +minister of Bokhara, for he is a great friend of the +present Emir.”</p> + +<p>Edith caught her breath. A terrible suspicion was +slowly forcing the door of her heart, as the veiled figure +in Watts’s picture forces its way past the broken-winged +love.</p> + +<p>Elsie did not notice her agitation. “And then,” +continued the girl, “we shall go to Bokhara to live, and +I shall be a great lady. Wouldn’t that make you +smile, Edith Bridgman? From Ischl’s clothing factory +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[179]</span>to the palace of Kermineh! But there shall be +no nonsense. Saadi and I are both radicals, though he +hasn’t much faith in Marx, and we’ll make things hum +in Central Asia.”</p> + +<p>Edith fought the dreadful sinking sensation within +her. She rose and moved round the room, examining +here a picture and there a vase, with little mechanical +exclamations, as of pleasure. Elsie rose and joined +her, and took her through all the rooms of the flat. +Had the girl been already a princess in Bokhara, she +could have shown no more pride in her palace. Gradually +her friend recovered herself. Whatever her +doubts, this was not the time to disclose them.</p> + +<p>They returned to the front room. “Oh, it’s so +good to think that you’re going to stay all night. Saadi +wasn’t here more than half the time. He is studying +medicine, and couldn’t let on to his friends that he was +married.”</p> + +<p>More darkness spreading across the horizon, but +Edith held her peace, and sent up a little prayer for +a level head.</p> + +<p>“And now, Edith dear, don’t let’s talk any more for +a while, but have some music. It’s a perfectly splendid +instrument, and I’m going to play you the first two +pieces he brought me. You see, I took a little room by +myself right after I first met him, and he had the instrument +sent there. That was when you lost track of +me. If I had known you a little better, I’d have had +you come and chaperon me, but I always thought of +you as with me, dear beautiful woman.”</p> + +<p>A lump rose in Edith’s throat, and down went her +head on Elsie’s shoulder, as if she were begging forgiveness +for something. But when Elsie presently +proceeded to play Korsakoff’s “Scherazade,” and then +Bird’s “Oriental Sketch,” sorrow returned. She understood +only too well how the spell of enchantment +had fallen upon Elsie in those first days. The man +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[180]</span>had technically respected her unprotected condition, +but he had led her into a fool’s paradise with that +subtle, jasmine-sweet music. As the strains ceased, +Edith felt that Elsie was very unlikely to see her husband +again.</p> + +<p>“You say he has gone to Bokhara, dear. What +called him home? Was it the politics?”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t quite say he had gone to Bokhara. Didn’t +you notice the address I wrote on the letter? Tashkent +was his mother’s home, and it is about fifteen +hours’ ride from Bokhara. His mother has died, and +he has to go.”</p> + +<p>“Does her dying make any difference to his prospects?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Saadi gets all her money. The poor little +socialist girl is going to have money to burn.”</p> + +<p>“Why didn’t his mother live in Bokhara?”</p> + +<p>“There was some trouble. She was separated from +her husband. Saadi didn’t seem to think much of his +father, but what do I care, so long as he thinks the +whole world of me?”</p> + +<p>She sprang up and brought a half-dozen new records, +each in its brown paper cover. “Select something +more to play, Edith. Oh, here’s the thing. This +is the Servian national song, ‘Rise, Servians, Rise.’ It +makes you rise all right. Listen!”</p> + +<p>She slipped the record into place, and the sprightly +military music began. She swayed to it. She began +to march alertly through the room. “You should have +seen us do this together! He knew the words, and we +used to march up and down till the people below rapped +on the steam-pipe and we had to be good.—What’s the +matter, Edith? Don’t you like such things Sunday +evening? I always forget that you’re a Christian.”</p> + +<p>Edith smiled, at least with her lips. “I suppose +I’m tired. I didn’t have any supper. Will you make +me a cup of tea?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[181]</span></p> + +<p>“Will I? I’m awful to forget a thing like that. +Why, you poor little rich girl, I’ve got an ice box full +of goodies for you. And we’ll have supper right away. +No—you aren’t going to help. You sit right there +and look at the new records, and pick out something +for a tired girl. There’s a lovely one over there somewhere—the +last he brought me. It’s called ‘Good +night, little girl, good night,’ but I haven’t played it +since he went, for it makes me cry.”</p> + +<p>Elsie disappeared into the kitchen, and Edith sat +perfectly still, gazing at the Bokhara rug, which was +red as if with old blood.</p> + +<p>Son of a prince—medical student—clandestine +marriage—prime minister—dead mother—heir to +fortune! It was all a clear case of humbug and treachery. +Little had Helena guessed how truly Edith would +have to “specialise in desertion.”</p> + +<p>Elsie’s voice rang out from the kitchen. “Why +don’t you play it?”</p> + +<p>“In a minute,” answered Edith. She shuffled the +records and found the one desired. She took it out +and carried it to the instrument and set it in place, +though it looked like a great thin passover cake, the +charred symbol of Elsie’s sacrifice. A rich baritone +began to sing, “I’ve told you the story you asked me to +tell.” A father was giving his little daughter a good-night +blessing. Edith listened grimly.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“The world is so wide, dearie,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">True friends are so rare, dearie,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Who knows what danger may wait for you there!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">No matter how well we have guarded the fold,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The wolves will come in somewhere.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But rest you and slumber, and dream if you will,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">You’re safe this night, I know—”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>She shuddered as the tender words were breathed. +To have given Elsie that song as a farewell gift was a +bit of oriental cruelty worthy of Satan himself. She +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[182]</span>slowly clenched her hands, and became aware that one +of them was holding the slip from which she had taken +the record.</p> + +<p>As she smoothed out the heavy brown paper, she extracted +from it a piece of lighter colour, apparently the +memorandum of sale. No—no! What stared at +her! She had a quick eye for that word of words.</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="right">Cetinje, April 15, 1914.</p> + +<p class="noindent">Saadi Sereef Dr. Trench, Halsted St., Chicago.</p> + +<p class="center">bsvd</p> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Mohammed Beg.</span></p> + +</blockquote> + +<p>It was but the work of an instant to get to her handbag +and hide the paper within it. She had no qualm +of conscience. She had only a queer little jumble of +hope and confidence.</p> + +<p>“The needle’s off,” sang Elsie in the distance, and +so it was, rasping its way toward the pin at the centre. +Edith pushed the little lever, lifted the arm, inserted a +new needle, tossed the record to the couch, and restored +the Servian piece. She lifted her head and marched +down the hall to the kitchen.</p> + +<p>“That’s the stuff, Edith. Why, your cheeks are +red as fire, and your eyes are snapping like electricity.”</p> + +<p>“I could dance,” said Edith. “I’ll put on The +Blue Danube, and we’ll take a turn in the kitchen.”</p> + +<p>“You won’t find anything about the Danube in <i>my</i> +records, thank you. Saadi hates the Austrians, and +my family doesn’t love them any too well. Father was +born in Galicia.”</p> + +<p>“I was only joking, dear. Dr. Rowland wouldn’t +let you dance. How good everything looks. Let’s eat +in the kitchen.”</p> + +<p>“Not much! You’ve got to see all the pretty things +I have.”</p> + +<p>“And not one from me among them!”</p> + +<p>“How do you know? Saadi and I had no end of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[183]</span>fun buying our own wedding presents. I bought for +all my friends, and he did the same. I have presents +from Mr. Wu, and Mr. Becker, and Mr. Chatterjee, +and Mr. Deland, and Mr. Ameen, and Dr. Trench.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed? Dr. Trench is the man who attended +Bobbie.”</p> + +<p>“Well, now, Edith, what do you know about that! +Isn’t that the funniest coincidence? He is the man +whom Saadi refused to promise.”</p> + +<p>“Have you met him, Elsie?”</p> + +<p>“Goodness, no. Don’t you understand that nobody +knows but you and my folks?”</p> + +<p>Edith went back to stop the whirling record, and presently +returned.</p> + +<p>“What did Dr. Trench give you—by proxy?”</p> + +<p>“The loveliest set of blue china, just like his own. +And that pigeon’s-blood vase that I showed you was +from Mr. Wu, and the samovar is from Mr. Becker, +and the ivory paper-cutter like lacework is from Mr. +Chatterjee. Mr. Ameen is a Persian, and he gave me +the silk spread for my table in the sitting-room—only +he doesn’t know it. This”—Elsie waved aloft an +aluminum frying-pan—“is from Mr. Deland. Saadi +says I must call it a spider, ‘because that is what +Yankee boy calls it.’”</p> + +<p>“And did I really give you something?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Edith, a book. Saadi and I read the last +part of it together. I told you I wouldn’t take a dare, +and I didn’t. We laughed ourselves sick over some of +the things, but Saadi took a great fancy to that third +of John. I told him that a friend of mine called it the +boldest thing ever written, and he said he’d be damned +if it wasn’t. Up to that time Saadi’s favourite author +was Haeckel, but he said that Haeckel was insaner than +Jesus. It seems that Haeckel wants the southern Slavs +wiped out to make room for German culture.”</p> + +<p>Edith listened with amazement, but without losing +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[184]</span>her sense of impending disaster. “Where is that +book, dearie?”</p> + +<p>“In my bedroom. Saadi used to read it there.”</p> + +<p>Edith went into the bedroom and found a thin Oxford +bible. Her own card was in it, and she now remembered +giving her card to Elsie that first day at the +factory. Deeply touched, she turned the pages and +found a certain place.</p> + +<p>Then she went back to the kitchen. “I should never +have given you that; you know that I wouldn’t; but +I’ve marked a place in it—one that your people love +as much as mine do. It just says, ‘As thy days, so +shall thy strength be.’”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[185]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXVII">XXVII</h2> + +</div> + +<p>Wednesday morning Edith telephoned to Dr. Rowland +while Elsie was getting breakfast. He not only +made an appointment for ten o’clock, but volunteered +to go with his car and bring Mrs. Shaviro to Elsie’s flat.</p> + +<p>After breakfast, Edith called up Trench, not without +a tremor.</p> + +<p>“This is Miss Bridgman, Dr. Trench.—So am I +to hear yours. I want to consult you concerning a +friend of mine. Can I see you this afternoon at your +office?—Thank you very much—three will be just +right.”</p> + +<p>And at three she was there. Chatterjee let her in, +and she told him she had seen him at the University, +at the Tagore lecture. She introduced herself, learned +his name, and hoped that they might see more of each +other. This pleased him immensely, and in his shy, +quiet way, he asked her if she had liked Mr. Tagore +when he spoke about union with nature, or some such +thing.</p> + +<p>“So much, Mr. Chatterjee, that sometime I want +to ask you many questions. Just now the doctor is expecting +me.”</p> + +<p>Chat disappeared into the inner office, and did not +reappear, having another way of exit thence. Trench +came through into the library and held out only one +hand, though the impulse to extend both was strong.</p> + +<p>“It is a very great pleasure to see you here, Miss +Bridgman. I lack training in the amenities, as you +know only too well, but Mrs. Jamison had a name for +you. Do you recall it?”</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid I do. And it is distinctly nice of you +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[186]</span>to imply that I brighten the room. When you hear +what I’ve come about, you will want to call me Evening +Cloud.”</p> + +<p>“Or some such thing!” said Trench.</p> + +<p>“Or some such thing,” she echoed. “He’s delightful—Mr. +Chatterjee is delightful. One can see that +he’s had bringing up.”</p> + +<p>“You could say that of all the fellows around me +here—even of one who has just left us, having scarred +us all with frank speech. And now come into my +sanctum.”</p> + +<p>He led the way, and closed the door. She stood +looking at the Della Robbia—that dearest one of the +sculptured babies of the Spedalie degli Innocenti. It +had the intimacy of famous things—it seemed like +Trench’s own child.</p> + +<p>“You called this room sanctum,” she said, “and you +have that exquisite little fellow always before you, like +something sacred.”</p> + +<p>“Please sit down, Miss Bridgman. You are already +tossing me a challenge, for ‘sacred’ is a word that belongs +to a past age. I don’t suppose there is an animal +or a plant that hasn’t been sacred.”</p> + +<p>“And <i>I</i> don’t suppose,” she retorted, “that there <i>are</i> +any past ages. Aren’t the confidences that pass in this +office sacred?”</p> + +<p>“I hope so.”</p> + +<p>“And aren’t the relations of men and women sacred?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, subject to reason.”</p> + +<p>“It is not the first time in the history of the world, +Dr. Trench, that an idolater has transferred sacredness +from persons to reason. Do you find that reason carries +you far in considering the relations of men and +women?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Trench, perceiving that she had acquired +resources since last he talked with her.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[187]</span></p> + +<p>Edith smiled at his docility. “I don’t really need +to quiz you like this, because I know how good you are. +I know that your bark is a thousand times worse than +your bite. I have been trying very hard this winter to +be impersonal.”</p> + +<p>“Why should you, my dear lady? Don’t become a +negation like me.”</p> + +<p>“Being,” said Edith, in as sepulchral a tone as she +could command, “myself a mere atom. Little you +know, my dear Dr. Trench, how far behind the times +you are in astrophysics. An atom is as complicated a +thing as the planet Saturn, and looks like it, with its +ring of electrons. In fact, it reminds me of you and +your boys, and I shall address you on that subject on +the twenty-eighth of June, in connection with potential +energy.”</p> + +<p>“Heavens!” ejaculated Trench. “Does that appointment +really hold?”</p> + +<p>“Hold! It holds like a non-Euclidean equation. +For ten in the morning, sir, in the conservatory. I’m +preparing a lecture which will last till Sunday dinner, +and take the place of church.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll be there,” cried Trench, “in spite of all the +babies in Chicago.”</p> + +<p>“Good! And now to my errand. Do you remember +my using the words ‘impersonal passion’?”</p> + +<p>“I’m not likely to forget it, while life lasts.”</p> + +<p>“And sending me to Ischl’s?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. I apologise.”</p> + +<p>“There is no need of apology. I went, and made +the acquaintance of two girls. One was Italian and +one was Jewish. Soon afterward the Jewish girl married, +and that is what I have come to consult you about. +Her husband is not with her now, and I am terribly +afraid that he has deserted her.”</p> + +<p>Trench nodded. “The old story. Desertion gives +the charities more trouble than everything else except +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[188]</span>alcohol. But the law can do something, and I will help +you take the proper steps.”</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid the law can’t help us. The man has +gone to Russia.”</p> + +<p>“That is unusual, and makes it worse. Is she very +anxious to get him back?”</p> + +<p>“No, because she is sure he will return. She is +desperately in love, and trusts him completely. But I +feel very certain that she has seen the last of him.”</p> + +<p>“In that case, the best thing to do is to do nothing—not +even to destroy her faith. She will come to believe +him dead and send him to the heaven of Jewish +heroes.”</p> + +<p>Edith smiled demurely. “It isn’t every woman, +then, who has to be told the truth.”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“I had hoped,” she said, “that you had some friend +in Russia who might be asked to find the man and reason +with him. I should be very glad to pay such a +friend’s expenses.”</p> + +<p>Trench shook his head. “Reason doesn’t go far in +these cases—as you just now reminded me. The best +thing is to let the girl go back into the factory. Is she +a person of any intelligence?”</p> + +<p>“Dr. Trench, this girl is above the average. She is +my superior.”</p> + +<p>“What type physically? Heavy?”</p> + +<p>“No—more like a flame.”</p> + +<p>Trench knotted his brow. “The man whom she +loves must be above the average also. Very likely the +Jewish type of Russian intellectual. Is there any reason, +however, why the girl should not return to the +factory?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Dr. Trench. If you don’t mind, will you call +up Dr. Rowland, and tell him that I am here, and ask +him about my friend whom he saw this morning?”</p> + +<p>The doctor took up the telephone, got the number, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[189]</span>and began to talk. “Good morning, doctor. This is +Trench. Miss Bridgman is here, speaking to me about +a case in which she is interested. It is the young +woman whom you saw this morning. She wants me +to know the facts and the prospects.”—He listened for +two or three minutes.—“Yes.—Yes.—October. All +right, and thank you. Good-bye.”</p> + +<p>“Dr. Rowland reports everything in fine shape, and +is much impressed with the girl. He called her Elsie.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, that’s her name. Elsie Sereef.”</p> + +<p>“Sereef!”</p> + +<p>“Exactly, Dr. Trench. She is the wife of your student.”</p> + +<p>It is not appointed to many men in a lifetime to be +so surprised. He had thought that nothing in Saadi +could surprise him, but he seemed to be listening to incredible +bad news about—himself.</p> + +<p>But Trench took it in characteristic fashion. He sat +in silence for three minutes, while his mind retraced +Saadi’s history swiftly, omitting little and neglecting +nothing. Then he took another minute to consider the +future, while his gaze seemed fastened on the little picture +that Arschiak had given him. She followed his +gaze and saw with a start what the picture was. At the +end of four minutes Trench unknotted his brow, looked +up, apologised, and reached out for the picture.</p> + +<p>“Do you remember the scene?”</p> + +<p>“I’m not likely to forget it, while life lasts,” she +quoted. “Just about there”—she touched the foreground—“I +wondered whether either of us would ever +see land again.”</p> + +<p>Trench put the painting back. “My boy Saadi,” he +said, “will be glad to know that he is to be a father. +I will wire his steamer immediately.”</p> + +<p>“You poor innocent—you poor Della Robbia innocent +wrapped in swathing bands!”</p> + +<p>“Delightful epithet,” said Trench.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[190]</span></p> + +<p>“Why, doctor, is it possible that you think this adventurer +cares a rap about Elsie? It is the most terrible +example of—impersonal passion.”</p> + +<p>“Appearances are against him, Miss Bridgman, but +I have faith in Saadi.”</p> + +<p>“Why? How is it possible?”</p> + +<p>“If I tell you the truth, you will think me the most +arrogant animal that walks.”</p> + +<p>“Well, tell me the truth. I seem to be the person +for whom you reserve it.”</p> + +<p>“I trust Saadi because he is so much like myself. +He has no God, no standards, no anything.”</p> + +<p>She checked her quick tongue, determined that this +time she would not make the old mistake. “You mean +something, my friend. Your confidence in this Mr. +Sereef is entirely personal?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Personal is the word. Saadi came here +with despair in his heart and strange oaths on his lips. +He called himself strictly selfish, and warned me that +he would seduce some girl if he saw fit. It was an +attempt to be honest with himself in the midst of cowardice +and hypocrisy. All the autumn he sang the +praises of war—war being to him the honest expression +of human nature. But a change came over him. +On the fifteenth of last month he told me that he had +been reading the New Testament.”</p> + +<p>“Yes. His wife tells me that they read it together.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, that completes the chain. Saadi reverted to +the ideals of Christianity, exactly as if he had Christian +blood in him. He regarded them as wild dreams, +but resigned himself.”</p> + +<p>“Resigned himself!”</p> + +<p>“Yes. And I know exactly how he felt. I am now +quite ready to admit the importance of certain ideals—the +importance of certain illusions, if you please.”</p> + +<p>“That subject, Dr. Trench, is reserved for the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[191]</span>twenty-eighth of June. But you are ready to admit that +Mr. Sereef’s marriage vow is sacred?”</p> + +<p>“Quite ready.”</p> + +<p>“Then will you not appeal to him to respect it?”</p> + +<p>“I shall be glad to wire him that the child is coming. +I don’t feel called upon to lecture him.”</p> + +<p>“I wish,” said Edith, “oh, I do wish that I could +share your confidence in him. But you have surely +been deceived. His whole tale about Bokhara is a +tissue of lies.”</p> + +<p>“I confess that I can’t prove the contrary.”</p> + +<p>“Doctor, do you think that this man has any sense +of obligation toward you?”</p> + +<p>Trench studied the lake scene again. “Saadi once +said to me that he would answer when I called.”</p> + +<p>“Then call, Dr. Trench! Call him back! Don’t +let him sail.”</p> + +<p>“He would not return.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! You confess it.”</p> + +<p>“Miss Bridgman, Saadi is going out of a sense of +duty to his fellow countrymen.”</p> + +<p>“Pooh! I’d let all his countrymen hang for Elsie’s +sake.”</p> + +<p>She said it with emphasis. Her Easter vision, which +had grouped all men as those about Trench, had fled.</p> + +<p>Trench looked very grave. “Mrs. Potter said to +me that she would let all the Indians in the world die +for Mildred’s sake. But she did not mean it.”</p> + +<p>Edith flushed. “I suppose that Mrs. Potter and I +are petty and personal. We love the persons we know.”</p> + +<p>“Saadi,” said Trench, “loves those whom he doesn’t +know.”</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid you are hopeless, doctor. You are sentimentalising +a scoundrel who has no more sense of +duty than a machine. <i>Why</i> is he going back? +<i>Why?</i>”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[192]</span></p> + +<p>“Because,” said Trench with a slow sweet smile, +“those about us are those about us.”</p> + +<p>She was silent, wondering at the strange, vague +words.—Trench drew up a pad of paper, and began to +write a telegram. Edith laid a hand on his arm.</p> + +<p>“If you are wiring Mr. Sereef, please wait a minute. +I don’t want him to have a week on shipboard to think +about it, and cover up his tracks as soon as he lands. +I don’t want him to have information without personal +influence.”</p> + +<p>“I will do as you say, Miss Bridgman, but you are +taking a great responsibility.”</p> + +<p>“Then I’ll take it. I have a great notion to pack +my trunk and follow him myself. But I don’t know +him. I should have no weight with him.”</p> + +<p>Trench tore up the telegram, and waited for her to +go on.</p> + +<p>“Doctor, let us suppose that this man is not really +bad at heart. I think he is, but let us suppose not. +But if he is even faltering in his allegiance to Elsie, +he needs personal influence brought to bear upon him. +Isn’t there some one over there who could go to him as +your proxy? Some one who is true and tried, and +knows you both?”</p> + +<p>Trench smiled and answered lightly. “There is my +good friend Jaffer. Dr. Jaffer is true and tried, and +he knows about Saadi, though he doesn’t know him +personally.”</p> + +<p>“That would be fine, if Dr. Jaffer lives in Constantinople, +or anywhere near the Balkans.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“I mean this!” She drew the cable message from +her handbag.</p> + +<p>Trench took it and read it.</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="right">Cetinje, April 15, 1914.</p> + +<p class="noindent">Saadi Sereef Dr. Trench, Halsted St., Chicago.</p> + +<p class="center">bsvd</p> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Mohammed Beg.</span></p> + +</blockquote> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[193]</span></p> + +<p>“Cetinje, eh? This looks as if he may have gone +to Montenegro.”</p> + +<p>“And that fact does not disturb you, after his saying +that he was bound for Central Asia to claim a fortune?”</p> + +<p>“Not in the least, dear lady.”</p> + +<p>Edith, abashed, was silent. She could only reflect +to herself what a power the man would be if he could +trust God as he trusted the children of Satan! But he +suddenly seemed boyish as he sat there smiling, and +her love went out to him with a touch of maternal pity.</p> + +<p>“I have always thought of you as so critical, so inclined +to discount everybody and everything. You +have talked of men and women as if they were helpless +animals. I can’t exactly call it cynicism—but I guess +I will, because I’ve ruled out every other word. And +now you are out of character!”</p> + +<p>“Dr. Bridgman’s diagnosis,” laughed Trench, “is +differential and accurate. Poor Saadi is not in the +same class with you. He sized me up as no cynic, and +therefore as marriageable. It is sad to see a personal +bias in so young a physician. But I suppose you’re +dying to know what these mystic and melodramatic +letters mean. Excuse me if I seem graceless—but +they remind me of a certain brand of underwear.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose I shall have to excuse it, but you can’t +blame me for desperate curiosity when my Elsie’s whole +life may hang upon those letters. I did venture to +think that some of your students could see some light +in them.”</p> + +<p>Trench took up the telephone, and glanced at his +watch.—“This is Dr. Trench.—I want to speak to +Mr. Ameen. You will find him in 36, preparing some +sections. I will hold the wire.—Is that you, +Ameen?—I want to ask you an odd question. Do the +letters bsvd suggest anything to you in Persian or Arabic? +Yes, <i>bsvd</i>. Think about it a minute, and call me +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[194]</span>up. Consider names of cities, common phrases, Moslem +proverbs—anything that enters your mind.”</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid,” said Trench, as he hung up, “that +Ameen can’t help us.”</p> + +<p>“Pardon my saying so, doctor, but you don’t give +him all the data. He doesn’t know that these words +are addressed to Mr. Sereef.”</p> + +<p>“No, but that’s just what I don’t want him to know. +Ameen is prejudiced in Saadi’s favour.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps you are right. It now occurs to me that +a message from the Balkans might be couched in some +Balkan language.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Miss Bridgman. And there is one friend of +mine who might be of assistance if he were here. He +is Dr. Yukitch, a Southern Slav whom I knew at +Vienna. But I have no idea where he is. Ah—there +is Ameen.”</p> + +<p>As he took up the receiver and listened, Trench began +to smile and to make notes on the pad of paper. +He wrote for several minutes, laughed, told Ameen +that he was a wonder, and hung up.</p> + +<p>“Ameen gives us a wide choice, Miss Bridgman. +For Persian he suggests three sentences, all beginning +with the required letters. They are <i>Beya shuma va +damad</i>—You come, and son-in-law; <i>Boro shuma va +damad</i>—You go, and son-in-law; <i>Barayi shuma +vajibest daleel</i>—You must have a guide. For Arabic +he gives us three others, and in one case the inner meaning +which so many Arabic words bear. They are: +<i>Bismillah salimho va dalilho</i>—In God’s name greet +him and show him the way; <i>Balad shams va dobab</i>—Land +of sun and mist—that is to say, Land of trouble +and strong government; and finally, <i>Baad Saadi vadie +Doctor</i>—After Saadi kill the doctor.”</p> + +<p>Troubled though she was, Edith burst into laughter. +“I guess that he thinks I am here trying to kill you +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[195]</span>both. Well, I won’t. I give up trying to find out the +meaning of bsvd.”</p> + +<p>Trench handed the yellow paper back. “I suppose +I feel about Saadi as you feel about God. I’ve got to +trust him, because I can’t check him up.”</p> + +<p>Edith took the paper, hesitated, and placed it again +in the doctor’s hand. “Send it to Dr. Jaffer,” she said.</p> + +<p>Trench slowly folded the paper. “You are quite +serious?”</p> + +<p>“Quite serious. It was you who sent me to Ischl’s. +Elsie is our ward.”</p> + +<p>Trench opened a drawer and glanced at his check +book. “It will inconvenience me a little.”</p> + +<p>She laid a hand on his arm. “Dr. Trench, you must +let me pay Dr. Jaffer’s expenses.”</p> + +<p>“That would take too much explaining. I am sorry +to be short, however. You see, I lent Saadi a thousand.”</p> + +<p>Edith opened her eyes very wide. This man, this +ideal of cautious commonsense, was a lunatic. But she +held her peace.</p> + +<p>“Joint guardians, eh,” continued Trench. “I’m +not sure that we are the only ones.” He turned to the +telephone book, found a number, and asked for it. “Is +this you, Mr. Ischl? This is Dr. Trench. Is your car +there? Could you spare the time to run round to my +office?”</p> + +<p>While they were waiting, Trench took from a drawer +an album of pictures of Encampment, and together they +seemed to tread again the cedar woods. “Not Encampment,” +she said, “but Enchantment.”</p> + +<p>Presently in came Ischl, a little uncertain in his flat-footed +tread, and thinner than of yore. He had a reeking +cigar in his fingers, but, seeing a lady present, made +an effort to quench it and hide it.</p> + +<p>“Miss Bridgman, this is Mr. Ischl.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[196]</span></p> + +<p>“I’ve heard of you, Mr. Ischl. Your stock went up +with your employés last summer.”</p> + +<p>Ischl strove to hide his embarrassed pleasure. +“’Twan’t my doing. This man here is responsible. +You don’t know all my family history, and I ain’t here +to tell it. But I had a damned hard time to make Dr. +Trench do something for me. And now, doc, what can +Ischl do for you?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Ischl, you’ve a little girl named Elsie.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, thank God, I have.”</p> + +<p>“Well, it was Miss Bridgman who interceded for +Elsie. Do you remember what you said to me about +some other girls?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I guess I said a good many things. It was +a warm morning. But I remember I says, doc, I says, +there’s others named Elsie.”</p> + +<p>“That’s it. And do you remember Elsie—what +was her last name, Miss Bridgman?”</p> + +<p>“Shaviro.”</p> + +<p>“Sure, doc. Best forewoman I ever had. Got a +head on her like a man. She ain’t been with me in +close to five months.”</p> + +<p>“She’s in trouble, Ischl.”</p> + +<p>“Damned sorry to hear it. Some man do her dirt?”</p> + +<p>“Miss Bridgman fears so. The man has gone to +Europe, and we want to find him and make him support +her—if it’s necessary to make him.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll sit in with you on that deal. Is it money +you want?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve got my check book right here. I stuck it in +my pocket when I heard it was you. God damn it—excuse +me, lady, but I got to swear—I hoped the time +would come when you’d need that thousand.”</p> + +<p>“Too much, Ischl. Make it five hundred. I don’t +myself feel sure that I ever earned a dollar in my life, +but I’ll take that much and thank you.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[197]</span></p> + +<p>“You’ll take a thousand. I’m it, this time, and I +ain’t lost no money this winter. There! There you +are, and I hope you’ll find your quitter. Any time +you need a little more for them as needs it, I guess +maybe I could cough up if I tried hard. And there’s +one thing more I want to say. This lady here done a +fine thing when she let my girl come first. I won’t +never forget it, Miss Bridgman.”</p> + +<p>He laid the check on the desk, shook hands, and was +gone.</p> + +<p>Edith opened her handbag again, but this time it +was for her handkerchief. “You wonderful man,” +she said, wiping her eyes.</p> + +<p>Trench was the least bit tremulous himself as he +replied. “Mr. Ischl very properly thinks you the wonderful +one. The deeds of Drummond and Ischl read +like a fairy story. But it is certain enough that some +ideals do get realised.”</p> + +<p>“How soon will you telegraph to Dr. Jaffer?”</p> + +<p>“In ten minutes.”</p> + +<p>Trench drew up a pad of paper, and wrote.</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="right">Chicago, April 22, 1914.</p> + +<p class="hanging">Rasul Rahim Jaffer,<br> +Peshawar, India.</p> + +<p>Please proceed Tashkent Grand Hotel inform Saadi child expected +October should cable Elsie intention of returning. Am +cabling expenses.</p> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Trench.</span></p> + +</blockquote> + +<p>“Will that do?”</p> + +<p>“It is fine. But is it strong enough? Won’t you +insert ‘quickly’?”</p> + +<p>“All right. ‘Please proceed quickly.’”</p> + +<p>“And is ‘should return’ strong enough? Won’t +you say ‘must return’?”</p> + +<p>Trench reflected. “‘Should’ seems to me better, +but I am glad to defer to your judgment. It now reads:</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p>“Please proceed quickly Tashkent Grand Hotel inform Saadi +child expected October must cable Elsie intention of returning. +Am cabling expenses.”</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[198]</span></p> + +<p>“That is splendid, Dr. Trench. Splendid! And +you are splendid to do this for Elsie. I shall sleep in +peace to-night.”</p> + +<p>Then she took out Elsie’s letter to Saadi, and wrote +on it <i>Aux soins de Dr. Jaffer</i>, and departed. She +posted the letter and went home happy, having missed +a day at the University.</p> + +<p>Trench bestirred himself to get five hundred dollars +after banking hours. Anybody else would have left +that part of the work till next day. But he happened +to know the name of Jaffer’s bank in Peshawar, and +he gathered from one Halsted merchant and another +till he had the required sum. By half-past four the +message had gone, and by six the money.</p> + +<p>At dinner Trench was somewhat preoccupied. He +had no intention of telling the boys that Saadi was +married, but he greatly desired to know whether Saadi +had ever dropped any word about acquaintances in +Tashkent. Luck was with him, and he was spared the +need of questioning. Chat, the quietest of men, was +full of a certain charming experience and had to tell +of it.</p> + +<p>“Wu, I have the honour of the acquaintance of a +great lady, such as we call a <i>burra mem</i>. She must be +one of what Americans call the four hundred, a—” +he stopped. It had occurred to him that he had been +guilty of a breach of manners.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Wu, “what is the rest?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing, Wu. I do not wish to make a break or +some such thing.”</p> + +<p>Trench smiled. “He is showing a fine professional +spirit, Wu. The lady is probably a Miss Bridgman +who was here this afternoon. Finish the sentence, +Chat.”</p> + +<p>“I have forgotten it.”</p> + +<p>“The phrase,” said Wu, “was four hundred, a—. +A very curious phrase. It belongs in Tashkent.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[199]</span></p> + +<p>“What’s that?”</p> + +<p>“Gospitalnaya, 400a. It is the address of a specialist +in filaria. Prince Saadi gave me the numero.”</p> + +<p>Trench said no more, but rested on that slender accident. +Before he slept he wrote a letter to Jaffer, instructing +him to call at Gospitalnaya, 400a, as soon as +he arrived in Tashkent. Also he enclosed the Cetinje +telegram. Perhaps Jaffer could think of some more odd +sentences like Ameen’s.</p> + +<p>That night he lay awake for hours, living over the +events of the afternoon, and never once did it occur +to him that his brain was repeating them like a machine. +If he had loved her with all his heart before, +he loved her beyond measure now, for his heart seemed +suddenly to have dilated. As he dozed off, he saw no +reason why he should not ask her to marry him. And +then, rousing himself with great effort, he said to himself +that moments of emotional expansion must not be +allowed to interfere with long settled convictions +grounded in reason.</p> + +<p>He would try to think of her impersonally. A +woman was only a light and hollow endoskeleton, cancellated +for the attachment of muscles; a somatic envelope +of certain germ cells; a creature of osmosis; +a bag of sols and gels; a cluster of reflexes; a bunch +of tropisms. But—he was calling her names! Such +terms St. Anthony would have used, had he known them. +Such terms a jealous husband might employ in his absurdest +outbursts.</p> + +<p>A modern man, frankly recognising the facts of sex, +must be more courteous. He would grant her exquisite, +with adjustments more delicate than those of +ions, and pressures more subtle than those of light. But +it was no go. She refused to be a mechanism. She declined +to be reduced to her lowest terms. She remained +Edith, and doubly dear.</p> + +<p>Well, he could not formulate all those old arguments +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[200]</span>every time nature thrilled in him. He could only remember +that the arguments were there and not to be +disregarded, save at his peril.</p> + +<p>At his peril. At his peril. But Trench was asleep—like +a soldier on the picket line.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[201]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXVIII">XXVIII</h2> + +</div> + +<p>In the morning he awoke to find the sunlight lying +white upon his bed. It did not suggest, as it often had +suggested, an incandescent shroud in a crematory retort. +But of what, then, did it remind him? Why, +snow, of course. Snow on the mountains. Snow on +the Himalayas, beneath the shadow of which Jaffer had +already read his wire. The difference of time was +such that it was Jaffer’s afternoon—say two o’clock. +What was Jaffer doing? Did the snow on the Himalayas +chill him, or did it beckon him to adventure? +The latter, he hoped. After all, why grow old without +a little adventure?</p> + +<p>He sprang out of bed like a boy, took his bath like a +boy, plunged into the study of his daily appointments +like a boy. He found himself whistling a tune—it +was years since he had whistled. And on searching +his memory to see what the tune was, he discovered to +his vast amusement that it was called “Precious +Jewels.”</p> + +<p>At six o’clock he went out to breakfast, and there, +instead of merely Wu and Chat, he found all five students. +There were roses on the table, and a pile of parcels +at his place.</p> + +<p>“Many happy returns of the day, doctor!” It was +Deland, thrusting a lean hand forward for a deadly Y. +M. C. A. shake.</p> + +<p>“Great Scott, boys! Great—Scott! It is my +birthday. I had as clean forgot it as—well, as I forget +all yours.”</p> + +<p>“Thirty-two roses, doctor,” said Ameen, “and here +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[202]</span>is one to grow on.” He came forward and pinned the +flower in Trench’s buttonhole.</p> + +<p>Nothing like this had happened before in the Trench +household. Even then Trench did not understand it, +though deeply moved. He did not understand that for +the last six months he had been changing, hour by +hour, from a friend deeply respected to a friend dearly +beloved.</p> + +<p>Edith had said that she should sleep soundly that +night, and she did. But when she awoke, and began +to recall the previous day, she suddenly fell to reproaching +herself. She had made Trench change his +message to Dr. Jaffer. She had called Mr. Sereef’s +story a tissue of lies, though the doctor believed it. +She had failed to respect his judgment.</p> + +<p>It is unsafe to draw up an indictment against a +whole sex, but sometimes women act as Edith proceeded +to act. Instead of saying to herself that the thing was +done and there was an end on’t, she grew more and more +chagrined, and on her way back to the University +stopped in Halsted Street to apologise. It was half-past +eight, and Trench was busy with early callers, but +she waited in the library. There she was surprised +to find an enormous shallow vase filled with lilies of +the valley.</p> + +<p>Presently Trench appeared, with a look on his face +such as she had never seen there before. But Helena +Drummond had seen it; even Ischl had seen it.</p> + +<p>“Well, this is pleasant again. Something new?”</p> + +<p>“No, doctor, unless apologies from women are new. +I want to say how ashamed I am to have been so insistent +yesterday. It was atrocious for me to speak +so of Mr. Sereef to the man who knows him better than +any one.”</p> + +<p>Trench did not laugh. He took the scarred left +hand, and gently lifted it to his lips. “All the apologies, +dear lady, must come from me. A lifetime devoted +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[203]</span>to the task would hardly atone for the words +I spoke to you last August, when you showed me your +plants. Now take a look at mine.”</p> + +<p>“I have been looking at them. Some parent must +have been very grateful, to send you such a field of +May.”</p> + +<p>“It was not a G.P., whether grateful patient or +grateful parent. It was merely my beloved scamp, +Saadi Sereef. I beg you to take some of them.”</p> + +<p>He drew out a great handful, shook the drops from +them, and held them out, with a look as if he were +pleading for his life. She hesitated, and then pinned +them at her breast. “I don’t wonder that you love the +scamp. Why did he leave orders for this particular +flower?”</p> + +<p>“Well, it happens to be my birthday.”</p> + +<p>“And why lilies of the valley on your birthday?”</p> + +<p>“Some absurd symbolism connected with his stay in +the Balkans. The interesting thing is that Saadi should +respect any sort of symbol. He and I have long been +accustomed to keep just as far away as possible from +symbols, gods, poetry, and all the other vagaries of the +human body.”</p> + +<p>“I see. He is a radical mechanist like yourself.”</p> + +<p>“A what?”</p> + +<p>“A radical mechanist. Don’t you recognise your +proper tag?”</p> + +<p>“I do no reading, Miss Bridgman. And as Ameen +says, I am afraid of names.”</p> + +<p>“In that case I won’t give you one, and perhaps you +will tell me why you have been afraid of symbols.”</p> + +<p>“Because they turn into charms.”</p> + +<p>“Not nowadays.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, nowadays. Three blocks from here the Jew +opens his Psalms and chooses a magic verse to guide +him. This winter I saw an Italian girl tearfully marry +the wrong man because he had got possession of a piece +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[204]</span>of her neckwear. And West Siders continue to call +on the empty name of God to do things that they ought +to do themselves.”</p> + +<p>“But you give in about lilies of the valley?”</p> + +<p>Again that look of pleading. “I have given in +about more than lilies. Even cypripediums seem to +mean a good deal to me.”</p> + +<p>Edith averted her face. After all her struggles, was +she tempting the man? His restrained passion was +evident in every look. She would be true to her resolve. +She rose to go.</p> + +<p>“Saadi and I,” said Trench, rising, “have concluded +that a good deal of the old vocabulary will have to +serve. You may live to hear me speak respectfully of +Christ’s hæmoglobin.”</p> + +<p>“Well, doctor, I really think you’re coming on.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you. I shan’t come far enough to speak respectfully +of immortality. Peacocks and butterflies +symbolise it, but the birds eat up the insects.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but peacocks also suggest pride, and pride +keeps us straight.”</p> + +<p>“Alas,” laughed Trench, “peacocks go to roost, and +pride fails. You see how trivial the whole business +becomes.”</p> + +<p>“Far from it!” she flashed. “The very mention of +peacocks has given me what I need at this moment. I +thank God very particularly for a little pride and courage.”</p> + +<p>“I shall never thank God for anything, madam. But +before we quarrel, I admit your point. The essence +of a charm is courage. I am inclined to think that +courage is even the essence of charm.”</p> + +<p>He looked at her so directly that again she was afraid. +“Are you by any chance becoming so banal as to compliment +me?”</p> + +<p>“By no means, Cypripedium.”</p> + +<p>She bit her lip, and moved a step toward the door.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[205]</span></p> + +<p>“Saadi has charm,” said Trench, “and egad! the +essence of it is courage. Before you get to the door I +shall probably admit that the blood of Christ is curative. +It is a lonesome and sin-sick world, and needs +salvation. I reckon that the world’s blood supply unconsciously +invented that sacrifice to cleanse itself and +keep its courage up. You see, I am recanting as fast +as possible.”</p> + +<p>Edith stopped. “You are almost human, Dr. +Trench. I never guessed that you could be so open-minded +and—and—vivacious.”</p> + +<p>He drove ahead rapidly. “Religion might be a good +thing if folks would make it up as they go along. The +fellows that invented it had a use for it. They extracted +courage out of everything, even stones. Red +pebbles were blessed to them. Becker tells me that in +Russia a ruby will even now warm congealed blood, and +Chat says that in India it heals the scars of fire.”</p> + +<p>She laughed—hesitated—and decided to risk it. +“I don’t know which one of us needs a ruby the most.”</p> + +<p>Instantly she regretted the words, and innocently +tried to retrieve them by adding others. She only made +the matter worse, for what she said was this: “I feel +sure that you are really coming my way. But you are +not ripe for the twenty-eighth of June.”</p> + +<p>Trench thrilled to that—the more that she meant +nothing personal. He gripped his mind and made it +think of the technical problem of vitalism versus mechanism. +Then he looked down at her gravely.</p> + +<p>“I shall try very hard to be ripe for the twenty-eighth.”</p> + +<p>She held out her hand. “Thank you for forgiving +me. And may you have many, many happy returns of +the day.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[206]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXIX">XXIX</h2> + +</div> + +<p>Jaffer closed up his hospital affairs, and waited two +days to receive Umar Khel’s offering of tea for Dr. +Trench. He knew it would be worth waiting for, and +it would come exactly on the doctor’s birthday. To the +rich of Kabul, Umar Khel often sold teas that the Chief +Commissioner in Peshawar could not afford to buy.</p> + +<p>On Thursday, at eight in the morning, he appeared +at the shop. The proprietor was on hand.</p> + +<p>“Salaam alêkom, Umar Khel.”</p> + +<p>“Wa-alêkom salaam, Hakim Rasul. The tea has +come. But be seated and try my cigarettes, for now we +shall lose you to the infidels.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer had hardly complied when his little sister came +running in quite out of breath, bearing an official envelope +for which her mother had just signed. He took +it from her, opened it, read it, and spoke. “Be at +peace, little one, and say to mother that there is no bad +news.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer put the message in his pocket and threw back +his head, emitting a ring of smoke. This was different. +The doctor had stepped into the game, and that was +enough for Jaffer.</p> + +<p>“Umar Khel, I will buy the camel of you. I am +going to Kabul.”</p> + +<p>“No, Rasul. If you get past Lundi Kotal, I shall +have to go to Kabul and beg your life of Habibullah.”</p> + +<p>“Not so, Umar Khel, but far otherwise. I shall be +taken to Kabul for trial. At Kabul I shall send for +your cousin, and he will despatch a messenger for me to +Tashkent.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[207]</span></p> + +<p>“Do not boast, my son. You will never get to +Kabul. At evening you will eat soup with some new +friend, and a new friend’s soup is worse than bhang to +make you sleep.”</p> + +<p>“Then I will go soupless, but I go to Kabul. Hukm +hai! It is commanded.”</p> + +<p>Umar Khel spat on the ground. “These ears are +deaf when an infidel commands a Moslem.”</p> + +<p>“Umar Khel, this man Trench has been to me as +my father. He gave me a home when Americans +turned me from the doors. I have sworn an oath. +When he calls, I answer. When he thirsts, he shall +have the last drop from my mushak. When he is +robbed, I avenge him. When his women are betrayed, +I go to hunt the jackal.”</p> + +<p>“It is an oath,” said Umar Khel. “Is the foul +budmash an infidel or a Moslem?”</p> + +<p>“Moslem and infidel, O thou just one. Behold him—as +he lurks even now in Kabul or Bokhara.” And +Jaffer drew forth the picture of Saadi.</p> + +<p>“A cat!” exclaimed Umar Khel. “He mocks the +Prophet, whose beautiful animal now springs upon his +shoulder in Paradise.”</p> + +<p>“Thou hast said. Wisdom sits upon the lips of my +father’s friend.”</p> + +<p>The old man clapped his hands, and Amar Singh appeared.</p> + +<p>“Bring me pen and paper, and cut the reed true, +for to-day I write in Persian. I write to the Amir, +and he will send the writ of Habibullah himself, permitting +one Rasul Rahim Jaffer, Hakim of Peshawar, +full liberty to tread any and every road in Afghanistan. +And when I have finished, it shall be your duty, Amar +Singh, to go to the Afghan postmaster with it, and tell +him that I have lame clerks that can run faster than +his dak-runners. It will madden him, and in fourteen +days we shall place the writ in the doctor’s hands.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[208]</span></p> + +<p>Amar Singh smiled with pleasure at this confidence, +and turned to depart. But Jaffer spoke.</p> + +<p>“Wait, Amar Singh, for Jaffer waits not. I go to +some friend, for my father no longer has friends. +They who were his friends speak of dangers and days.”</p> + +<p>He sprang to his feet, and Umar Khel arose frowning. +Both turned toward the door, and both stopped—</p> + +<p>For there in the white sunlight stood a tall youth, well +coloured and light of limb. His turban was whiter than +the sunlight, and his eye darker than Umar’s frown.</p> + +<p>“Salaam alêkom, Uncle!”</p> + +<p>There was silence for a moment. Then Umar +shrieked, “I know you not! Breaker of promises! +Rebellious budmash! Leave my door and go back to +the whipping post.”</p> + +<p>But Abdul of Kabul smilingly stepped in, advanced, +and seized his uncle’s hands. “Struggle not, old man, +or I shall kiss you, like a Christian.”</p> + +<p>The Kabuli laughed loud as he turned to Jaffer, still +holding his uncle’s wrists.</p> + +<p>“I know thee well, Hakim. Often I have heard of +my almost copy. But Jaffer is a prince to gaze upon, +and I a wretched fakir. It is useless for this ancient +fire to flame hot words—for look! uncle, I have the +Amir’s writ for all the world, and ocriti lista for Russia. +He could not refuse when I mentioned our friend who +returns from Leipzig a great chemist.”</p> + +<p>“Our friend can make ammunition,” said Umar +faintly.</p> + +<p>“Yes, uncle! And I can make inquiries. When I +get back to Kabul, I shall have information to impart.”</p> + +<p>Then silence fell upon the three men. They seated +themselves, and the noiseless Amar Singh was presently +setting forth more tea, more cakes, more strawberries, +more cigarettes.</p> + +<p>“When I came in,” said Abdul, “you twain were +parting in anger.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[209]</span></p> + +<p>“I blame him not,” said Umar.</p> + +<p>“Nor I him, the aged and true,” said Jaffer. “Is +there in Kabul a Bokharan physician named Ali +Khan?”</p> + +<p>“Assuredly not, hakim. There are a thousand Ali +Khans, but no hakim. Why do you ask?”</p> + +<p>“Look, Abdul. This telegram is from one whose +word to me is law, even as the word of the Amir is law +to you. He bids me seek Tashkent, and that with the +utmost haste and effort—<i>jitnee koshesh ho sakay kar +ke ravana, ho jao</i>.”</p> + +<p>“And why?”</p> + +<p>“Because a friend of Afghans has been robbed, and +a woman has been betrayed.”</p> + +<p>“May I see your passport?”</p> + +<p>Jaffer drew it forth, and Abdul examined it. “This +is not good in Turkestan, but it will serve in Turkey.”</p> + +<p>Abdul calmly pocketed Jaffer’s passport, and placed +his Afghan writ and ocriti lista in Jaffer’s hands.</p> + +<p>Umar looked up. Umar smiled. Umar said, “I +have long thought that you should visit Stamboul.”</p> + +<p>Then he turned to Jaffer. “You go as my agent to +Ibrahim Ismail in Bokhara, with a trifling load of tea. +I will tell you the price, and you will not take a pouhl +less. Ali Khel is in Monday’s kafila now, and you will +overtake him before he reaches Kabul. If you get away +within three hours, you will be in Lundi Kotal to-morrow +night.”</p> + +<p>“Umar Khel means to-morrow morning.”</p> + +<p>“It is bravely spoken, Rasul, but you will not be +able to pass the fort. The rules are strict. You will +have to halt and camp with the rest before Shadi, the +jaw of the pass.”</p> + +<p>“A bad omen, Umar Khel. The man I hunt is +named Saadi.”</p> + +<p>Umar thought a moment. “Nothing is ominous. The +Prophet has said it. But—your camel—the Houri—cannot +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[210]</span>endure a pinch on the ear. It makes her run—even +in the dark.”</p> + +<p>“Enough, Umar Khel! I am the hafiz and memory +of Houri’s ear.”</p> + +<p>“Very good. The kafila takes fourteen days to +Kabul, but I have done it in six—on a she-camel no +better than Houri, whom Amar Singh will instantly +load for you in the compound. Ali Khel goes by Kabul, +Bamian, Khulm, and Balkh. You may tell him to +press ahead with you. Take a gun. Take a heavy +shawl to pray on and sleep in. Change your dress. I +will include bajra cakes and dried fruits. There will +be a mushak, but you will find water. There are cotton +seed cakes for your camel. There is a small tent. +I will have your customs instructions ready, in case +Ali drops behind.”</p> + +<p>He clapped his hands for his clerk, and the clerk, +being instructed, brought certain Afghan monies.</p> + +<p>“In one Kabuli rupee there are thirteen annas, four +pice. The customs will reckon at thirteen, and it is robbery, +but you will not dispute them. If Ali can keep +up with you, you will need no other guidance till you +reach Balkh. Follow, and be careful of the steep roads +at Kohak. At Balkh, be guided by breath and bone. +If you are worn out, go to Termes and take the boat. +Sell the camel there, and remit to me from Tashkent. +If you go clear through to Bokhara with it, Ali can +bring back its skin and bones. It is a week on Amu +Darya to Charjui, but it is only versts one hundred and +twenty-five from Charjui to Bokhara. Ali will do his +best to keep up—but I see this case clearly. You will +beat him to the bazaar or to Paradise.”</p> + +<p>“And if I fail?”</p> + +<p>“It is kismet, and Trench will pay. He is rich, or +he would not ask you to undertake this thing. Is it a +profit for me to send two maunds of tea to Bokhara? +Is it safe for you—in spite of stolen writs and passes? +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[211]</span>But an oath is an oath. Go now and change your +clothes, put your feringhee rags into a bundle not to +exceed thirty-six pounds English, quiet your mother’s +fears, and be back.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer arose, and a single exclamation escaped him. +“Gee whiz!”</p> + +<p>“I do not understand, Rasul, but he that catches a +Gilzai asleep has good kismet. And by Allah! as you +boys stand there, I seem to see the fair full moon double! +I must be drunk, like a Christian.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[212]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXX">XXX</h2> + +</div> + +<p>Jaffer went to get the money which Trench had +cabled. Then he went home and said farewell to his +mother, who cheered him on when she understood the +situation. Finally he changed his clothes, having put +all his money, together with a short pencil and some bits +of paper, in a belt next to his skin. Accompanied by +his father and the family servants, he set out for Umar +Khel’s. He looked the travelling merchant. About +his middle he wore a cummerbund, on his legs the loose +Afghan tombons, on his head an old turban. He carried +a Martini, a good dagger, and twenty-five pounds +of luggage. It cost him a pang to leave all the heavier +instruments of the elegant kit which Trench had given +him, but he had a half-dozen of the smaller ones.</p> + +<p>Umar Khel handed him a wonderful lacquered canister. +“I now take an interest in your Chicago friend. +Present my salaams to Trench. There is mettle in the +man, and in return for our help he shall help the Headman +of his street. If the street have no such person +charged with the execution of justice, he shall himself +be that man. I hail him Hakim Trench Kilantar! In +ordinary cases of seduction and outrage, let him exercise +ordinary prudence by burying the offender up to +the neck, and the dogs will take care of the head. In +case his subordinates allow buildings to burn, let him +burn the negligent inspector. Here in this paper are +your instructions, written out. Mount, Rasul, mount +and be off.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer was quick about it. He thrust the canister +into his luggage, strapped the luggage in place, made +his farewells, and mounted. The camel rose beneath +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[213]</span>him. Enthroned there on high, he looked as fine an +Afghan as any.</p> + +<p>“Shabash, shabash!” cried Umar Khel. “Roar and +be gone, for Rasul means the messenger, and the messenger +of a lion is a lion. Find your jackal, skin him, +and say your prayers on the skin. It is unclean, but +God is merciful!”</p> + +<p>Jaffer swung off in fine style, and they watched him +till the bazaar closed behind him and he struck the road +to the pass.</p> + +<p>He urged his beast. He safely crossed the rocky +plain which, in nine miles, harbours many a cutthroat. +At six o’clock he reached the fort, showed his writ, was +remembered as Abdul, registered as Abdul, and was +allowed to join the kafila encamped beyond.</p> + +<p>He selected a position as far on the northern outskirts +of the camp as possible. He ate his supper, and +listened idly to the braying of donkeys, the grumbling +of camels, and the cackling of fowls. Slowly darkness +fell. Jaffer lay down close to the Houri, and took a +nap. When he awoke it was eight o’clock, and the sky +was starry clear, and most of the motley horde about +him had gone to sleep. Jaffer stretched himself, +tightened his sash, reached over to Houri, and pinched +her ear. The camel sprang to her feet like a billowy +sea monster. Jaffer then arose and gave that ear the +pinch of poverty itself. Houri did not stop to bite—she +fled into the darkness, due north, with Jaffer following. +A guard called out, but he got no answer.</p> + +<p>Half an hour later Houri and hakim were well into +the grim jaws of Shadi Bagiar.</p> + +<p>Along the ravine, then into the smooth road made by +the British with vast labour some seventy years before. +The camel moved as securely as on a pavement, and +Jaffer remembered the old legend that Asoka built a +railway here. It was doubtless untrue, for Asoka—they +say—is a name known to more people than ever +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[214]</span>heard of Cæsar, and more idealised than Cæsar. Jaffer +remembered what feet had marched through here. +Persian, Greek, Seljuk, Tatar, Mongol, Durani—driven +by unguessed forces of nature. Certainly +within ten feet of him, perhaps through exactly the +same space to a foot, had passed the living bodies of +Alexander the Great, Ghengis Khan, Tamerlane.</p> + +<p>He inspected the heights. In the day-time three +guards should appear at every block-house as he approached. +In the day-time they should present arms +and watch him till he was within sight of the next. +But, of course, nobody appeared. He was unguarded.</p> + +<p>He fell to whistling—and then to whispering—“Oh, +du lieber Halsted Street,” and plodded on as fast +as his mount could go. The sky was a thin black +starry strip, with a faint scimitar of silver, but Jaffer +was unmoved by the night’s “illegible vast romance,” +having enough to watch in this chiselled water-course of +his own planet.</p> + +<p>Hours came and went. The road slowly rose to the +left, and from a little plateau Jaffer caught the gleam +of a light, below, doubtless from the fort of Ali Masjid. +He paused to reflect that it was midnight, and that he +had ridden more than a day’s journey. He dismounted, +pretty stiff, and fed the camel, which proceeded to lie +down and rest. Jaffer ate a bajra cake, drank some +water, and lighted a cigarette. He sat there half an +hour, wrapped in his heavy shawl from the bitter night +air, and so drowsy that he could hardly smoke. Then +he rose and proposed to the Houri that they should +proceed. The lady viciously objected, but in vain.</p> + +<p>On and on, still westward. The road zigzagged +down and ran along a cliff. The pass is very narrow +here, and there is a river below, and two thousand feet +of hill rise above it. The camel felt her way along, +and Jaffer did no whistling.</p> + +<p>The sky seemed less black. One by one the stars +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[215]</span>disappeared. The valley widened a trifle, and day +dawned slowly. He was on the edge of the country +of the Zakka Khels, and yonder he saw a ruined Afridi +watch tower. He thought he would eat some mulberries +and give the Houri another rest.</p> + +<p>Ping! Something struck into the bundle of tea on +the left side. The report followed, and Jaffer reflected +for a second what to do. Then he toppled gracefully +and fell to the ground. His camel loped off up +the pass and lay down, glad that her rider had come to +his senses.</p> + +<p>Jaffer lay still. He wondered if he had done the +right thing. The only other thing would have been to +advance with the camel as a shield, and that would +have invited the death of his mount. Well, he had +tested the safety of the pass on a guarded day, and +found that it was not guaranteed so early in the morning. +He had no right to complain, though he heartily +wished that the Germans owned it. As for himself, +he must play ’possum till the robber appeared, and +then take his chances in a sudden grapple.</p> + +<p>He reflected idly, during the next five minutes, on +Umar Khel’s ideas of justice. He had considerable +sympathy with them, but just at present their limitations +were painfully evident, for co-operation was necessary +to enforce them. He earnestly desired the sound +of hoof-beats of the King’s Own. Hark—was that a +stone, loosened by a hasty foot? He scanned the hillside +as well as he could without changing position.</p> + +<p>He saw it—a form skulking, dodging, winding +down. As it came nearer, he saw that the fellow wore +his lungi wrapped around his left arm, and though the +arm supported a Snider, it looked stiff.</p> + +<p>Why had the villain paused at a safe distance? +Surely he must see that the Martini was lying out of +Jaffer’s reach. Jaffer longed for it—could imagine +the “Ma-sha-Illah” engraved on it for good luck—but +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[216]</span>he did not dare reach out. Bismillah! what was +happening now? The scoundrel had turned and was +making off up the hill.</p> + +<p>Jaffer sprang to his feet, seized his rifle, and drew a +bead on the retreating form. “Zakka Khel ahoy! +The hill is steep. Manda na bash—may you never be +weary!”</p> + +<p>The fellow stopped, presenting a tempting back. He +turned. Jaffer lowered his rifle and laid it on the +ground.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter with the arm, brother? Come +down in the safety of God.”</p> + +<p>The Afridi hesitated, laid down his rifle, and descended. +He took Jaffer’s hand and laid it in turn +upon each of his own eyes. “It was only Takrar—the +Feud. I took you for my cousin.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer nodded. “I have heard. A cousin’s tooth +breaks on a cousin’s. Did he give you that arm?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Agha. Early in this month of Jomhadi.”</p> + +<p>“Three weeks ago! Do you hate him?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no. My cousin lost three little ones in the +famine. Great was their pain, but now they drink the +river of milk in paradise.”</p> + +<p>“Have you seen a hakim about this arm?”</p> + +<p>“The mullahs have prayed. It grows worse. I +shall die, but in paradise I shall no longer struggle for +bread. I shall shoot the pheasants and eat and be +filled, and the bones will put on new plumage and fly +back into the golden leaves. The mullah has told me.”</p> + +<p>“O pale son of Zakka Khel, I am hakim. I am +Hakim Rasul of Peshawar.”</p> + +<p>“I kiss the foot of Hakim Rasul. Why did he spare +this slave?”</p> + +<p>“I have sworn an oath to spare the men of Zakka +Khel. I have sworn the oath of <i>wilyati yunani</i>⁠<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>⁠—that +I will heal friend and foe. Let me see your arm.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[217]</span></p> + +<p>The man shook his head. “You are Daktar Sahib—a +Christian.”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“You are Baid—a Hindu.”</p> + +<p>“No! La illaha illa ’llaha, Muhammad-an-Rassul-Allah, +Hakim Rasul rasul-o-rasulillah!”⁠<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a>⁠</p> + +<p>The man unbound the lungi and revealed a ghastly +sight. Jaffer stripped off a chicken skin that was +wrapped around the general disaster. Then he opened +his luggage and got out his big bath sponge. “Take +this down to the river and soak it.”</p> + +<p>The fellow received the sponge gingerly. “It is the +little cloud. I have heard but never seen. Hakim +Rasul has caught the cloud on the top of Safed Koh, +and shut it in the jar, and waited till the cloud is dead. +Then he cut off this piece to wash the arm of Zakka +Khel.”</p> + +<p>When the arm was clean, Jaffer brought out his instruments, +and the man started to run away. “Coward!” +yelled Jaffer. “Spawn of an Englishman!”</p> + +<p>The Afridi came back with flashing eyes, and for the +next four minutes never flinched. At the end of that +time Jaffer placed the ball in his hand. “Pukka +talisman, Zakka Khel.”</p> + +<p>“I know, I know! I shall have no sickness now. +I am the hakim’s slave.”</p> + +<p>“Then go to your cousin and give him this word +from me. As I wrap this lungi about your arm, so I +wrap a spell about you both. From henceforth there +shall be peace between you till I come again.”</p> + +<p>“It shall be so, Hakim. I will bring the camel. +Lundi Kotal is only five kro from here. Go in the +safety of God, and may the riches of Rasul ever increase.”</p> + +<div class="footnotes"> + +<h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> Foreign medicine—the medicine of Hippocrates.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">[2]</a> There is no God but God, Muhammad is the messenger of +God, and Dr. Rasul is the messenger of God’s messenger.</p></div> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[218]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXI">XXXI</h2> + +</div> + +<p>When Jaffer reached Lundi Kotal, he took his firman +to be examined, and slept for two hours. Then +he mounted and continued. There is no need to enumerate +the places from there to Kabul. In Pushtu +they would sound as alien as the names which infidels +in Chicago try to recognise when the muezzin shouts +them from his balcony in the Northwestern Station. +But he overtook Ali and Monday’s kafila at a place +which in English would be called Red Ghost.</p> + +<p>On the sixth day out of Peshawar, Jaffer saw the +valley open, and the key of India appear below like a +dream—Kabul, the charming-at-a-distance. He was +worn with lack of sleep, and so was Ali. On entering +the city, they went at once to the house of Umar Khel’s +cousin, were received with cordiality, said not a word +about the exchange of passports, and slept for eight +hours.</p> + +<p>Both camels were done up, and Jaffer left them in +charge, to be returned to Peshawar. He bought two +new ones, the swiftest to be had. Ali’s load was cut +down to two maunds, and they started, paying no attention +to the Kabuli kafila.</p> + +<p>They struck into the road toward Argandab, and Ali +broke the silence. “I am always glad to get out of +Kabul. To kiss a girl there costs thirty rupees. To +speak your mind of a sayid costs twenty lashes, though +the descendants of the Prophet deserve many a tongue-lashing. +And to strike a petty official means a good +chance of being blown from a gun.”</p> + +<p>“I shall reflect upon the system,” said Jaffer. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[219]</span>“Whoop la! Come on, Ali, we don’t know where we’re +going, but we’re on the way. I will now sing you my +favourite song, which is in Arabic:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Oh, du lieber Halsted Street, Halsted Street, Halsted Street,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Oh, du lieber Halsted Street, alles ist hin.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Magd ist weg, Geld ist weg, alles weg, alles weg,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Oh, du lieber Halsted Street, alles ist schon fort.”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>In all his life, Ali never made such time as he made +that week, side by side with this raw beginner—and +raw was hardly a metaphor by the end of the week. It +was a week of frost and heat, dust and dew, high passes +and low valleys, Ali pleading and Jaffer relentless. It +was only when Jaffer insisted on bathing in the swift +Helmund that Ali moved on, sarcastically saying that +he was in a hurry.</p> + +<p>They pulled into Tashkurgan white as lepers with +dust. There he sold both of the Kabuli camels, bought +new ones, and was on his way. But as they left Tashkurgan +for Balkh, he felt a deadly weariness, and let +his mount go slow.</p> + +<p>Presently they were joined by a green-turbaned +stranger from the north. His camel had a blue ribbon +on its bridle. In his arms he carried a little boy, who +wore blue beads about his neck, and a tiny ring with a +turquoise in it. Ali knew the meaning of all that blue. +It was a charm against the evil eye. Ali struck up an +acquaintance.</p> + +<p>The man was a traveller from Ishkashim. He had +come two hundred miles across the north country, from +where the Panja is daunted in its efforts to follow the +Hindu Kush, and goes storming through granite +gorges to become the Oxus. Over the mountains of +Badakshan his camel had climbed, and so down, a painful +and a dangerous journey.</p> + +<p>The secret of his trip came out. His bright-eyed +boy, now nine years old, had never spoken an intelligible +word, being under the malign power of the evil +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[220]</span>eye. The father was taking the boy to Mazar-i-Sharif +to be cured.</p> + +<p>Ali translated the Shugnan words for Jaffer’s benefit, +and Jaffer looked at the intelligent little face.</p> + +<p>“Ali, are you sure he said ‘never’?”</p> + +<p>“Quite sure, Hakim.”</p> + +<p>“Never is a long day, Ali. Who is to unbewitch the +boy at Mazar?”</p> + +<p>Ali’s camel was pacing beside Jaffer’s. “Alas, +Hakim Jaffer, is there then a Moslem in all the world +who knows not the towers of Mazar-i-Sharif and what +they cover?”</p> + +<p>“Such am I, thou faithful Ali. Think how long I +have been among kafirs.”</p> + +<p>“It is the tomb of my sacred namesake. Perhaps +Jaffer knows not even Hazrat Ali.”</p> + +<p>“Now by the memory of the just, O Ali, I would +tear out thy tongue and give it to the child who needs +one, save that he never could control its insolence. If +we are coming to the tomb of Hazrat Ali Sher-i-Khuda, +there will Jaffer offer many prayers.”</p> + +<p>Ali smiled. “Thou sayest well, for already I have +boasted of thee to the Sayid of Ishhashim.”</p> + +<p>“That was unwise. I cannot remove spells.”</p> + +<p>“Nor did I so speak, thou proud one. The dead +hands of Hazrat Ali are mightier than the living hands +of Jaffer. Even the print of his hand is mighty. Have +I not seen it myself upon the stone at Panja Kala!”</p> + +<p>Ali relapsed into dusty silence, which was not broken +till late in the afternoon, when above them on the hill +they saw the minarets and blue cupola of the ancient +shrine. At Mazar the three men stayed in the suburbs, +and each pitched a little tent and prepared supper. +The child walked slowly from one man to another, and +stood with questioning eyes. Jaffer watched his +chance, and when the little chap came his way offered +a tempting morsel. The boy opened his mouth wide. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[221]</span>Jaffer slowly lifted the food and took a good look. +It was precisely as he thought. The boy was desperately +tongue-tied, but probably could have managed +to talk, except that his sensitive soul shrank from ridicule.</p> + +<p>At sunrise the call to prayer vibrated afar in the +sweet breeze, but Jaffer did not hear. It was an hour +before he awoke and found the others gone. He rose +and washed and dressed. He took his shawl and went +into the city. The sayid and the child were sitting +before the hangings that screen the tomb, and Jaffer, +having removed his shoes, sat down beside them. He +still remained when at last the suppliants rose and +departed, the boy smelling of a sacred rose that the +mullah had given him to further the cure.</p> + +<p>Half an hour later, having returned to camp, Jaffer +found Malikdin Sayid sitting upon the ground. The +poor fellow was trying to make the boy talk.</p> + +<p>Jaffer paused. Malikdin Sayid looked up at him +and said something. Jaffer beckoned to Ali to come +and interpret.</p> + +<p>“The sayid says that Hazrat Ali is deaf, and his +rose scentless.”</p> + +<p>“Tell the sayid that he speaks that which he understands +not, for within this hour shall the child’s tongue +be loosened.”</p> + +<p>Ali translated, and the sayid stared.</p> + +<p>“Tell him that the Lion of God has deigned to bless +my medicines.”</p> + +<p>Ali translated. The man made no reply.</p> + +<p>“Tell him,” said Jaffer, “to leave the child with +me, while he goes back into town and paces thrice +around the masjid.”</p> + +<p>On hearing this proposition the sayid looked exceedingly +doubtful and said something. Ali translated. +“He fears <i>yarrah</i> magic.”</p> + +<p>“Bismillah!” cried Jaffer, leaping to his feet and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[222]</span>spitting on the ground. “As Allah lives it is not +magic. Is he not beaten with twenty stripes who +speaks ill of a sayid? What then shall be done to him +who injures the body of a sayid?”</p> + +<p>Ali caught the spirit of this, waved his arms, and +translated it with the fire unimpaired.</p> + +<p>The sayid answered, scowling. “I will say what +shall be done to him who injures the body of this boy. +I will bind him here. Habibullah will give me the +key of the iron cage that swings on high on Lataband, +and there I will leave the false hakim to eat the air +without a tongue.”</p> + +<p>Ali shuddered. He well remembered the cage. He +translated in a low voice.</p> + +<p>“So be it,” said Jaffer. “But one thing more. +The sayid will leave at the shrine a gift for Hazrat +Ali.”</p> + +<p>It was translated. The sayid bowed with a contemptuous +wave of the hand.</p> + +<p>Jaffer lifted a finger. “Thrice!” he said, pointing +to the distant tomb. Then he picked up the child +bodily and disappeared in the tent. He drew the opening +close, put the child on the ground with head between +the surgeon’s knees, and operated. The flow +was trifling, and there was no need of a stitch. The +boy looked up with deep eyes, and said “Ali.” Then +he said it again. Then his voice rose in a sharp quaver +as he said it the third time, and tears burst from his +eyes.</p> + +<p>Doubtless he meant the saint, but Ali of Peshawar +came running to answer the call. When he perceived +that the miracle was accomplished, he dropped on his +knees with face toward Mecca, and touched the earth +with his forehead, and gave thanks in a loud voice.</p> + +<p>The boy went to him and raised him to his feet. +Dabbing now his eyes and now his tongue with the wad +of sterilised cotton which Jaffer had given him, the boy +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[223]</span>began to speak, waiting patiently till every word was +translated.</p> + +<p>“I was chased by a wolf. They did not understand.”</p> + +<p>“They will understand now,” said Jaffer, and listened. +The words of years were coming, not very distinctly, +but very fast.</p> + +<p>“Why am I Djabrail?”</p> + +<p>“It is the name of the angel by whom God speaks +to men.”</p> + +<p>“I ask if Ala Mazda pulls hair from horses’ tails in +the night.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer was puzzled. By what strange degradation +of time had the bright Ahura Mazda become a trivial +demon? At last he said: “No, Gabriel.”</p> + +<p>“I ask if Shaitan spat the moon into the sky, thus.”</p> + +<p>“No, Gabriel.”</p> + +<p>“I ask if my soul shall sleep in the trumpet till +Israfil blows it.”</p> + +<p>“Khuda medanad—God knows.”</p> + +<p>Ali exclaimed that the Sayid was approaching, and +the oracle ceased. Whatever more the eager mind +would desire to know of moon or earth—he must wait +for all till the resurrection. Never again would he +meet a man who knew the difference between an eclipse +and a dragon.</p> + +<p>“My father,” said Gabriel, “I was chased by a wolf. +And I can say ‘Ali’ as loud as the boatmen cry it when +they pull together.”</p> + +<p>The father gazed upon the little face, and kissed it +many times. He went silently to Jaffer, and taking +the skilful hand placed it upon his own eyes.</p> + +<p>Then he drew from within his kurta a leathern bag.</p> + +<p>“Tell the great Hakim,” he said, unsteadily, “that +I am from Ishkashim. Tell him that high above +Pandsh the few who know can still find black stones +that have become red with time. Though time makes +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[224]</span>the black stone a ruby, make it not red, O God, with the +blood of Jaffer’s heart.”</p> + +<p>Ali translated. Then Malikdin emptied the contents +of his pouch into his hand. There were four +stones. From his belt he took a knife and drew the +edge across each in turn.</p> + +<p>“These two are for the Shrine. They are soft. +They are balas.”</p> + +<p>Ali translated. Jaffer shrugged his shoulders and +shook his head.</p> + +<p>Malikdin smiled, and placed in Jaffer’s hand the +other two stones.</p> + +<p>Again Jaffer shook his head. “To Hazreti Ali be +the praise, blessed be his name.”</p> + +<p>Malikdin bowed, but he still smiled. “I have heard +that the noble one was buried in Meshed Ali at Kufa. +It may be the truth. Once there was a vaseer who +secretly entombed a donkey. His king prayed at the +donkey’s ziarat for the gift of a son, and it was +granted.”</p> + +<p>Ali translated. Jaffer’s laugh rang out. “I take +the princely gift with more than a beggar’s gratitude.”</p> + +<p>Ali and Jaffer moved onward, refreshed and ready +for a spurt.</p> + +<p>Takht-a-Pul—with a fortification overlooking the +Oxus road. Then Balkh, mother of cities and balas +rubies and golden apricots, but now in ruins.</p> + +<p>Here Jaffer found a guide to Termes, and here he +parted with the exhausted Ali. One day more and he +came by forgotten paths out upon the banks of Oxus, +just where Oxus begins “to forget the bright speed he +had in his high mountain cradle in Pamere.” Jaffer +stripped and took a swim.</p> + +<p>On Friday, May 8, at Patta Hissar, having beaten +all records and sold his camel and Martini to a Jew, he +watched the porters carry his tea aboard the steamer +<i>Samarkand</i>.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[225]</span></p> + +<p>Now he had a week ahead, to reflect on all the heresies +he had seen and shared. For it is unlawful to +pray for the cure of an arm; or to visit a tomb save as +a reminder of death; or to pace about any shrine save +that of Mecca; or to bless any name, save the name of +God, when a disease is cured. Yet he had taken these +heresies as a matter of course, and even pretended that +they helped his surgery. Well, he would ask Dr. +Trench if he had done right.</p> + +<p>No foreigners except the Russian officials appeared +on the boat. Foreigners get on to the Oxus flotilla +about as easily as a Russian gets to Kabul or a camel +goes through a needle’s eye, but Jaffer’s borrowed pass +and ocriti lista served. For seven days the flat side-wheeler +picked her way down the swift current among +the shoals, tying up each night for safety’s sake. On +Saturday, May 16, Jaffer got off the boat at Charjui. +That evening he would be in Kagan, and to-morrow in +Bokhara.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[226]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXII">XXXII</h2> + +</div> + +<p>It was a great relief to Jaffer to lie back comfortably +in the train, and reflect that he had in his belt two +rubies worth at least a hundred dollars apiece. He +felt it a crime to have accepted such riches just because +a father loved his child. The world seemed to centre +about children. Drop off a train anywhere in the +world, stop at a house and ask after the baby, and nobody +would be surprised. But of whom should he ask +in Bokhara about that bad child, Saadi Sereef?</p> + +<p>Towards evening the train swept into a great oasis +and past walled gardens, and drew up before a low +arabesque station of grey stone. It was Kagan. On +the platform was a motley crowd, a coat of many colours, +gathered like American farmers to see the train +come in.</p> + +<p>He slept at the Hotel d’Europe, and early Sunday +morning rode for half an hour behind a short-winded +engine up to the crenellated walls of Bokhara the +Noble. He loaded his tea upon a donkey, paid his +octroi at the gate, and followed into the crooked streets, +while the donkey-boy ran ahead to make room for him +with cries of “Pocht! pocht!” The travel-stained Jaffer, +however, did not look like a personage, or likely to +gain access to personages.</p> + +<p>The boy conducted him through the ugly city to the +tea-bazaar. He had no trouble in finding Ibrahim +Ismail, who sat beside a smoking samovar. Nor did +his fatness, Ibrahim, express surprise that five pood had +arrived ahead of Ali. He gave the new agent tea and +sweetmeats, and made many inquiries about affairs in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[227]</span>Peshawar. Jaffer studied him, and decided that he +was not the man to inquire of concerning Saadi Sereef. +Jaffer casually mentioned the price of the tea, whereat +Ibrahim frowned with adipose wrinkles, and changed +the conversation.</p> + +<p>“This is Jaffer’s first visit to Bokhara?”</p> + +<p>“Strictly my first. What is that gigantic tower +over there?”</p> + +<p>“That is Minar Kalan. Formerly criminals were +thrown from the top. The Russians object to the +wholesome practice, and it has been abandoned.”</p> + +<p>“Your bazaars are vast.”</p> + +<p>“Thirty-two acres, Jaffer, even as the parts of the +body.”</p> + +<p>“I await, O Ibrahim the Just, the words of that part +of the body which is called the tongue. I await your +decision to pay the price of Umar Khel.”</p> + +<p>“Grow not grey in Bokhara, young man.”</p> + +<p>“You refuse?”</p> + +<p>“The price is eight pouhls in the pound too high.”</p> + +<p>“You embarrass me, Ibrahim Ismail. Who am I +that I should be a judge of tea?”</p> + +<p>“It is modestly answered. But you can see for yourself. +Here is a leaf of Lonka—fine and soft as silk, +a single leaf enough for a cup. And here is a leaf of +your Kangra—coarse, common.”</p> + +<p>“You do not look at them, O Comfortable One.”</p> + +<p>“No, for my sight grows dim, and Allah has granted +me finger-tips. I can select any one of my seventeen +teas by the touch of a finger. Umar Khel is an honest +man, but his fingers have held the rein and the sword +too long to know the feel of tea. Nor has he seventeen +varieties in his shop—though it is a good shop and he +is a good man.”</p> + +<p>“If so, shall not his price prevail?”</p> + +<p>“Assuredly. But Jaffer has forgotten his instructions.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[228]</span></p> + +<p>Jaffer bowed his head in simulated humility. He +saw a way opening to the best informed man in Bokhara—the +prime minister himself.</p> + +<p>“It may be so, thou hafiz of all tea-knowledge. It +may be so, for there is one forgetfulness of the old, and +another forgetfulness of the young. But the Kushbeg +of Bokhara has power to refresh all memories, like hot +water poured on the precious Lonka.”</p> + +<p>Ibrahim smiled heavily. “Vazee is concerned this +day with weighty matters of state. He would spurn us +from the gate of the Ark.”</p> + +<p>“Nevertheless to him I appeal. But first I will +change these rags.”</p> + +<p>Ibrahim smiled again. “Do so by all means.”</p> + +<p>“You think he will then be assured that I do not need +the money. But let us quarrel gently, thou Comfortable +One. Leave the samovar to this youth of yours, +and lead me to the man who will give you the largest +rake-off on my new suit. Nay, lift no finger. If I had +to live within these walls of mud, I should demand pay +from everybody.”</p> + +<p>Ibrahim set his bulk in motion, and took his guest +through the gorgeous crowds to a booth where a Jew +was selling a wild Tatar a light summer suit, or yektey. +The Tatar was laughing for joy as he stood in his new +raiment, and cared not how little he was allowed for the +horseskin which he had laid aside here in his Paris. +He paid his bill and strode gaily off.</p> + +<p>“Come within,” whispered Ibrahim to the Jew, “and +look at my prince. He wants no stuff from Manchester.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer rejected piece after piece and suit after suit. +He had no desire to empurple the streets of Tashkent, +but he wanted quality, and he got it.</p> + +<p>“Shall it now be a choice cap of karakul, such as +Habibullah wears, or a long, long turban?”</p> + +<p>“Turban. White. And not too long.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[229]</span></p> + +<p>“Every ell will ennoble the noble Agha’s countenance. +Let us say twenty.”</p> + +<p>“Seven,” said Jaffer.</p> + +<p>“Nay, Agha, so tall a man could not be enshrouded in +seven. Look how large a tallis even I must wear when +I am gathered to my fathers.”</p> + +<p>“Seven,” repeated Jaffer, and seven he got. Then +he bought a valise for the old suit, which he might +again need.</p> + +<p>They returned to the tea-bazaar. Jaffer caught up +the samovar and marched off. “Bring some of the +decoction, and move thy comfortable legs lest I be lost.”</p> + +<p>They approached the gate of the citadel, were kept +waiting by the guards for half an hour, and were then +permitted to enter and kneel before the square platform +where the Prime Minister sat. Daily for two hours in +the morning he was to be found administering justice in +the Gate.</p> + +<p>Jaffer advanced with a delicately curved glass of tea +on a saucer. “I would not insult Your Highness, O +Nasrulla Beg, but in Peshawar it is said that no appeal +for justice is too faint to be heard by Your compassionate +ear. So please You, taste this glass of Kangra and +say if any so good has ever assailed the fortress of Your +mouth.”</p> + +<p>Nasrulla Beg looked upon the audacious traveller, +and saw that this was no ordinary povendah. He tasted +the tea and slowly drank it all, concealing his satisfaction.</p> + +<p>“I do not like Indian teas,” he said. “I cannot understand +why the fancy for them has sprung up among +us.”</p> + +<p>“May it please Your Highness, I like no tea at all. +Coffee is my drink.”</p> + +<p>“What you like or do not like is of no importance. +You have a saucy tongue.”</p> + +<p>“I am Hakim, Your Highness. I learned in America +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[230]</span>to be saucy. Your Highness must forgive. I seek +knowledge—even to the edge of China, as saith the +Book—and if Your Highness declares that Chinese tea +is better, then I have heard this day that which I shall +remember.”</p> + +<p>The Kushbeg turned and asked Ibrahim concerning +the dispute, and promptly decided against Jaffer. But +the remark about America had not gone unnoticed.</p> + +<p>“What is the name of the new president—not the +Hunter, but the new one?”</p> + +<p>“Wilson.”</p> + +<p>“It sounds very foreign. You have not entered his +employ?”</p> + +<p>“No, Your Highness.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps you would consider settling in Bokhara. +Ibrahim tells me that you are of good family, and prosperous. +I have no doubt that Badewlet⁠<a id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> would permit +it. Who knows but that I His humblest servant might +find patients for Hakim Jaffer?”</p> + +<p>“I thank His Majesty and Your Highness. But I +return to America.”</p> + +<p>“You shall go in peace, but remember the invitation. +Are there other medical students from Afghanistan or +Turkestan?”</p> + +<p>“One from Kabul, Your Highness, the only Afghan +in America except the Amir’s brilliant nephew, Achmed +Abdullah. And of course Saadi ibn Astanakoul.”</p> + +<p>“Saadi who?”</p> + +<p>“Why, the son of your eminent predecessor in office, +Your Highness.”</p> + +<p>“You are speaking riddles. Astanakoul has no son +named Saadi.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer had now learned what he came to Bokhara to +learn, but he hoped for more.</p> + +<p>“I did not know Saadi personally, Highness, and +doubtless I was misinformed. But there is certainly a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[231]</span>Saadi who boasts of having known His Majesty when +His Majesty was yet Crown Prince.”</p> + +<p>Nasrulla Beg stroked his smooth black beard and reflected. +“Badewlet, when Turra-djan,⁠<a id="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> did indeed +bestow favour upon a young beg named Saadi, in the +months before Badewlet came to the throne. But +whence came the visitor, whether from Teheran or +Stamboul, I never knew, nor does it befit the master of +the falcons to inquire into the friendships of the Eagle. +And now I can give you no more time. See the crowd +that has gathered. Feed the Hakim generously, Ibrahim, +and give him coffee, for he is like an Arab.”</p> + +<div class="footnotes"> + +<h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="label">[3]</a> His Majesty.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4" class="label">[4]</a> Crown Prince—literally, Soul Prince. But the “Djan” is +merely the term of endearment which every Persian gives to his +eldest son, and which Saadi gave to Ameen at parting.</p></div> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[232]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXIII">XXXIII</h2> + +</div> + +<p>It was breakfast time on Monday morning, May 18, +when, in fresh and superb raiment, Jaffer descended +from the train at Tashkent, surveyed the Russian buildings +that surrounded the station, and stepped into the +first vehicle which presented itself. It happened to be +a troika—three horses abreast—and Jaffer started off +for the Grand Hotel. There proved to be nothing very +grand about it, but there were trees and peacocks, and a +Bactrian camel was grumbling near the office window.</p> + +<p>When he had shown his passport, he ordered the best +room in the house, and made more or less ado about having +an excellent meal served at once. Then he inquired +in Persian for letters. There was of course nothing for +the name inscribed in his passport. He casually remarked +that the other members of his party, Dr. Jaffer +and Mr. Sereef, had proceeded west from Charjui.</p> + +<p>His Afghan hauteur impressed the clerk, who handed +him a letter for each of the missing men, and asked him +to forward them. Jaffer put the letters in his pocket, +and awaited breakfast. After breakfast he ordered another +troika, and set out to see the town.</p> + +<p>In the troika he slipped the letter for Saadi into his +money-belt. Then he opened the envelope addressed +to himself. He inspected the telegram—“Cetinje, +April 15, 1914—Saadi Sereef—bsvd—Mohammed +Beg.” He learned it by heart. Then he read Dr. +Trench’s own words, copied “400a” on a piece of +paper, stopped the troika, shouted “Gospitalnaya,” and +handed the slip of paper to the driver. But the broad +avenue on which he was bowling along was itself the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[233]</span>Gospitalnaya, and all the driver had to do was to proceed +a hundred yards farther.</p> + +<p>There was a small sign on the house, in Russian letters. +Jaffer figured out that in a decent language it +would read “Dr. Yukitch.” He rang the bell, and was +admitted by a turbaned Sart. He was conducted +through two dim rooms into the presence of the physician.</p> + +<p>Dr. Yukitch, a prepossessing man of thirty, rose to +meet him. Jaffer introduced himself in French, but +Dr. Yukitch asked if he did not speak Russian or German.</p> + +<p>“Sicher, und Gott sei dank!” answered Jaffer. “I +am not sick, doctor, but I have heard of you as the +one man who handles filaria without the knife.”</p> + +<p>“You flatter me, Dr. Jaffer. You are German-trained?”</p> + +<p>“I am fond of the Germans, but I am not German-trained. +I am a graduate of Lister College, in Chicago.”</p> + +<p>“Chicago! Extraordinary. And may I venture to +inquire why you did not proceed from Bombay direct?”</p> + +<p>“Business, Dr. Yukitch. I am passing through +Turkestan on an errand for my dearest friend—a +Chicago physician named Trench.”</p> + +<p>“Dr. Isham Trench?” calmly inquired the man, +there in the heart of Asia.</p> + +<p>“No other,” answered Jaffer, surprised to the tips of +his nerves.</p> + +<p>“We were classmates at Vienna, Dr. Jaffer. It was +a large class, but he would remember me as the man +who frequently asked him about farmlands in America, +for I thought of going there. Or if he has forgotten +those talks, he will hardly have forgotten the dinner we +gave him before he graduated. There were twenty of +us, and it was the twenty-third of April, 1907, in the +Hotel Union in Alsergrund.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[234]</span></p> + +<p>“A birthday dinner?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, and he was much the quietest man at the +table.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer rose and advanced. “Will you kindly allow +me to shake hands with you?”</p> + +<p>The ceremony over, Jaffer proceeded. “Doctor, +why don’t you write to your classmate?”</p> + +<p>Yukitch shrugged his shoulders. “There is no occasion.”</p> + +<p>“Then let me make one. Can you tell me if there is +any customs regulation to interfere with the sending of +uncut gems by registered mail?”</p> + +<p>“I know of none, but accidents sometimes happen +even to registered mail.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer drew from his pocket the two rubies of Malikdin +Sayid. “These represent a fee, and I must share it +with Dr. Trench.”</p> + +<p>“You surprise me, Dr. Jaffer.”</p> + +<p>“There was no bargain,” laughed Jaffer. “It is +merely a token of love. Pray send it for me, and with +it a letter saying that I called upon you. I haven’t the +nerve to write before I finish the task he set me.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Yukitch examined the stones admiringly. “It +could be done—quite safely.” He gave back one of +them, and disappeared into his laboratory. He returned +with a mortar containing a thick paste, and proceeded +to surround the stone with a layer of it. He +rolled the bolus deftly between his palms, measured it +with calipers, and again disappeared. When he returned, +the big pill had been dipped and was drying in a +pasteboard box, where it lay on top of a dozen others.</p> + +<p>“You see the proposed method, Dr. Jaffer. A brief +note of instructions will suffice. But you had better +probe the new one before it is dry.”</p> + +<p>“Friends of Isham Trench,” said Jaffer, “do not +probe each other’s pills.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Yukitch looked at him, man to man. Then he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[235]</span>sat down to his desk and wrote his note, and handed it to +Jaffer to read.</p> + +<p>“Charming, doctor! But what is this at the end? +This is a reckless promise—to be of any possible service +to me.”</p> + +<p>“Hardly reckless. If your business in Turkestan +involves any concessions to Germans, you will find my +helpfulness curiously limited.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer smiled. “If the medicine is dry enough, will +not your servant start it on its way?”</p> + +<p>Dr. Yukitch made a neat package, addressed it according +to directions, summoned his Sart, and despatched +both box and letter.</p> + +<p>“And now shall we discuss filaria, or—your business +in Tashkent?”</p> + +<p>“As for filaria, Dr. Yukitch, I am quite content to +know that it yields to your remedies. But I have a +natural curiosity to learn how you happen to be out here +at the end of the world.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Yukitch spoke rather dryly. “I am selling +medicine, but I will add a subsidiary reason. I am +here because of karst.”</p> + +<p>“Is he an Austrian?”</p> + +<p>“No, he is the bones of certain insignificant animals +who did me much harm. Karst is limestone. It is +the material of my country, which is a land of crags and +valleys. It renders agriculture precarious, and it separates +us.”</p> + +<p>“You must be an Afghan,” smiled Jaffer.</p> + +<p>“I was born in Herzegovina, Dr. Jaffer, and the geography +of the Balkan peninsula is sufficient reason why +I am in Tashkent. You observe that I am blaming +nature, not Austria.”</p> + +<p>“I observe,” said Jaffer, “that you remind me of Dr. +Trench. But if you prefer to blame Austria, I beg you +not to spare my feelings.”</p> + +<p>“You are a Moslem, Dr. Jaffer, and the hatred between +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[236]</span>my people and yours is not a matter of yesterday. +Germany has long been hand and glove with the Turk.”</p> + +<p>“The Turks, my dear Dr. Yukitch, are what an old +friend of mine calls soft Moslems. It is a matter of +regret to me that Germany has anything to do with +them.”</p> + +<p>“Well, sir, it seems possible for us to speak in an +impersonal way of these things, and I do not mind saying +that I came out to Tashkent because an Orthodox +Slav finds it hard to make a living in Bosnia-Herzegovina. +You are of course under the impression that +the Dual Monarchy has civilised my country.”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“It is a false impression. To be sure, the Monarchy +has spent money in Bosnia. It cost them sixty-five million +crowns to build a narrow gauge from Serajevo to +the Servian border, a distance of ninety miles. The +travel on it does not pay for the coal burned.”</p> + +<p>“A military road, apparently.”</p> + +<p>“Quite apparently. And the Monarchy spends four +times as much on the gendarmerie as on the schools.”</p> + +<p>“You must be a dangerous lot.”</p> + +<p>“So dangerous, my dear doctor, that two thousand +families migrated to Servia last year to escape starvation. +So dangerous that our Moslems are leaving for +Anatolia. So dangerous that our range lands are given +to Austrian settlers. So dangerous that taxes rise till +our peasants can pay neither the begs nor the collector. +So dangerous, in short, that none of us are wanted in +the mountains we have inhabited for fifteen hundred +years.”</p> + +<p>“Why, it sounds like home,” smiled Jaffer. “I suppose +that educated Bosnians like yourself are the most +dangerous of all.”</p> + +<p>“Naturally. Suppose we get to Vienna—my own +education represents great sacrifices made by my brothers +in order to have one educated man in the family. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[237]</span>On graduation, we find Bosnian commerce in the hands +of the Austrians. We find Bosnian agriculture hopeless. +We find eleven Austrians to one Bosnian teaching +in our gymnasia. We find six Austrians to one Bosnian +in our lawcourts. We find public assemblies forbidden, +and journalism gagged.”</p> + +<p>“Is the case as bad for physicians?”</p> + +<p>“Not quite, if the physician is willing to keep his +mouth shut. I tried it a while, but got into trouble. I +belonged to the class of 1907, you remember. That +October we held a great Bosnian popular gathering, and +formulated a programme demanding self-government. +The Moslems supported us. I took a hand, and was +locked up for my pains. Our demonstration merely +hastened the Annexation.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer mused. “So Moslem and Orthodox stood together. +How about the Catholics?”</p> + +<p>“Very little help from that source. The Monarchy +has played us off, Catholic against Orthodox. The +Crown Prince would like to convert us all, you know. +He is clerical and Jesuit, and Bosnia is his hobby. He +personally annexed us. Aerenthal was only the hammer +with which he smashed the treaty of Berlin.”</p> + +<p>“And so you decided to take to the woods, as they +say in America.”</p> + +<p>“It was a choice between coming here and really taking +to the woods, as our haiduks did in years past. But +a rifle shot is never heard in Bosnia. Our houses are +carefully searched for arms.”</p> + +<p>“You might have gone to America.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps, Dr. Jaffer, but chance brought me the discovery +of my remedy. Besides, you have too many +Hungarians. A million have left in the last eighteen +months. The Dual Tyranny has had to forbid emigration.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer mused. “May I smoke?”</p> + +<p>“A thousand pardons!” Dr. Yukitch clapped his +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[238]</span>hands for his Sart, and then, recollecting that Iskander +had gone to the postoffice, arose.</p> + +<p>“I’ll roll one myself,” said Jaffer.</p> + +<p>“But you won’t refuse coffee!”</p> + +<p>“Never. Three things I never refuse—a cigarette, +a sip of coffee, and a morsel of something sweet.”</p> + +<p>“Three typical Moslem failings,” smiled his new +friend. “Should you happen to visit my country, go to +the Café Bendbashi in Serajevo, and you will find all +three in perfection.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Yukitch excused himself for five minutes, at the +end of which time he returned with cold water, little +cups, and an iron ladle of café Turc—thick, brown, +beaded with tiny bubbles. Jaffer took a swallow of the +cold water, to harden his throat against the hot sweet +that followed.</p> + +<p>“I shall think of you at the Café Bendbashi. It can +hardly prepare better Mocha than this.”</p> + +<p>“Think rather of me and my young legal friend Bogdan +Zerajitch sitting there. It was on a May day in +1910, shortly before our new Sabor opened. We were +speculating as to how representative that assembly might +be made. My friend was gloomy and hopeless, because +the Governor, Vareshanin, had crushed our little rebellion +at Rakovitcha. But he did not tell me what he intended +to do. He fired at Vareshanin, missed him five +times, and then shot himself. ‘Die Woche’ had a picture +of the governor and Franz Joseph standing before +the cathedral a few days before the shooting; but it +had no word about the shooting. Prussians despise +such marksmanship.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! Perhaps other such attempts have been +made.”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Croatia has tried hard to shake off Hungarian +tyrants. I could tell you the details of three +recent episodes. All at Agram. Pretty place, Agram, +but it has nothing to hope for.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[239]</span></p> + +<p>“Haven’t I heard of dreams of a United States of +Balkany?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Dr. Jaffer, and I am a Serb before I am a +Bosnian. But there is no use in talking about it. It is +perfectly useless to dream of a political union of the +Serbian people. I see nothing for my people but starvation +and emigration. Your admirable Germans will +inherit the karst, and cultivate it with chemicals.”</p> + +<p>“Bismillah! You take it tamely.”</p> + +<p>“It is the only way to take it. From the earliest +days, Southern Slavs have been village folk, naïve, impulsive +individualists. Naturally, any neighbour capable +of impersonal co-operation has enslaved us. We +are in all the dictionaries as ‘slaves.’ We have been +sold in every market in Europe. And now what can I +do for you and Dr. Trench?”</p> + +<p>“You can tell me where Mr. Saadi Sereef is.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Yukitch jumped, perceptibly. “I haven’t the +remotest idea where he is. Has he been in America?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. He has been living in Dr. Trench’s house +with several other oriental students.”</p> + +<p>“Is it possible! I did not suppose that Trench had +the slightest interest in us. But I can see why we +might gather around him. He is an impartial fellow.”</p> + +<p>“Dr. Yukitch, where do you guess this young Mr. +Sereef to be?”</p> + +<p>“France or England. Probably England.”</p> + +<p>“I wish to see him. Do you advise me to go to England?”</p> + +<p>“Not without an address.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer smoked in silence. “It will be a great disappointment +to Dr. Trench. I don’t feel quite free to +say why. It is a purely personal matter between them.”</p> + +<p>“Does Trench know that I know Saadi?”</p> + +<p>Jaffer shook his head. “Mr. Sereef gave your street +and number to a Chinese student. I have to thank Mr. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[240]</span>Wu’s excellent memory for the pleasure of this meeting. +I take it that Mr. Sereef is a great joker. He passed +himself off as a prince of Bokhara—son of the former +Vizier.”</p> + +<p>“What—that old devil Astanakoul?”</p> + +<p>Jaffer nodded, grinning.</p> + +<p>Dr. Yukitch let his amusement effervesce. “Kolossol! +Did he have you also gebumfidelt?”</p> + +<p>“Until yesterday,” admitted Jaffer. “I had it +straight from the present Vasi’s lips that I was being +grossly and cruelly deceived. Also he decided against +me in my appeal for a just price for my tea.”</p> + +<p>The Bosnian’s eyes twinkled. “He would take a +personal interest in you—even to a third of your load, +if he dared. Bokhara is almost as Asiatic as Austria; +not quite, for the Emir keeps out of these affairs, but +Franz Joseph makes everything a personal matter.”</p> + +<p>The fling at Austria made Jaffer more direct.</p> + +<p>“Could Saadi be in Bosnia?”</p> + +<p>“No! And now I think that I have fulfilled my +promise to Trench. Have you seen the town? I shall +be delighted to show you Tashkent and Troitsky. Or +shall we run down to Samarkand? If you were in Bokhara +only yesterday, you did not stop to see the tomb of +Tamerlane.”</p> + +<p>The nostrils of Jaffer’s eagle nose dilated, and his +diplomacy vanished. “Tamerlane be damned. I want +facts.”</p> + +<p>Yukitch looked grave. “It is a long time since I +quarrelled with anybody, Dr. Jaffer. Do you imply +that I have not given you facts?”</p> + +<p>“What you have given me are facts—I make no +doubt of it. But they are useless facts.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly. If Trench’s relations with Saadi are +personal, so are mine.”</p> + +<p>“Would you advise me to go to Cetinje?”</p> + +<p>“By all means, if you happen to be in Europe next +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[241]</span>winter. The climate is perfect, and I can recommend +the Grand.”</p> + +<p>“You will not give me a note to Mohammed Beg?”</p> + +<p>Dr. Yukitch drew in the corners of his mouth, so +that his moustache appeared to bristle. “I know no +Mohammed Beg who lives in Cetinje. You must remember +that I have not been in Europe in four years. +And I have had no word from Saadi in many months. +Why, pray, are you suppressing your later information?”</p> + +<p>“This,” said Jaffer, “is all I know about Cetinje.” +He held out the cable message.</p> + +<p>Dr. Yukitch took it and read it. At once he said, +“Have you any idea what this means?”</p> + +<p>“Not the slightest. I want your advice.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Yukitch continued to study the message. At last +he handed it back, but his byzantine eyes were narrowed +and impenetrable. “I advise you,” he said, “to burn +it.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer ignited the paper, and tossed it out of the window. +“Now confidence for confidence, Dr. Yukitch.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Yukitch arose and went to the window and stood +looking out. He must have stood there five minutes. +Jaffer smoked calmly, and without turning his head, but +he heard a sound as if fingers were being intertwined +and twisted behind somebody’s back. At length Dr. +Yukitch returned.</p> + +<p>“Saadi,” he said, “was born in 1888. He has a +family name which is Slavonic, but he has not seen fit +to confide this name to Dr. Trench, and you will not +ask me for it.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly not,” said Jaffer. “Is Saadi a real +name?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, and an old one, though I know of no other +Saadi in Bosnia. Our nobles usually combined a Turkish +name with the Slavonic. You have mentioned +‘Mohammed Beg.’ That is typical.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[242]</span></p> + +<p>“And that is probably only a first name?”</p> + +<p>“Very probably, Dr. Jaffer. Well, Saadi’s father is +Stepan of Starigrad, and he is the most humane of all +the Bosnian begs. Like most of them, he is of Christian +ancestry.”</p> + +<p>“Slavonic converts?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, by force of circumstances. One of Stepan’s +remote ancestors found himself driven out of Servia into +Bosnia, on account of his Protestant opinions—especially +his scorn of the marriage ceremony and so on. +We call those old families the Bogumils. But after the +Turkish conquest they found themselves forced to +choose between keeping their lands and keeping their +religion, and accordingly they became Moslems.”</p> + +<p>“Extraordinary,” murmured Jaffer.</p> + +<p>“Stepan is the most humane landlord in my country. +He alone has solved the problem of keeping his Christian +peasants content and the Austrian tax-collectors satisfied. +He is what the Japanese call an intensive +farmer. Stepan is respected alike by Nikolas of Montenegro +and by Franz Joseph, and it would be hard to +name another Bosnian of whom the same thing can be +said.</p> + +<p>“Saadi was a brilliant child—very daring, very impulsive, +very affectionate, and a born mimic. He was +passionately devoted to his little sister Stepanie, and he +swore eternal brotherhood with a certain boy. The relations +of brother and sister, and brother and brother, +are by far the strongest relations among us, Dr. Jaffer. +At the call of brother or sister a man will leave his own +wife. I do not say it is rational—I merely say that it +is a fact. Adopted brothers, or pobratims, seal the +bond with their blood, and I have never known it to be +broken.”</p> + +<p>“That may throw light on the telegram,” murmured +Jaffer.</p> + +<p>“I have not said so, Dr. Jaffer, and I beg you to remember +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[243]</span>that I have not said so. In 1905 Saadi graduated +from a certain gymnasium and entered the University, +at Vienna, to study medicine. He may easily +have seen Trench there in 1906 or 1907, without knowing +him. In 1908 occurred the annexation, and Bosnia-Herzegovina +was filled with Austrian troops. Late in +the autumn a terrible thing occurred near Starigrad. +Stepanie’s body—with a stone around the neck—was +taken from the river, and certain peasants had seen it +when it was thrown there by three or four drunken +soldiers.</p> + +<p>“When that news reached Saadi, he disappeared +from Vienna. The commander near Starigrad had +done his best to fasten the guilt upon the guilty men, +and had failed. From that minute Saadi became an +enemy of the Monarchy. He went through Herzegovina, +disguised, working on the minds of the students in +the gymnasia, and on the minds of the more intelligent +peasants. The beggar on Mostar bridge might be Saadi. +The travelling friar from Croatia might be Saadi. +The Moslem pilgrim might be Saadi. Once, at the end +of a year of this sort of thing, he actually figured as a +lecturer from Vienna, sent out by the government. But +this last disguise was a little too bold, and he was +caught. That was late in 1909. In view of his just +provocation and of his father’s excellent standing with +the government, he was merely banished. He went to +Belgrad.</p> + +<p>“In 1910, June 15, my friend Zerajitch made his attack +on Vareshanin. It was a complete surprise to me, +but I had had one taste of prison, and did not care for +another. I left on horseback within an hour. I found +Saadi at a certain coffee-house—the Zeleni Vienaz—in +Belgrad. My plans for coming out here were already +matured, and Saadi begged to come along. He +came, and stayed for six months, in this very house. +Here he plunged into Persian, of which he already +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[244]</span>knew the rudiments. From here he wandered to Bokhara, +and was taken up by the crown prince. From +there he went to Eshkabad. From Eshkabad he returned +boldly to Vienna, and was promptly arrested. +But Saadi has a way with him. He demanded audience +with Franz Joseph. He told the old man that he +was tired of being an exile, and wished to go to jail +or else to resume the study of medicine. He would +make no promises to be good. But Franz Joseph has +more sense than the men about him, and he instructed +Saadi to go ahead and study ‘as if he were one of only +six to a professor,’ remarking that professors were an +expensive thing.”</p> + +<p>“Good old Franz,” murmured Jaffer.</p> + +<p>“The last time I heard from Saadi,” continued +Yukitch, as if drawing to a close, “was a year ago last +Christmas. He had just returned from hospital service +in Old Servia, and was trying to catch up with his fifth +year work. He had got a nasty cut in the neck, <i>vom +hinten</i>, while he was bending over a wounded Turk.”</p> + +<p>“You have told me a good deal, Dr. Yukitch. I am +profoundly grateful. But may you not have overlooked +one or two things?”</p> + +<p>Yukitch smiled. “I have told you enough to show +you that you are not likely to find your man.”</p> + +<p>“You have given me clues.”</p> + +<p>“They are worthless. I do not believe that Stepan +knows where his son is. Of course, if you go to Vienna +and ask the secret police—”</p> + +<p>“I shall not do that.”</p> + +<p>“Then take my advice. Come with me to Samarkand. +Then return and proceed in leisurely fashion to +Moscow, and see the Kremlin. Then go to Petersbourg.”</p> + +<p>“But I don’t care to see either place.”</p> + +<p>“Very good; proceed to Frankfurt and prepare a report +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[245]</span>on Ehrlich’s laboratory for Trench’s benefit. Linger +in the realms of your beloved Siegfried Meyer.”</p> + +<p>“Siegfried Meyer?”</p> + +<p>“Assuredly. It is not safe in Berlin to say Seine +Majestät.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer laughed. “Don’t think me ungrateful, Dr. +Yukitch, but tell me when the next train leaves for Moscow.”</p> + +<p>“You are no Moslem, my dear doctor. Moslems +never hurry.”</p> + +<p>“I have lived in Chicago, Dr. Yukitch. When does +the train leave?”</p> + +<p>“Eight o’clock to-morrow morning, Petersbourg +time.”</p> + +<p>“It is too long to wait,” said Jaffer. “How soon +can I start back for Samarkand?”</p> + +<p>“Nine forty-five this evening.”</p> + +<p>“Is it longer to Vienna via Samarkand and the +Caucasus than via Moscow?”</p> + +<p>“No. But think of what you miss, Dr. Jaffer. You +must see the sunrise turn the Kremlin into flaming +emeralds and gold of paradise.”</p> + +<p>“A pretty phrase, Dr. Yukitch. But I have seen +the sunrise turn the Taj Mahal into a pearl of paradise +without convincing me that there is a paradise. And +by the southern route I shall see Tiflis, which is a more +interesting place.”</p> + +<p>“Jivio! You are right. Sulphur baths, seventy +languages, two men to every woman, and the noblest +mountain pass in Europe.”</p> + +<p>It struck Jaffer that this sudden enthusiasm was not +of the right breed.</p> + +<p>“Dr. Yukitch, is it possible to save time by omitting +Tiflis?”</p> + +<p>The Bosnian’s face fell. “I suppose so—a mere +trifle—a single day. I believe there is a train from +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[246]</span>Baku which makes Vienna in five nights and four days.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, thank you. I start back to Samarkand this +evening. Promise to dine with me at the alleged Grand +and see me off.”</p> + +<p>“If you will stay here for tiffin. Iskander is not a +bad cook. Ah, here he comes with the postal receipt. +You shall keep it.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer stayed, and discussed medicine, and Chicago, +and the possibility that Iskander was a descendant of +Alexander of Macedon. In the afternoon Jaffer sent +Umar Khel a draft. Then the two doctors took a long +drive about town, past luxuriant gardens where no leaf +stirred in the breathless air, past irrigation ditches and +quaint water mills.</p> + +<p>At four o’clock Yukitch left Jaffer at the Grand, +promising to be back for dinner at seven.</p> + +<p>Jaffer threw himself on the bed and tried to think. +He realised that he had put up a good deal of bluff, and +was about to enter upon a wilder and more dangerous +goose-chase than he had dreamed of. For the first time +since he had left Peshawar, depression seized him. +What earthly sense was there in risking his life again to +inform an adventurer of what the adventurer was only +too damnably well aware? He would give the whole +thing up, as Yukitch so strongly advised. And with a +sense of relief he drowsed off.</p> + +<p>Half an hour later he was awakened by the screaming +of peacocks. In his irritation he muttered a Persian +proverb: “When the peacock looks at his feet, pride +fails.”</p> + +<p>The utterance of the words stirred something within +him. Had he himself been looking at his feet? Had +his pride failed? Was he going to be beaten? Some +magic charm in the word “pride” seemed to pull him. +He knew that Dr. Trench took pride in him, and he +knew that Dr. Trench would think less of him if he fell +by the way now. Of course the doctor would be nice +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[247]</span>about it, and tell him he had done right to quit, but the +doctor himself was no quitter. Jaffer got up. He +wouldn’t go back on the doctor.</p> + +<p>At seven Yukitch appeared, and they dined, and afterwards +smoked in the garden, where the peacocks had +gone to roost.</p> + +<p>As they waited at the station for the train to Samarkand, +Dr. Yukitch put one question. “Shall you go +to Frankfurt?”</p> + +<p>“No. To Belgrad.”</p> + +<p>“It is as I feared. You will land in the old fortress.”</p> + +<p>“If Allah wills, Dr. Yukitch. But I shall get out.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Od roba ikad, iz groba nikad.</i> That is to say—out +of prison, yes; out of a grave, never. It is our +Serbian adage.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Jaffer, “it is our American adage that +‘never’ is a long day. Here comes the train.”</p> + +<p>The train pulled in from the north, and the passengers +piled out for glasses of hot tea. Jaffer selected his +second class apartment, and held out his hand. Dr. +Yukitch took it and was slow to release it. “Do not +hurry, my friend. Do not reach Belgrad worn out. +Spend all of June in the Caucasus, for you may never +have another chance.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer shook his head, listening to the nervous pant of +the locomotive, which seemed to be summoning him like +a Turkish horse.</p> + +<p>“Very well,” said Yukitch gravely. “Here is a +parcel which I have ventured to bring along. It contains +a French work on Slavonic origins, and a manuscript +of my own about filaria. The manuscript is +written in Servian, and has my name on it. You will +not be able to read it, and I shall be glad to have it back +at your leisure. But it would flatter my vanity if you +would keep it on the table in your hotel while you stay +in Belgrad.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[248]</span></p> + +<p>“Sir, you are a good friend. If I can’t read it, +maybe the chambermaid can.”</p> + +<p>“Exactly, Dr. Jaffer. Or she may show it to the +clerk. I do not desire to boast of my acquaintance with +the maids, but the clerks in Belgrad will not think the +less of you for knowing me. Excuse my conceit, and +may we meet again—Ako Bog da—if God grant it.”</p> + +<p>“Inshallah!” echoed Jaffer, and quite unconsciously +thanked Allah that he had got away with undissuaded +heart.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[249]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXIV">XXXIV</h2> + +</div> + +<p>As he lay blinking at the lone candle in the glass +case over the door of the car, Jaffer rehearsed the events +of the day. Invaluable as the Bosnian’s information +had been, it was not so significant as the advice. Dr. +Yukitch was anxious that Jaffer should not go to Belgrad +at all, and anxious that, if he went, he should not +be there before July. Therefore Jaffer would get to +Belgrad at the earliest possible moment, and leave Belgrad +before July. Only Allah knew where he would go +from there, but Allah would provide a Mecca. Jaffer +fell asleep.</p> + +<p>He travelled three nights and two days, to the Caspian +Sea. He crossed that in thirteen hours. He sniffed +the petroleum and the magnolias of Baku, and boarded +the train of which Yukitch had told him.</p> + +<p>He had packed his new suit, and as he lay curled up +in his old one he looked about as tough as he had looked +on reaching Bokhara. But what did he care? He was +going to Belgrad—to Darol-i-Jihad, “the home of +war.” He would need his wits there, and nothing mattered +till then.</p> + +<p>Across the plains of southern Russia—where so +many millions object to being called Russians—he +studied the book which Yukitch had lent him. It contained +not a word about the history of the Southern +Slavs, but was amazingly learned in philology. It +suited the bored Jaffer well enough. He really preferred +the Slavs in a lump, and their ancient gods to +their modern gods.</p> + +<p>“Bogu,” the universal Slavic word for God, was +clearly the Sanskrit “Bhaga” and Persian “Baga,” +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[250]</span>meaning good. One Slavonic god was “Svetotit,” but +Jaffer could think of no parallel. Doubtless all these +gods were living still under the guise of Christian saints—living +and interfering with scientific medicine.</p> + +<p>At Vienna, on the morning of Tuesday, May 26, he +obtained at last the luxury of a good Turkish bath, and +beguiled his half-hour in the hot-room with the daily +papers. He found nothing whatever about events in +India or America, but he learned that a great automobile +race was about to occur, and that the Austrian +Crown Prince was to receive a visit from the German +Emperor on the twelfth of June. After his bath, he +wandered round the city, looked at the outside of the +buildings where Trench had studied, heard a band in the +park playing some “Merry Widow” music, bought a +Baedeker, and caught the oriental express for Belgrad. +He rested badly on that train. At Budapest he would +have been thankfully glad to transfer to the Danube +steamer, but that would please Dr. Yukitch too much.</p> + +<p>It was an undeniably dazed Jaffer who, after more +than a month of steady travel, got off the train at Semlin. +Presently he found himself on the deck of the +ferry boat, crossing from Semlin to Belgrad. The yellow +Save made him dizzy. There before him rose the +ancient fortress—which had been captured by Celt, +Roman, Hun, Sarmatian, Goth, Gepid, Frank, Greek, +Bulgarian, Hungarian, Austrian, Servian. Belgrad +meant white castle; well, it was stained a dark red now, +as if with coagulate gore. He cared not a curse who +owned it. Heavens, how tired he was!</p> + +<p>Jaffer leaned against the rail, tall, languid, handsome +in his best Bokhara clothes. He slowly extracted a box +of cigarettes from his cummerbund, and was opening it +with limp fingers, when a passing elbow sent it flying.</p> + +<p>The offender saw it strike the yellow flood, and turned +with words that were curtly apologetic. He was a military +officer, a compact, energetic figure, with a hard-bitten +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[251]</span>face and a relentless eye. Jaffer had seen a similar +expression, he thought, on the face of fanatics in +his own country—men who, with a hundred followers, +attack an army, or stand against an army till cut down.</p> + +<p>“Il n’y a pas de quoi, monsieur,” said Jaffer, with a +lordly accent born of fatigue.</p> + +<p>“Mais non!” snapped the officer, drawing something +from his pocket. “Monsieur will accept these.”</p> + +<p>“Monsieur will do nothing of the sort,” responded +Jaffer.</p> + +<p>“Alors—” the officer changed his tone and stepped +forward, and Jaffer noticed that his close cropped hair +was naturally curly—“I address perhaps monsieur le +prince. But I am at least a major. See, I command +an operation!”—With a pleasant smile he tucked the +packet into Jaffer’s cummerbund, and saluted.</p> + +<p>Jaffer returned the salute. “As a surgeon,” he said, +“I sometimes see the necessity of a major operation.” +And with this the incident was closed.</p> + +<p>Amenities having been exchanged, Jaffer thought +better of Belgrad, and at the wharf surrendered his +passport without complaint.</p> + +<p>He had hardly opened his Baedeker, and he had no +desire to be seen gaping at it on the street, but before +leaving his luggage he took a look at the map. To the +west lay the fortress, and he felt too tired to climb. To +the east lay some gardens. He would go over there and +stretch out for a while. The street in front of the gardens +was named “Widow Dan,” which recalled the +“Merry Widow” music he had heard in Vienna—music +which, by the way, is forbidden in Servia, because +it ridicules a prince of Montenegro. He left the +Baedeker with his luggage at the wharf, and sauntered +east, over the stoniest streets he had ever trod. He +found the gardens, discovered a long seat, tightened his +cummerbund so that his money-belt could not be reached +without his knowledge, and lay down at full length. In +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[252]</span>Berlin the thing would have been impossible; here it +passed unnoticed. He drowsed off with merry widow +music singing faintly in his brain.</p> + +<p>When he awoke, a fine old gentleman in a frock coat +stood looking at him—as indeed any one well might. +Habibullah or the Gaekwar of Baroda would not have +looked half so picturesque.</p> + +<p>“Verzeiung!” began Jaffer, feeling confusedly that +he owed somebody an apology.</p> + +<p>“Bitte!” smiled the old gentleman, and the way was +open for German.</p> + +<p>“I do not speak Servian,” said Jaffer, rising. “My +usual language is English, and in English we have a +word ‘widow.’ Can you tell me, sir, why this street +has that name?”</p> + +<p>The old gentleman suppressed his amusement. +“The word is Vidov. It means St. Vitus.”</p> + +<p>“Himmel!” ejaculated Jaffer. “Is there so much +chorea in Belgrad?”</p> + +<p>The old gentleman gave a deep chuckle. “I sometimes +think so. They are talking of changing this +street to Kumanovo.”</p> + +<p>“A very good idea, sir. I’d change it to anything. +What, pray, is Kumanovo?”</p> + +<p>“It is the name of their great recent battle, my dear +young sir. At Kumanovo they were revenged on the +Turk. You are evidently not an Osmanli.”</p> + +<p>“No, sir. Far from it. I come from Kabul.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! And are you pleased with your suzerain?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir,” said Jaffer. He said it with a defiant +sense that neither time nor society is so constructed as +to permit complete veracity.</p> + +<p>“You interest me,” said the old gentleman, taking a +card from his pocket.</p> + +<p>“I am without cards, Baron,” said Jaffer, “but I am +addressed as Dr. Abdul. You behold me profoundly +ignorant of all things Slavonic. A mere sight-seer.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[253]</span></p> + +<p>“Perhaps we may show you something worth seeing. +Our German club ought not to be impenetrable by a +physician from Kabul.”</p> + +<p>“You do me infinite honour. I shall give myself the +pleasure of calling on you before I leave. May I ask +you one or two questions, such as a child might ask?”</p> + +<p>The old gentleman sat down. “<i>Also</i>, Herr Doktor!”</p> + +<p>“I hardly know where to begin, Baron, because I +have everything to learn. Yesterday I was checking up +the ancient Slavic gods, when I ought to have been reading +history. I find a Sanskrit parallel for Bog, but +none for Svetotit.”</p> + +<p>The Baron smiled. “If that is your first childish +question, I can’t imagine what the second will be like. +Svetotit was a sky-god—a very important person, I +believe, and he doubtless passed over into Sveti Vid—St. +Vitus. The Servians make much of Sveti Vid since +Kosovo. They even call it the festival of Christ on the +Cross.”</p> + +<p>“And what was Kosovo?”</p> + +<p>“Merely the most famous date in Servian history—June +28, 1389, when the nation was destroyed by the +Turks. It was Vid’s Day. In Servian, Vidov Dan.”</p> + +<p>There was a click in Jaffer’s brain as the mechanism +shunted certain facts together. The last two letters of +Mohammed Beg’s cable were V.D. And Dr. Yukitch +wished Jaffer not to be in Belgrad before July.</p> + +<p>“Do they have a celebration, or a funeral service, or +what, on that day?”</p> + +<p>“It will be a great celebration this year, I fancy. +The battle of Kumanovo is fresh in mind, and it is the +five hundred and twenty-fifth anniversary of Kosovo. +If you are here on the twenty-eighth, you will be able +to see for yourself.”</p> + +<p>“I must see it, by all means. And now one last +question, Baron. I have just arrived from Vienna. +Be good enough to recommend a hotel.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[254]</span></p> + +<p>The Baron rose. “The Moskwa is as good as any—at +the head of Balanska Street.”</p> + +<p>“I will go there.”</p> + +<p>“And I,” said the old man, shaking hands, “shall +be delighted to send some younger man to call on you.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer sat down again, and dipped into the major’s +box for a cigarette. His eye caught the name of the +brand, “Stepanie!” He remembered Saadi’s little sister! +He shuddered and put the cigarette back.</p> + +<p>He wandered around town awhile, and bought a +cheap suit of European clothes and a Turkish fez. He +returned to the wharf, claimed his luggage, and drove +to the Moskwa. It was a place where he could easily +spend more money than he could afford. In his room +he spread out Dr. Yukitch’s manuscript on the table, +and applied himself to his Baedeker.</p> + +<p>That evening at dinner he exchanged a few German +words with the waiter. The hotel, he remarked, seemed +very cosmopolitan. The waiter shrugged his shoulders +and said that all the hotels of Belgrad were cosmopolitan. +“All?” queried Jaffer. “All except such places +as the Green Wreath,” answered the waiter. “Zeleni +Vienaz is a place where no gentleman should go, especially +a gentleman from Stamboul.”</p> + +<p>There was another click in Jaffer’s brain. Zeleni +Vienaz was the name of the coffee-house where Yukitch +had found Saadi in 1910.</p> + +<p>Accordingly, immediately after dinner that Wednesday +evening, the “gentleman from Stamboul” had made +it a point to find Zeleni Vienaz and was drinking café +Turc in the midst of it. It was an amazing contrast to +the formal glories of the Moskwa. The long, reeking +room swarmed with costumes more stained and worn +than the one he had discarded. Close cropped heads +with high cheek bones and narrow eyes were bent forward +over games of cards. A ragged Montenegrin full +of plum brandy was singing a wild song to a considerable +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[255]</span>group of hearers. University students were eating +and gesticulating, or eating and playing cards at the +same time.</p> + +<p>Jaffer sat in a central part of the room for the better +part of an hour. Covert glances were cast at him, but +no one spoke to him. He heard any amount of talk, +and not one word of it did he understand.</p> + +<p>Consequently, on the way back to the Moskwa he +hunted for a bookshop, and at last found one still open, +and bought a phrase-book of Croatian and English. +The Cyrillic letters of Servian proper were too hard for +him to read, but Croatian was essentially the same language, +and printed in Roman type.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[256]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXV">XXXV</h2> + +</div> + +<p>Bright and early Thursday morning Jaffer went out +to breakfast. He was always an early riser, and coffee +would be cheaper at the Green Wreath than at the +Moskwa. He took his new phrase-book along, and into +the pocket of his new suit he thrust Yukitch’s manuscript.</p> + +<p>At seven-thirty he entered the café. At that hour the +place was almost deserted, and he chose a table for himself, +in a corner—for man is a goniotropic animal. +He took out his phrase-book and amused himself by trying +to pronounce the stuff.</p> + +<p>At a quarter to eight, when the deliberate waiter was +pouring coffee for him, Jaffer noticed three young men +come in, each carrying a handbag. Although there +were plenty of tables empty, the boys mechanically +made their way toward his; it was evidently their +customary haunt. The waiter glanced round, embarrassed. +Jaffer, however, arose politely with the phrase-book +in his hand and read aloud with elaborate care. +“<i>Veseli me, da ste tako tačan</i>—I am glad that you are +so punctual.”</p> + +<p>Two of the young men turned away. The third, a +tall, handsome, awkward boy of nineteen, laughed, carefully +deposited his bag, and stood at Jaffer’s right, looking +over his shoulder at the book. Immediately Jaffer +drew from his pocket Dr. Yukitch’s manuscript, and +handed it to the youth. “<i>Smijem li vas za jednu +uslugu zamoliti</i>—may I ask a great favour? <i>Ja +moram učite čim prije moguce</i>—I must take some lessons +as soon as possible. <i>Mozete li mi preporučiti dobroga +učitelja</i>—can you recommend a good teacher?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[257]</span></p> + +<p>The boy laughed rather nervously, and began to +translate the manuscript into excellent German, to the +following effect: “The terrible filaria or reshta worm +is unknown to my countrymen who at Fotcha drink the +crystalline waters of the Drina, or who at B.S. drink +the sweet mountain spring of the Moschanitza.” The +youth stopped, glanced at the author’s name, looked +sharply at Jaffer, who was now seating himself again, +and turned to his companions with a gesture of summons. +They came, and one of them took the manuscript. +“Yukitch!” he exclaimed, and seated himself +at Jaffer’s left. The translator thereupon took the seat +at the right.</p> + +<p>“Dr. Yukitch,” said Jaffer, “spoke to me of Zeleni +Vienaz as a place where I might find a friend.”</p> + +<p>Silence greeted this remark, but the third man now +seated himself, at the end of the table, opposite Jaffer. +He was a slight, swart, unsmiling fellow. His mass of +hair was dark, his head longer than that of most Slavs, +his nose straight and prominent. His eyes were grey, +deep-set, and expressive.</p> + +<p>The waiter brought more coffee and rolls, and all began +to eat. While still eating, the boys began to smoke. +But Jaffer did not light up. He proceeded to break the +unfriendly silence.</p> + +<p>“My name is Dr. Jaffer. It is not the name on my +passport. You are at liberty to report me.”</p> + +<p>The big translator thawed at once. “We don’t do +any reporting, Dr. Jaffer. You may call me Ned. +The man at your right is Trifko. The other man is—”</p> + +<p>“Silence!”</p> + +<p>Jaffer offered his hand to the boy at his left and the +boy at his right, and ignored the boy opposite. He +turned again to Ned.</p> + +<p>“I am so ignorant of Bosnia that I do not understand +even the first sentence that you translated. What +town does Yukitch mean by B.S.?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[258]</span></p> + +<p>“Bosna Serai. That’s the old name of Serajevo, the +capital.”</p> + +<p>Still another cam clicked in Jaffer’s brain. <i>Serajevo, +June 28.</i> Saadi and Mohammed Beg would probably +meet at that time and place.</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Ned. If you will give me lessons in +Servian, you may name your own price. I have been a +student, and know what a little extra money sometimes +means to a fellow.”</p> + +<p>“I can’t do it, Dr. Jaffer. We are going away for a +little trip, up the Danube. In fact, we are on the way +to the boat now. But there is plenty of time, and I’ll +send some one to your hotel. The Obergymnasium is +full of fellows who need money.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer nodded. “Thank you. Here in Belgrad you +are not so lucky as I was in America. A professor gave +me room rent free for two years.”</p> + +<p>The youth at the end of the table spoke slowly and +bitterly. “I have been in Belgrad as long as that, and +once Professor Markovitch invited me to dinner. The +rest of the time I have fed here—with swine.”</p> + +<p>“Meaning me?” flashed big Ned.</p> + +<p>“As you please,” growled the dark, thin youth. +“You are a chronic faultfinder, but there’s nobody who’s +had so much help. It’s not every poor devil who gets +employed in a government printing office. What do +you know about life, anyhow? You brag that you’re +proletariat, but you never climbed around, herding +goats, holding your primer in your hand. You never +knew what it meant to have no coat when the bora blew +week in week out.”</p> + +<p>The third youth—Trifko—interrupted with sullen +dignity. “Both of you had better keep still and let Dr. +Jaffer talk.”</p> + +<p>“I infer,” said Jaffer, “that you fellows know Yukitch.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[259]</span></p> + +<p>“We don’t know him,” said Trifko, “but we know all +about him.”</p> + +<p>“In that case you may know Saadi of Starigrad.”</p> + +<p>“I have met him when I was a little boy. Ned and +Gavro don’t know him. He lives in Vienna. He’s +dropped out.” Trifko uttered his short sentences with +smooth monotonous force.</p> + +<p>Jaffer meditated. Finally he turned to the lowering +youth at the end of the table. “Your friend has mentioned +your name. Am I permitted to use it?”</p> + +<p>“I suppose so.”</p> + +<p>“Then, Gavro, I should like to say two things to you. +First, if I were your doctor, I’d order you into the open +air for six months. It is none of my business, but if +you don’t let up a bit and get out a good deal, you are +going to die of tuberculosis. Secondly, I’m going to +write to Yukitch to-night. What shall I tell him about +Bosnia?”</p> + +<p>“Ask Trifko. He seems to know everything.”</p> + +<p>Trifko was much the calmest of the three men, but he +leaned forward like a panther ready to spring. “Tell +Yukitch that since he ran away things have been happening +just the same. Tell him that the farmer doesn’t +have to get down off his horse to let a Turk pass—he +doesn’t have to because now he has no horse. Two +years ago they changed the constitution so that the commanding-general +has civil power. Potiorek does what +he damn pleases—things worse than Vareshanin ever +thought of doing. Tell him that last year every literary +and athletic society was disbanded. Tell him that +the constitution has been suspended for a year now, and +we’re declared to be in a state of siege. Tell him that +every student from Trebinje to Tuzla is on strike. +And then just add a postscript and tell him that the +Pope’s son in Pale called him a damned kukavitcha. +That means coward.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[260]</span></p> + +<p>Jaffer took out his note-book and entered the notes. +He handed the book to Trifko, and Trifko viciously +spelled out “kukavitcha” in Cyrillic letters.</p> + +<p>“Where do you live when you’re at home, Dr. Jaffer?” +It was Ned who spoke, in his humorous, lively +fashion.</p> + +<p>“At Peshawar. I don’t like the English any more +than you like the Austrians.”</p> + +<p>“Did you have to get out?”</p> + +<p>“No. I haven’t been mixed up in anything.”</p> + +<p>Trifko spoke. “What would your family say if you +were?”</p> + +<p>“It would be hard on my father, for he holds a government +job. My mother—well, you know what +mothers are. They will do what they can to keep you +from hanging—and afterwards come and gather up +your bones.”</p> + +<p>Gavro’s slender nervous hand clutched the edge of +the table. He was wondering whether his mother +would be able to prove, against the parish record, that +he was born in June and not in July.</p> + +<p>Jaffer resumed. “By the way, Trifko, I’m looking +for Saadi. But you say he’s in Vienna. Are you quite +certain?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I don’t know. You can go to Starigrad and inquire, +but it is not an easy trip.”</p> + +<p>“How should I go?”</p> + +<p>Trifko meditated. “You could go by way of Serajevo, +but I should not advise it. The place is only fifty +miles south of there, but it is the wildest region in +my country, and the roads are terrific. Go to Fotcha +and inquire of the Moslems—not the Commandant. +They’ll drive you over. The castle is on the headwaters +of the Drina or the Narenta—I forget which. The +two rivers come pretty close together there.”</p> + +<p>“How do I get to Fotcha?”</p> + +<p>“Go south. Take the train to Stolaz—not the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[261]</span>Stolaz in Herzegovina, where Saadi’s dearest friend +lives—but to Stolaz above Nish. Drive by way of +Uzice to Vardiste on the border. Take the train to +Ustipraca. From there by postwagon to Gorazda. +From there to Fotcha by carriage.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer took out his note-book and jotted it all down.</p> + +<p>Ned looked over the notes and corrected the spelling, +as a proofreader might. “You won’t need much Servian, +doctor. There’ll be a damned Schwab at every +corner to watch you.”</p> + +<p>Gavro was regarding Jaffer narrowly. Suddenly he +burst out in a harsh voice: “The only Servian <i>you</i> +need to learn is two words—<i>Oteto, prokleto</i>.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, it rhymes,” said Jaffer. “Potato, clay toe. +Something about the soil.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, something about the soil! <i>Oteto, prokleto—what +is taken by force is cursed.</i> And you knew the +words as well as I knew them.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer shook his head. “You’re mistaken, Gavro.”</p> + +<p>Gavro continued his penetrating gaze. “When do +you expect to be in Vienna?”</p> + +<p>“June twenty-eighth,” said Jaffer, easily.</p> + +<p>“You’re lying, you damned spy.”</p> + +<p>“Take it back, Gavro!” cried Ned, rising like a +great Newfoundland dog. But Gavro sat with narrow +shoulders contracted, and nervous fingers slowly crushing +his cigarette.</p> + +<p>Jaffer concluded that it was time to smoke. He felt +for his own cigarettes, found only the Stepanies, and +lighted one. “It is quite true, Gavro, that I would be +in Serajevo on Vidov Dan, if I could count on Mohammed +Beg, who, as Trifko has so truthfully remarked, +lives in Stolaz.”</p> + +<p>Gavro’s eyes blazed. “Dr. Jaffer of Stamboul +doesn’t know Servian! Oh, no, he needs lessons!” +Gavro swallowed hard, and seemed to gag. That peculiar +irritability did not escape Jaffer’s clinical eye.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[262]</span></p> + +<p>“Let us not get excited,” said Jaffer. “For the +sake of argument, let us suppose that I do know Servian. +Have a cigarette, Gavro, unless it will make you sick at +the stomach.” He stretched across the table, and placed +the packet in the sinewy hand.</p> + +<p>Gavro looked at the brand. “Who gave you this?”</p> + +<p>“The Major,” said Jaffer.</p> + +<p>Gavro sprang to his feet and threw the cigarettes at +Jaffer’s head with a sure aim. “You tell the Major +that we don’t need any Turks. There are several others +that we don’t need. It was my idea, anyhow.”</p> + +<p>“I’m not so sure of that!” cried Ned, towering.</p> + +<p>“Sit down, you fools,” commanded Trifko in his monotonous +voice, and Ned obeyed.</p> + +<p>Gavro remained standing. “I’m going. Maybe +you will find me at the boat and maybe you won’t. +Here’s the money for my breakfast.” He picked up his +battered stiff hat from the floor and departed.</p> + +<p>Jaffer rubbed the cheek where the packet had hit him. +“I’m sorry, boys. I don’t really know the Major. I +was crossing on the ferry, and he accidentally knocked +my Medidjehs into the brook, and gave me the Stepanies +by way of apology. They aren’t very good, but I +should have smoked them if they had not reminded me +of Saadi’s little sister. Do you know about her?”</p> + +<p>Trifko nodded.</p> + +<p>“I never saw the Major before,” continued Jaffer. +“I don’t know his name.”</p> + +<p>“I believe you,” said Ned, awkwardly and nervously.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know what to think,” said Trifko, slowly. +“But I can state the situation. If you are one of +Enver Bey’s men, or one of Berchtold’s either, you +won’t get out of Belgrad alive. If you are one of us, +you are only half instructed. In either case, you had +better take the oriental to-night for Vienna. I like +you, and I am giving you good advice.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[263]</span></p> + +<p>Jaffer reached over and took Trifko by the hand. +“I assure you, on my honour, that I don’t at all know +what’s up.”</p> + +<p>Trifko withdrew his hand. “Your honour is not +enough. Assure us by your mother’s honour that you +won’t go to the Austrian or the German or the Turkish +legation.”</p> + +<p>“What happens to me if I don’t promise?”</p> + +<p>“You won’t find Saadi.” Trifko spoke very +quietly, and was evidently understating the case.</p> + +<p>Jaffer was silent for some time. His first impulse +had been to seek out his diplomatic acquaintance and +tell him that, in the opinion of a stranger from Kabul, +Governor Potiorek’s life was in danger. But as he reviewed +the whole conversation, he saw that he had very +likely been jumping to conclusions.</p> + +<p>“You have my promise, on my mother’s honour. +And it includes letters, telegrams—everything you +wish to specify. But I assure you that I am going to +find Saadi. I shall stay in Belgrad three weeks and +study Servian. Then I’m going to Starigrad by the +route Trifko has indicated. I won’t come to the Green +Wreath again, if you advise staying at the Moskwa.”</p> + +<p>“We certainly do advise it, Dr. Jaffer. Stay indoors.”</p> + +<p>“Very good. If I don’t find news of Saadi at +Starigrad, I shall be at Serajevo on Vidov Dan. Ned, +do I get my teacher?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll telephone him now,” said Ned, and went off to +do it.</p> + +<p>Trifko and Jaffer sat in silence till he returned. +Then the boys shook hands with their puzzling acquaintance +and departed without a word.</p> + +<p>Jaffer ordered another coffee, but did not drink it. +He sat there wondering whether he ought to write +to Dr. Trench. He guessed not. Whoever “Elsie” +was, it would not especially comfort her to know that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[264]</span>her husband was a Bosnian. Much less would it comfort +her to know of his acquaintance with men who +were up to some political mischief. Ned was not really +dangerous, and Trifko seemed well balanced. But the +third man was too bitterly in earnest about something or +other.</p> + +<p>At all events he, Jaffer of Peshawar, had met another +acquaintance of Saadi of Starigrad. And he would +never have run across Trifko if he had reached Belgrad +a day later, or the Green Wreath an hour later. Curious +thing, kismet!</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[265]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXVI">XXXVI</h2> + +</div> + +<p>Next day Jaffer found himself in the hands of an +expert. There was no time wasted. Ned’s friend, a +pale Bosnian youth and born scholar, taught him exactly +what he would need at Fotcha, and in the gorges +and tablelands beyond. What was wanted was not the +ordinary guidebook stuff, but Servian for such odd +phrases as this: “I am called Jaffer, my lord, and I +come asking a boon,” or “I am a friend of Saadi, my +lord, and I bring news.” Day after day the teacher +came before Jaffer was really awake, heard his recitations, +assigned new tasks, and left, only to reappear at +seven o’clock in the evening. Of the three friends +who haunted the Green Wreath he had little to say. +He knew that Trifko’s home was a few miles east +of Serajevo, that Gavrilo came from the extreme +west of Herzegovina, and that Ned was a big fellow +who had a heart of gold, but who had been driven out +of Serajevo for rash radical talk.</p> + +<p>On the evening of Saturday, the thirtieth of May, a +card was brought up. It bore a German name, but +Jaffer declared himself not at home. He showed the +card to his teacher, who seemed pleased when it was +torn up and cast into the wastebasket. The lesson +went on, and thereafter Jaffer received no more cards.</p> + +<p>Each June day as he stood by the window conning +his verbs, he studied the street to see if he was watched, +and if so by what nation. But no sign of any spy, +romantic or commonplace, appeared. Nor at meal +times did any stranger pick an acquaintance with him, +much less a quarrel. Belgrad might be the hotbed of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[266]</span>intrigue, but it showed no signs of raising any poisonous +plant for him. So Jaffer took walks, ran out to +Topschider, and got well rested after his long hard +trip.</p> + +<p>On Wednesday, the seventeenth of June, he parted +with the pale Bosnian, having paid him double the price +asked, and given him some good medical advice into the +bargain. It was a bit lordly to be handing out Trench’s +money so freely, but he had never seen a man whom +the little more would benefit so much.</p> + +<p>Next morning at seven he took the train for the south, +and vastly enjoyed the trip. He saw signs that the two +Balkan wars had inflicted grievous hardships, but it +pleased his democratic soul to mark the nature of Servian +resources. These marvellous hills and vales might +be famous chiefly for swine, but they would raise anything.</p> + +<p>Jaffer tried his newly acquired talk on an Orthodox +priest, or pope, who sat beside him in the train, and +soon learned that his carefully spoken sentences could +evoke more discourse than he could understand. But +he gathered that few Servian farmers own more than +ten acres, and he was assured on the honour of a priest +that all Hungary is owned by forty men. Jaffer +changed the conversation, saying that he was a Moslem—it +was one of the first sentences he had learned—but +that he had many dear friends among the Christians. +No—he was not from Stamboul, but from the +Far East, where Islam, he ventured to think, was purer. +Whether because distance lends enchantment even to +Islam, or whether Serbian priests are rather rationalistic, +the bearded pope was pleased. He declared that +it was not wise to be too national in religion—recognising +only a Servian god in a Servian heaven, with +Servian angels playing Servian music to him. There +were Russian angels, he doubted not, and very likely +angels from the Far East. The great thing in war or +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[267]</span>religion was to have brotherly love. He took his New +Testament from his travelling bag and showed Jaffer +the passage in Old Slavonic—“Greater love hath no +man than this, that a man lay down his life for his +brother.” The pope nudged him. “His brother—you +understand—his pobratim!”</p> + +<p>The westward carriage trip was lonely, but it led +through a magical valley beside a wonderful river, and +Jaffer drank his fill of beauty. Nor did the beauty +fade when, on Saturday, he found himself in Bosnia. +Every type of surface, from Alp to meadow, and every +type of verdure, from shadowy pines to bannered fields +of maize. Vista faded into vista ever more tenderly +as he made his way through lawny hills toward Fotcha.</p> + +<p>Here, pursuing instructions, he found a Moslem who +agreed to carry him farther, to the castle of Kadri Beg +Tshengitch—a relative of Stepan by marriage—and +at noon on Sunday, the twenty-first, he found himself +gazing at that rather weak stronghold. His driver left +him there, standing on the bank of a small stream, and +drove off.</p> + +<p>Not knowing how else to manage, Jaffer took off his +shoes and stockings, put them in his valise, and waded +across. The temperature of the water made him hope +that he should find nothing deeper. As he dried his +feet by atmospheric means, he observed the tower—the +“Kula”—above him. It ended in a pointed roof, +apparently shingled. It was a good sixty feet high, +square, with a few narrow windows on each side, arranged +for purposes of defence.</p> + +<p>Jaffer put on his shoes, climbed the hill, presented +himself at the gate of the great square enclosure, and +demanded to see Kadri Beg. The aged Kadri Beg +came, turban on head and cigarette in hand, and Jaffer +bowed low, touching with finger-tips his breast, lips, and +forehead. The aged Kadri Beg sent a man to warn the +women of the village that a visitor approached. The +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[268]</span>aged Kadri Beg invited Jaffer in, and took him to his +own quarters in a shingled cottage.</p> + +<p>Hardly a word was spoken. Jaffer was offered water +to wash in, and then was seated on the floor beside a very +low table, with Kadri Beg opposite him. Food was +brought, and Jaffer ate with particularity, using only +his right hand. He was evidently under inspection, and +he imitated his host with great care. There were no +knives or forks or cups or glasses. Jaffer had a spoon +for his thick soup, but he managed everything else with +his fingers, even the sticky “sukburet,” a sort of ragout. +The vermicelli cooked in honey was stickier, but entirely +to his taste. Kadri Beg had not said a word, nor had +Jaffer, when at last another basin of water was brought, +and soap! The servant presented them to Jaffer first, +and Kadri Beg watched him. Jaffer went the whole +length. He soaped out his mouth thoroughly, and +though his gorge rose, his stock went up. Then came +delicious coffee, and Jaffer found himself puffing at a +tchibouk. The time had come for carefully chosen +speech—Servian, helped out with Persian words.</p> + +<p>“I am called Jaffer, my lord, and I come asking a +boon.”</p> + +<p>“It is granted.”</p> + +<p>“I seek guidance to the Kula of Stepan Beg.”</p> + +<p>“That is no mastery. Five hours on a pony, four +hours on a Turkish horse.”</p> + +<p>“Allah will reward my lord. I have heard of the +fame of Tshengitch.”—The remark was true enough, +for the muezzin at Fotcha had told him, that morning.</p> + +<p>“Naturally, but you do not speak Turkish.”</p> + +<p>“No, my lord, I come from the Far East. But I +have heard. Tshengeri in Anatolia is the cradle of a +family great these five centuries.”</p> + +<p>“Thirty pashas and viziers,” said Kadri Beg, succinctly. +“And to me all that is left is the village +within these walls. Nevertheless, the Day will come.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[269]</span></p> + +<p>Jaffer knew well enough the dreams of Pan-Islam, +and he despised them as he despised this rank pipe he +was trying to manage. “Stepan Beg,” he said, at a +venture, “cannot boast thirty pashas and viziers.”</p> + +<p>Kadri Beg smiled, much as a bitter-hearted, blear-eyed +old eagle might.</p> + +<p>“In the oldest of the Medina suras there is a line +that was meant for Stepan: ‘War is prescribed to +you, but ye shrink.’ There is royal blood in Stepan, +and had the courage of a flea, Moslem and Christian +might rally to him now, as they will not rally to Nikolas +or Peter. But you will find no royalty at Starigrad. +You will find a farmer, a tanner, a bosom-companion of +Christian kmets.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer set aside the tchibouk, and searched for a +cigarette. As usual, he first found the box of Stepanies, +which he would neither smoke nor throw away, +but presently he rummaged out another brand.</p> + +<p>Kadri Beg spoke in a less scornful tone. “A +strange man is Stepan—a strange man, who would not +join his youth to my age when we fought the Christian +three and thirty years ago. Therefore it was his kismet +to fight me, and my brother Dervish Beg, likewise +my brother Omar.”</p> + +<p>“How then, O Kadri Beg, comes it to pass that the +strange man still lives?”</p> + +<p>“Again it was kismet. We ravaged his fields, we +shut him up in his Kula. But who can storm the walls +of Starigrad? And he had much grain stored. But +that was not our kismet. Some Vila of the Zagorje, +who comes by night to steal the hearts of maidens, +fastened upon our Ila the love of young Stepan. Thus +was the Vila revenged on all the Tshengitch, in that +we had taken the better part of her name for the child. +And now Ila is dead. Last summer she died, when +scarcely Ramazan had passed. And her little daughter +is dead these many years, and her son is a wanderer.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[270]</span></p> + +<p>There was silence. “You will not think me like a +beggar of Stamboul, my lord, if I set out this very +hour? For I have news of the son to carry to the +father.”</p> + +<p>“You shall go in peace. Horse and guide shall be +ready on the minute, if not for the prophet’s sake, then +for Saadi’s. There is a Tshengitch, proud and desperate, +though from his father he learned to laugh. +May Allah keep him long content in the East.”</p> + +<p>A question sprang to Jaffer’s tongue, but did not +pass the barrier of his teeth. Kadri Beg resumed.</p> + +<p>“Will Jaffer again see Saadi in the East?”</p> + +<p>“Such may be the will of Allah, my lord.”</p> + +<p>“Say to him that Kadri Beg sent this message: +<i>The son of the Haiduk is grown, and Haidar has forgotten +how to shoot.</i>”</p> + +<p>Jaffer repeated the message, and hoped to thunder +that it was the last piece of mystery he should have to +remember. But the words set up a new anxiety within +him, and it was worse than his anxiety about Saadi’s +character.</p> + +<p>It was evening, and the sun had set, when Jaffer and +his escort drew rein at Starigrad. It had been a hard +ride, over country very different from the smiling valleys +near the Servian border. The karst had begun; +the pastures and fields were infrequent. The bridle +paths had seemed to lead up and down, not ahead.</p> + +<p>A little bridge of stone, beautifully arched. Beneath +it the narrow, curving river, with three feet of +water swift as a millrace. To the left, shut in by +mountains, a polje or hollow of many acres, seemingly +the bottom of an ancient lake, richly cultivated. To +the right, across the stream, a solid cliff of karst a +hundred feet high, though, had the light been better, +Jaffer might have seen that the topmost ten feet were +masonry. The short sharp curve of the river more than +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[271]</span>half surrounded the castle above, where the great kula +struck into the red evening like a javelin.</p> + +<p>They crossed the little bridge, and Jaffer noted that +the defile ahead of it was cleared of every rock which +might serve as a hiding place. They mounted by a circuitous +route to the tableland above. To the left now +appeared the high stone wall and moat which, going +straight across from cliff to cliff, isolated the castle on +the impregnable promontory. In the centre of the wall +was a great square gate-structure rising above it, and +the doors of the Turkish arch were closed. But the +draw-bridge was down—and evidently no longer used +to be drawn up. They dismounted, and the guide +pulled the bell-rope. It was five minutes before the +guard appeared, recognised a friend, and let them in.</p> + +<p>A few words of rapid speech and Jaffer was conducted +to the master’s house near the tower. Lights +were burning in the upper story of it, as if the master +were going to bed. But when the guard had disappeared +within, like a butler carrying a card, Stepan +Beg returned with him.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[272]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXVII">XXXVII</h2> + +</div> + +<p>“Salaam alêkom, Stepan Beg.”</p> + +<p>“Wa-alêkom salaam, Jaffer Hakim. Come up to +the selamlik. Haidar, see your friend well bestowed.”</p> + +<p>They mounted the narrow wooden stairs to the great +room above. A quaint brass student-lamp gave it a +moonlight effect. There were chairs and tables and +divans, and a white porcelain stove with green panels. +Upon the floor were fine old rugs. Upon the wall was +a case of firearms of many patterns, both ancient and +modern. Evidently there was one man in Bosnia who +was exempted from the law, perhaps because he never +broke it. On another wall was a case of books and +manuscripts.</p> + +<p>The two men stood looking at each other—Jaffer in +his fez, with dark aquiline features sharpened by +anxiety; Stepan Beg in a scarlet turban, with white +beard close cropped, strong sinewy neck exposed, eyes +sad but smiling.</p> + +<p>“You stayed long with Kadri Beg?”</p> + +<p>“Two hours, my lord. But there I learned”—and +Jaffer bowed his head—“how Azrael brushed Starigrad +with his wings when Ramazan had passed. May +the peace of Allah rest upon the soul of the Lady Ila.”</p> + +<p>A shadow of pain passed over the noble face, but the +answer came quietly. “Sweet with firdousi was the +apple of life which Azrael held to her nostrils.”</p> + +<p>Stepan Beg laid a kind hand on Jaffer’s shoulder. +“I have heard of you. I have had letters. You shall +be Rasul here, and I am not your lord. Rest upon this +divan. So—so, my son.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[273]</span></p> + +<p>The old man gently forced the youth to lie down. +Jaffer lay without speaking till the inevitable coffee +came. He lay dimly realising that he had been speaking +Persian, not Servian, and that he had been understood +and answered.</p> + +<p>A glass of water followed by a little cupful of black +coffee seemed to go to the immediate focus of his various +anxieties—an aching spot somewhere in the back +of his neck. He rose to a sitting posture.</p> + +<p>“It is the part of age to inquire, Stepan Beg, and +the part of youth to answer. But may I ask and be +blameless?”</p> + +<p>“Ask many things, Rasul.”</p> + +<p>“These letters, how old are they?”</p> + +<p>“Saadi wrote me six months ago that his room had +been the room of Jaffer. He wrote me of other friends, +but Jaffer I remember, for it is the name of the good +vizier. And he wrote of Trench Hakim, upon whom +be peace.”</p> + +<p>“And have there been no letters lately?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, my son. He wrote for money. He had borrowed +a certain sum from Trench—four thousand +kronen. I have sent it from Serajevo—Haidar is +but yesterday returned.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer was delighted, but pondered his next question.</p> + +<p>Stepan Beg lifted his coffee to his lips, then set it +aside. At last he said, quite calmly, “Does Rasul +bring me word of Saadi’s death?”</p> + +<p>“Ustafr Ullah! God forbid! For aught I know, +he flourishes like the vines in your garden.”</p> + +<p>Stepan Beg’s breast heaved with renewed life. +“Four thousand kronen is not enough to establish a +home in the ends of earth. I have sent four thousand +more to his bride, whose name I love. See, I have +their good addresses—Isham Trench and Elsie +Sereef.” He lifted a leather bound book from the +table.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[274]</span></p> + +<p>Jaffer’s relief was enormous. Saadi was neither +thief nor seducer. From here on, the messenger might +unburden his heart to this braver heart.</p> + +<p>“I bring you good news, Stepan Beg. When the +month of Dulheggia has come, you will be a grandfather.”</p> + +<p>Stepan Beg sat still, but great tears rose to his eyes. +“Allah be praised! To Allah be great praise! But, +alas, the boy will be born in America. It is farther +away than paradise.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer rose and approached. “Some day he will +come to you, O best of fathers. But now I must speak +the truth. I bring the news not merely to the grandfather +but to the father. I seek Saadi.”</p> + +<p>Stepan Beg sprang to his feet, stepped to the bookcase, +took out a packet of letters, and swiftly opened +several. “The last is written from Chicago, on the +twentieth of April.”</p> + +<p>“He left on that date for Europe,” said Jaffer. +“He gave as a reason that his mother was dead.”</p> + +<p>Stepan Beg stared. Then he went to the latticed +window and called into the night. A man came running, +flung open the door of the house, and dashed upstairs, +ready to throttle Jaffer. But he saw the two +men standing quietly.</p> + +<p>“Haidar, the moon is dead, and the new moon is not +born. But could you go to Fotcha?”</p> + +<p>Haidar glanced from one man to the other. “I need +no moon, my lord.”</p> + +<p>Stepan Beg lifted a finger. “But if it were to +Stolaz? Think, Haidar.”</p> + +<p>“I can go to Stolaz without a moon. I have done +it—years ago—when the road was worse, and the +whole band of Stojan Kovacevitch thirsted for my lord’s +blood.”</p> + +<p>Stepan Beg pointed to the case of firearms. “Take +what you will. You must not be stopped by the patrol. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[275]</span>Say that you are on my service. Carry with you my +Star of the Order of Franz Joseph. If they do not +respect it, make them respect it. Bring hither young +Mohammed Beg by this time to-morrow night.”</p> + +<p>Haidar went to the case and took what he needed—the +Star, a six shooter, and a box of cartridges. He +came before Stepan Beg, and knelt. But Stepan +raised him to his feet and kissed him on either cheek. +Then Haidar went out into the night, and within ten +minutes they heard the great door clang behind him, +and the hoof-beats of his Turkish horse resounding from +the karst.</p> + +<p>“No more to-night, Rasul. I see that you have +brought more than news. You have borne anxiety on +these young shoulders, and now you shall shift it to +mine. Whose money brings you hither?”</p> + +<p>“That of Dr. Trench. I come from Peshawar.”</p> + +<p>“The money shall be paid. You left Peshawar +when?”</p> + +<p>“April twenty-third.”</p> + +<p>“By railroad?”</p> + +<p>“No, by camel. I went to Tashkent—and consulted +Dr. Yukitch.”</p> + +<p>Stepan Beg gazed at him. “It is the work of a +hero. Mohammed Beg, who is Saadi’s sworn brother +in God, could not have done more. To-morrow shall +be a festival in Starigrad. To-morrow morning you +must visit the houses of my people, and wield your +magic in one or two—for some are ailing, and I do +not bring the doctor from Fotcha every week. And +now to bed, my brave lad—to Saadi’s own bed. I +will light you there.”</p> + +<p>And so by ten o’clock on the evening of June 21, +Jaffer slept in Saadi’s bed, as Saadi had slept in Jaffer’s. +He hardly stirred till seven in the morning, so +knowing are the little grey cells of the brain when load +of care is lifted.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[276]</span></p> + +<p>At eight he emerged much refreshed and washed, +and Stepan Beg received him kindly. They had coffee +and melons and honey-cakes together in the selamlik, +and then for a little time Jaffer was left to himself, +having been invited to examine the books and manuscripts +in the case on the western wall. He found +many of them written in Glagolitic, and of very great +age.</p> + +<p>Later the two men went out into the June morning. +A flock of doves followed Stepan Beg, lighting on his +shoulders. “Their line is as old as mine, Rasul, and +no one but a member of the family feeds them. They +go back to a day when we were Christians, and there is +I know not what meaning in them. They flock to +Saadi as birds would flock to David. It is written in +eight and thirty, which is called Sad.”</p> + +<p>They proceeded to the Kula and mounted by a circular +stairway of stone, story after story, to the very +top. Here was a comfortable room, with crenellated +windows. Far below, to the south, appeared the polje +which Jaffer had noted, a very Eden, and beyond it the +buildings of a little tannery. Between the tannery and +the polje lay the village, on both sides of the river. +Jaffer noted a wooden bridge and a little Orthodox +church. Beyond were the mountains of Montenegro. +To the west stretched the karst, fantastic, grey, and +forbidding. In the east the hills of Servia were visible. +To the north, beyond miles of lower mountains, arose +the snowpeaks of the Treskavitcha Alps. At the foot +of the castle was the little stone bridge by which the +northern road started for Serajevo.</p> + +<p>“It is the Saadi bridge,” said Stepan Beg, “and +may the soul of the designer rest in peace. Four centuries +ago my family abandoned the attempt to live +here, and went to the Sandjak. The kula fell into +ruins; the broken wall choked the river, and there was +no village. Within fifty years the place was known +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[277]</span>as Starigrad,⁠<a id="FNanchor_5" href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> and it has never lost the name. Three +centuries ago we were living almost like serfs in the +Sandjak, but there arose among us a dreamer of dreams. +It was he who longed for the old home, and believed +that the lake could be drained. It was he who made +his way to Stamboul, penniless, seeking an engineer. +There he found Saadi of Isfahan, himself a dreamer +of dreams, himself an exile. They returned together +to Starigrad, and with Saadi’s slender means they +wrought the miracle. Here Saadi died, before the +kula was rebuilt; but, dying, he left the plan for the +bridge. Yonder he lies, among my people, and since +his day there has always been a Saadi in our line, and +the knowledge of Persian is kept alive among us.”</p> + +<p>They descended, and walked down to the village, +Jaffer carrying such medical resources as he could +muster. Holiday had been proclaimed, and the streets +were full of cheerful people. The village was clean. +By any standard, even a Dutch one, the village was +clean, and that was a greater miracle than the draining +of the lake. They went from house to house where +the aged or the ailing were, Stepan Beg leading the +way.</p> + +<p>Jaffer found little to do that morning. There was +not a case of tuberculosis, the scourge even of Herzegovina, +in the whole place. He did find a very lame +back, where a little weazened man had fallen down +stairs. As he made his examination the little man +quizzically asked him if he had ever fallen down stairs +himself. Stepan explained that the kmet was making +a sly reference to old Nasradin, the comic figure of +Herzegovinian history, who had declined to have a +broken rib set save by a hakim who had suffered from +a broken rib.</p> + +<p>At noon the whole village swarmed up to the castle, +where, in the open, six fat sheep were roasting on spits. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[278]</span>The baker brought a cartload of white bread. Baskets +of melons and figs made their appearance. There was +even a reasonable amount of red wine and plum brandy. +Such gay apparel, with tinkling showers of ancient +coins, Jaffer had never seen on women even at home.</p> + +<p>After the feast the kolo was danced to shake it down. +And as the evening drew on, the whole crowd gathered +about the village minstrel to hear the songs of ancient +days. There were no Turks present, and no Moslems +save Stepan Beg and Jaffer, and the guslar knew his +master well. The songs he sang were all of Prince +Marko, who grieved that he must fight his own people +at Kosovo, and who was willing to die for them. A +mighty hero was Marko, slayer of Turks and avenger +of wrongs. His mace was passing heavy of iron and +silver and gold. He never died, but still sleeps in a +cave, and will come again to unite all Serbians. There +beside him is his sword, plunged into a rock up to the +hilt, and when the appointed time is at hand, the sword +will itself leap from the rock and Marko will awake. +Exploit after exploit was sung, and the excitement grew +intense.</p> + +<p>Then suddenly the guslar rose and began the last of +all, and Stepan Beg translated it for his guest, minute +by minute. All in a magical moment Marko had become +Marko Jaffer, who had set out from the ends of +the earth to bear glad tidings to Starigrad. But Marko +Jaffer was met by a mighty giant, Moosa India, and +was struck down by a mountain. He threw it off, only +to be plunged into a river. From this he struggled out +and wielded his mace, but the monster was mightier +than he. Then Marko Jaffer called for help in the +name of Starigrad, and the saints appeared in the +clouds above. St. Elijah hurled his thunder, St. Sava +threw down snow, St. Mary of the Fire burned the +monster’s mace with lightning, St. Thomas dried up +the river, St. Panthelmyion made the rocks to burn +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[279]</span>beneath the monster’s feet. The monster fled, and +Peter and Paul descended with wine and bread to feed +the fainting traveller and speed him on his way. And +so came mighty Marko Jaffer to Starigrad in guise of +a young physician, slender and beautiful, pretending +to be a Turk but deceiving none. And here he uttered +his glad tidings, that brave and laughing Saadi +Beg had taken to himself a wife, fair Ilsa of the West, +who soon would bear him a noble son to rule in Starigrad. +Nay, more—here the guslar, a little grey man, +assumed a rapt expression—within a few days perhaps, +when Vidov Dan had come, Saadi Beg would +himself return!</p> + +<p>It was too late to correct that last little touch of +rhapsody and vision, for the crowd went wild with joy. +They raised the guslar and bore him on their shoulders. +They crowded before Jaffer and kissed his fingers. +They shook Stepan by the hand till the strong wrist +ached. And Jaffer perceived, what before had not entered +his head, that his news was of importance to more +people than Stepan and Saadi.</p> + +<p>When the sun had set and the villagers had descended +to the valley, host and guest waited for the return of +Haidar. But at midnight he had not come, and Stepan +Beg was grave and silent.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"> + +<h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_5" href="#FNanchor_5" class="label">[5]</a> “Old Castle.”</p></div> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[280]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXVIII">XXXVIII</h2> + +</div> + +<p>Morning of the twenty-third broke fair and bright, +but still no Haidar. The day wore on, Stepan making +no comment, Jaffer busy with the books in the selamlik.</p> + +<p>After dinner Stepan Beg left word where he might +be found, and took Jaffer for a long walk to the north, +to the ancient burial ground. Vast horizontal stones +were there, such as Jaffer had noted elsewhere as he +rode over from Kadri Beg’s. But also there were +scores of graves marked by pillars, many with tops like +turbans to indicate the resting place of male Moslems. +Beside a white new pillar that bore no turban, Stepan +knelt and prayed. Then he approached one of the +ancient monoliths, pointed out the inscription, and +translated it. The name appeared in a depression, as +if some older name had been chiselled away to make +room for it. Thus it read:</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p>In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. +Here rests Saadi of Isfahan. He had neither father nor mother, +nor son nor brother nor sister, only his sins. This stone has +been erected over him by Voivod Stepan, who buried the saviour +of Starigrad, invoking Allah Bog.</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p>“A strange inscription, Stepan Beg.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Rasul, yes, as strange as life itself. Here let +us sit in the shadow of the tomb, and speak of it, for +we shall not meet again on earth. It is clear that my +ancestor buried Saadi in a Bogumil grave, lifting the +stone that protected it against the wolves. Do you +know of the Bogumils?”</p> + +<p>“A mere name to me, my lord.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps it should remain such. After all, the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[281]</span>young are not interested in these matters. Let us +speak, rather, of the late wars. Both were wars of +extermination. Southeast of here, in the district annexed +by Bulgaria, four hundred thousand Turkish +males out of seven hundred thousand were slain, and +the process would have been completed had time permitted. +Due south it was the same; Montenegro aimed +at extermination. What else could you expect? The +great powers had felt no duty to civilise the Balkans, +but had egged them on these many years. In the second +war Greece tried to exterminate the Bulgarians in +Macedonia. If she dared, Austria would slay every +male in the kingdom of Servia.”</p> + +<p>“Life hardly seems worth living in the Balkans,” +said Jaffer.</p> + +<p>Stepan laid his hand upon the great monolith and +brushed away some lichens from the inscription. +“There have always been people who wondered whether +life was worth living. Millions have slain themselves. +And since the world was, many have refused to marry. +Do you yourself expect to marry?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Stepan Beg. When I have finished my preparation +for life.”</p> + +<p>“May Allah grant you peace. But many have +found no peace, and have thought that some restless +evil spirit made the world. I think of one such +prophet—Mani. He was crucified at Bhagdad ten +years before the bastard Constantine was born at Nish. +You passed within a few miles of Nish, on your way +here. In those days the religion of Mani and the religion +of Issa strove to possess the world. But the son +of the innkeeper’s daughter became emperor, and +Christianity conquered.”</p> + +<p>“I have heard of Mani. Did he not travel into +India?”</p> + +<p>“Even so, preaching that there is but little light in +a dark world, and that it is better that our race should +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[282]</span>cease. Thousands heard him gladly, and thought that +his doctrine was that of Issa. Mani thought that Issa +was an angel of light in the form of a man, and that he +neither married nor truly died. Hither into Thrace +came the followers of Mani, and Theodora put a hundred +thousand of them to death.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer shrugged his shoulders. “They got what +they wanted, Stepan Beg.”</p> + +<p>Stepan stroked his close trimmed beard, and proceeded. +“My ancestors were Christian nobles in +Servia. They listened to the preaching of Bogumil, +the beloved of God, who brought the doctrine of Mani +from Thrace. It appealed to us who were sad with +knowledge. We broke away from the church, declaring +that all its mummery was the work of Satan, and +that it is better not to bring children into so bad a +world. Stepan Nemanya drove my family into Bosnia +about seven hundred years ago. Other Bogumils were +already here, but many had followed up the Danube or +along the sea-shore to Venice, and these became the +first protestants of Bohemia, and Switzerland, and +Italy. We who remained built strongholds in the +mountains, and resisted the Hungarians whom Rome +sent to annihilate us. We wished to die out, but we +did not wish to be killed off.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer could not help laughing. “You ended by +doing neither, Stepan Beg.”</p> + +<p>“Who can say? Go where you will in Bosnia or +the Duchy, you find one vast graveyard of such stones +as this. Thousands of us died celibate.”</p> + +<p>“That made the rest an easier prey for the Turk, +Stepan Beg.”</p> + +<p>“It is true. But the persecution was what weakened +us most. Europe has yet to pay for slaughtering her +most enlightened men. Europe invited the Turk.”</p> + +<p>“And did he not in turn persecute the Bogumils?”</p> + +<p>“No, Rasul. He saw that our creed was like his +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[283]</span>own, free from idolatry. It was no great effort for us +to embrace Islam, and we resigned ourselves to the desire +to live.”</p> + +<p>Again Jaffer could not restrain gentle laughter.</p> + +<p>Stepan Beg entered into the spirit of it. “We even +resigned ourselves to make life very hard for the Christian. +We never treated our peasants as unkindly as +born Turks did—as unkindly, for instance, as my +nearest neighbours, the Tshengitch. But we have duly +helped to keep the peasant down, and taught the Austrian +how to do it. My father died fighting the Christian +insurrectionists in ’76, and in ’82 I had to fight +my neighbours for refusing to join them against Austria. +But I was justified by events. Hard as the Austrian +is, he was the next step to take. He has made +travel safe for you, my son.”</p> + +<p>“The man of peace has a hard time of it,” said +Jaffer.</p> + +<p>“Too hard for me to understand. I cultivate my +polje and think about it, but I do not understand. +Young men wish to slay, and so Allah lets them be +slain. My ancestors prayed to be delivered from war +and marriage, but Allah granted only half the prayer. +He sent them war, which is indeed the great preventer +of marriage. Allah foils us at every turn, my Rasul. +Now that our unmarried boys have been slain for centuries, +you would think that only women would be left. +But it is not so. Bosnia and the Duchy swarm with +men who can find no wives.”</p> + +<p>“Saadi has found one, my lord, and I note that it +gives you pleasure.”</p> + +<p>“You say rightly, my son. Our Saadi will do better +things with Starigrad than I have been able to do. +Perhaps you know the lady Ilsa. She must be a friend +of Trench Hakim’s wife.”</p> + +<p>“Dr. Trench is not married, my lord, nor have I +seen Saadi’s pearl.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[284]</span></p> + +<p>“Not married! Is Trench a Bogumil? Bear to +him this message: The Servant of Starigrad greets +the revered teacher of the Son of Starigrad where he +sits in the garden of learning, and bids him know that +the great Experiment has failed. The battle of Bog +with Shaitan must be won sangar by sangar, ell by ell, +generation by generation. But when all these dying +nations have reached the set hour, as it is written in +Sura seven—our sons shall see peace on the earth.”</p> + +<p>“I have borne many messages on this strange journey, +my lord, and have many yet to deliver. But none +is so precious a burden as yours.”</p> + +<p>“In turn, my son, I must call you well named.—I +am sorry that Haidar comes alone.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer looked up and saw a man limping towards +them. Stepan went forward to meet him, and Jaffer +followed.</p> + +<p>“Mohammed Beg is in Serajevo, my lord. Here is +his house address. Have I done wrong not to bring +him?”</p> + +<p>“No. You have done right to bring me Haidar +back alive. You limp. Was there shooting?”</p> + +<p>“No, my lord. But in the dark we did not see the +slide of rock that lay across the road. Sharats stumbled +and flung me over his head.”</p> + +<p>“And Sharats?”</p> + +<p>“The rocks were slippery. He could not regain his +feet. He went over. I lay long to hear some cry from +below, but there was only the noise of the stream.”</p> + +<p>Stepan put an arm around the shoulders of his retainer. +“We will not speak of another horse, or of +returning the revolver. But the guslar knew Sharats, +and the guslar shall sing of him. And there shall be +mention of Haidar the faithful, who limped through +darkness home.”</p> + +<p>“To Stolaz, my lord. The Basitch gave me a horse +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[285]</span>to return on. One of them has set out for Serajevo to +send the boy hither.”</p> + +<p>Stepan Beg knotted his brow. “That we will think +of later. You are pale, Haidar. Here, between us, +quickly, with an arm on each man’s shoulder. Praise +Allah that the Hakim is with us.”</p> + +<p>The three men made their way back to the castle, and +Jaffer attended to the injured knee. Twenty miles of +limping had done it no good.</p> + +<p>Later, in the selamlik, Stepan Beg spoke to his guest. +“If Mohammed Beg comes, he will be here to-morrow +night. If he knows where Saadi is, and wishes me to +know, he will come. If he does not know, or if there is +mischief brewing, he will not come. Saadi is still +young, and there is Tshengitch blood in him.”</p> + +<p>“Stepan Beg, I have kept back something. I have +reason to believe that Saadi and Mohammed will meet +in Sarajevo on Vidov Dan.”</p> + +<p>Stepan Beg merely nodded. “If you have kept back +still more, let it rest beneath the stone of forgetfulness. +If Mohammed Beg fails to appear, you shall bear from +me a signed note to the Landeschef, Potiorek, with two +words—‘Remember Vareshanin.’ These words you +do not understand, or need to understand. Meantime, +I beg you to give your best attention to Haidar.”</p> + +<p>So it came to pass that for the next four and twenty +hours Jaffer bent over Haidar with healing applications. +Mohammed Beg did not come. On the morning +of the twenty-fifth, doctor and patient were ready +to set out for the north.</p> + +<p>“It is better that I remain here,” said Stepan Beg. +“Who knows what nonsense Allah is permitting? The +walls of Starigrad are strong, and there is room for +all the village, and for you and Saadi and Mohammed +Beg.” He laughed, and some spark of long concealed, +hereditary fire flashed from his eyes. “But go in the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[286]</span>safety of God, my boy, and may there be no need to +return. Your praises are safe with the guslar forever, +and within ten days a thousand kronen shall be sent +to Trench Hakim for the expenses that his messenger +has borne. As soon as you reach town, carry this note +to the Koniak. It will not be necessary to insist on a +personal interview. Potiorek would only detail a man +to watch you.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[287]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXIX">XXXIX</h2> + +</div> + +<p>On Saturday morning, the twenty-seventh of June, +the two horsemen emerged from the canyon of the +Zeleznitza into the plain of Ilidze. They had slept in +a friendly cottage at Madzari—to the sound of rain +on the roof, but now the sky was clearing.</p> + +<p>“Ah, Haidar, this looks less like the infernal regions. +How far is it now?”</p> + +<p>“You will be in Serajevo by noon, my lord.”</p> + +<p>“Stop milording me, Haidar. When we get there, +I am going to put your knee to bed in the best hotel. +Which one is it?”</p> + +<p>“The Europa. But the hakim will not put me to +bed. From here he proceeds alone. I spend the night +at Dobrinje, and he will find me here to-morrow, by the +crossroads. And there will be another horse, in case +he brings a friend.”</p> + +<p>“Nonsense, Haidar. You must come with me, if +only to bring back this good beast of mine.”</p> + +<p>“No, Hakim. It is Stepan Beg’s command. Two +nights I sleep at Dobrinje. If you are not here by +noon on Monday, I am to go home, and the Europa falls +heir to your horse.”</p> + +<p>There was no shaking Haidar, and Jaffer rode on +alone. It was three o’clock when he came into Bistrik, +the southern part of the city, and looked down +on the old town with the river flowing through it like +a blue vein. Golden Serajevo! The Damascus of +Europe! But the minarets gleamed fairer than the +churches, as if to say that some journeys to Damascus +fail.</p> + +<p>He descended, and crossed the old Catholic bridge, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[288]</span>and easily found the hotel. He gave his horse to be +stabled and fed. He washed up. Then he inquired +his way to the governor’s palace across the river, and +walked there, and gave in Stepan Beg’s note. It was +marked “Immediate,” and Jaffer thought it unnecessary +to add spoken words.</p> + +<p>Then he went to the address given him, and inquired +for Mohammed Beg. The maid servant thought +he would be home for supper, and Jaffer promised to +call in the evening.</p> + +<p>Things having progressed so far and so well, Jaffer +reminded himself that he had sent no word to Dr. +Trench except by Dr. Yukitch. Really it was time to +communicate something or other. So he walked back +to the Koniakgasse and gave in the following:</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p>Hope to find man to-morrow. Have met his father. I think +better of human nature.—R. R. J.</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p>On being required to give his address and name, he +gave the Europa and the name on his passport. The +operator began to click his instrument, but as soon as +Jaffer had gone out he stopped and laid the message +aside for military inspection, because “R. R. J.” did +not tally with the sender’s name.</p> + +<p>Jaffer now felt free to wander. It was five o’clock, +and he had had no dinner. Supper was not yet ready +at the Europa, but he remembered Dr. Yukitch’s remark +about the Café Bendbashi, and inquired his way +thither. He crossed once more to the north bank of +the Milyatska, and walked up the Appel Kai past the +Rathaus, to where the river curves beneath the citadel. +Here he found the café, and descended into it through +a sort of tunnel. It was a beautiful place—hung with +pictures, carpeted with rugs, fitted with coffee services +of beaten brass and with every variety of smoking apparatus. +But there was a garden beyond, and Jaffer +penetrated into the garden. It was altogether nice. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[289]</span>Many a group could sit here by the swift clear stream, +and have perfect privacy.</p> + +<p>Jaffer lingered for an hour, resting his limbs, eating +such kickshaws as the place afforded, inhaling the +fragrance of real Mocha, and watching five children +who were splashing in the water on the other side of +the stream. He heard voices near him in the shrubbery, +and caught the Serbian words for “One, two, +three, four, five.” Somebody was counting the children +on the opposite shore. Presently the speaker +emerged, a tall blond man, followed by two swarthy +youths. The trio passed out. Left quite alone now, +Jaffer laid his arms on the little table, laid his weary +head on his arms, and took forty winks while the river +rippled by.</p> + +<p>On leaving the Bendbashi he wandered east, down +the stream past the Kaiser bridge, the Latin bridge, +and the Cumuria bridge, where stood a school for girls. +He wandered through crooked lanes to the National +Bank, where two streets merge into one. He wandered +back to the Europa, and ate some real supper. After +this he went again to call on Mohammed Beg. Mohammed +Beg had not come in.</p> + +<p>That night Jaffer slept like a log, undisturbed by a +muezzin who started up in the middle of the night +within a hundred feet of his window. It was nine +o’clock, June 28, 1914, before he went down to the café +of the hotel.</p> + +<p>While the waiter was getting coffee and rolls for him, +he overheard some people talking in German, and +learned that the Archduke Franz Ferdinand, heir to +the throne of Austria-Hungary and inspector general +of the army, was expected in town within an hour!</p> + +<p>The news struck into him, deep, like a seizure of +sudden illness. Was it possible—that in April Saadi +had been summoned by his sworn brother in God to +meet him on this day to carry out some deadly attempt +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[290]</span>on the life of the Crown Prince? Was it possible that +those Belgrad boys were also in the plot? Jaffer +pushed aside his untasted breakfast. His first impulse +was to run to the Koniak, but he reflected that Stepan +Beg’s note ought to cover the case so far as warning was +concerned. Now it remained to find Mohammed Beg +and find him quickly.</p> + +<p>He left the hotel and hurried to the little house where +the youth from Stolaz lived. The door was closed and +locked. People were moving from every direction +south, toward the Appel Kai, to see the Crown Prince +pass as he came in from Ilidze.</p> + +<p>Jaffer was in despair. He walked through crooked +streets swiftly but aimlessly. He began to feel faint, +and stood still awhile. The faintness passed, only to +be succeeded by a gnawing sensation in the solar plexus. +He had passed a confectioner’s shop. He would go +back and see if the place was open on Sunday. That +gnawing was not wholly unnatural, considering that he +had eaten nothing since half-past six the evening before.</p> + +<p>He turned round, but had taken no step, when he +noticed several men emerging from that shop. Each +wore in his buttonhole the Serbian tricolour. One of +them was very tall, boyish, awkward, handsome. It +was unmistakably “Ned,” who, as he walked, was +tucking away a newspaper into the breast pocket of his +coat. Jaffer stepped into an alley and watched.</p> + +<p>Ned, Trifko, Gavro, all going south, and followed by +several younger fellows. Then came the two swarthy +youths he had seen yesterday at the Bendbashi, now proceeding +east. Last of all, the tall blond man, walking +directly towards him. Jaffer waited till the tall man +passed, and he noticed that the thin face was drawn +and set. Jaffer stepped out and followed, lighting a +cigarette with steady fingers. The gnawing at the pit +of his stomach was gone.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[291]</span></p> + +<p>In a deserted street the leader entered a little gate. +Jaffer gave him two or three minutes to get settled, +then opened the gate and advanced through a garden +to the house. He was about to ring the bell, but withdrew +his hand. He opened the door, glanced into an +empty room at the right, heard voices upstairs, and +went up. There he stood, like a burglar, listening. +An angry conversation was going on, too swift and +muffled for him to understand, even had he known twice +as much Serbian. But two or three times he distinctly +heard the word “Saadi,” with a pause after it.</p> + +<p>Jaffer knocked on the door, and the voices stopped. +Then one called out, “Nasto ze tuzite?” Jaffer understood +that. It meant, “What’s the matter with +you?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing much,” said Jaffer in English. “I have +just come to make a call. Dr. Trench asked me to +drop in on you.”</p> + +<p>“It is damn lie. I do not know voice.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps not. But you remember your cat’s +name.”</p> + +<p>An amazed oath followed. Then the voice said very +sweetly, “Well, Jaffer, you may drop in on me, but +you must not drop on shoulder.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer gently pushed the door and stepped in, and +the door slammed shut. Saadi stood with his back +against it, levelling a murderous Browning at the blond +man.</p> + +<p>It was rather a tense moment. Saadi did not look +at Jaffer, but Jaffer more or less brilliantly remarked: +“I hope you are well.”</p> + +<p>“Always well, same as Shaitan,” answered Saadi, +reaching out a left hand to be shaken. “Jaffer, you +are remarkable pussycat and then some. How much +you know about this fool business?”</p> + +<p>“I know Ned and Trifko and Gavro, and I know +this gentleman’s two friends by sight. He counted one, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">[292]</span>two, three, four, five naked children for their benefit +at the Bendbashi last evening.”</p> + +<p>Saadi laughed. “Not kids, Jaffer, but motions +when chucking bomb. It is kismet. Gentleman I +am pointing out to you with nose of gun is Professor +Ilitch. Professor, you don’t understand English”—here +Saadi shifted to German—“and my friend Dr. +Jaffer doesn’t know Serbian, so we will all talk German +most damnably rapid.”</p> + +<p>The blond man smiled a flickering smile. “Your +friend is too late.”</p> + +<p>“Maybe. My other one isn’t. Mohammed is on +his way to Montenegro. I found him fifteen minutes +ago, standing where you put him, and he had sense +enough to give me his Browning and start.”</p> + +<p>Ilitch shrugged his shoulders. “I wish Trisitch +had never introduced him to me.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean? He’s only a kid, and you’re +a man. He was ready to quit When he got my letter—only +he wouldn’t go back on his word to you.”</p> + +<p>Ilitch again shrugged his shoulders. “My impression +is that he mentioned the thing first.”</p> + +<p>“What if he did! It had been on his mind for +three years, and he got the idea from me. But I’ve +learned something in three years, Ilitch, and my letter +to you made it clear that the thing couldn’t be done +without a smashup from Paris to Pitjer.”</p> + +<p>“You didn’t prove it, Saadi. We don’t expect to +involve Servia. What we do expect is a prompt uprising +of Croatia, Dalmatia, Slavonia, Bosnia, and of +course the Duchy.”</p> + +<p>“You fool!” cried Saadi. “Haven’t I come from +Belgrad? Didn’t I leave a part of my collar in the +Major’s hands? Don’t I know that the boys can be +traced to Tuzla? Didn’t I visit their host Misko and +his damfool picture-show? And you talk about not involving +Servia! Good God, man! Ever since Bukarest, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[293]</span>Austria has been waiting for the first chance. +She privately informed Germany and Italy on August +ninth.”</p> + +<p>“But they can’t prove it, Saadi. The blame will +fall on Budapest. The boys are going to take cyanide. +The dead tell no tales, and every one of them is a hero.”</p> + +<p>“If you mean Gavro,” exclaimed Jaffer, “he will +throw up any poison that he takes—even cyanide.”</p> + +<p>At this moment the sound of rapid footsteps was +heard, and a boy of sixteen burst into the room. Saadi +lowered the gun, but the boy hardly noticed him. +“Mr. Ilitch,” he cried, “Nedjelko has thrown and +never touched him. It exploded under the next auto +and hurt a lot of people. Ned jumped into the river +in front of the girls’ school, and Mr. Lojo jumped in +after him and held on to him, and the gendarmes have +got him.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer took the boy by the arm and marched him +across the room to where Ilitch stood. Saadi grinned +with joy.</p> + +<p>“Thank you, doctor. Stand very still, little boy, +close to the professor, or this gun will go off and scare +you. Now, Ilitch, it is yet half an hour to do something +while the party is in the Rathaus. Where are +the boys?”</p> + +<p>“Gavro is by the Latin bridge, on this side. Trifko +is on the Kaiser bridge. Vaso and Cvetko are at the +bank, near where Mohammed Beg was. You don’t +know any of them but Trifko, and you can’t budge +him.”</p> + +<p>“But you can, Ilitch. Take pencil and write four +notes, and send the kid with them. Write, ‘Route +changed, come here quick.’”</p> + +<p>“I won’t do it, Saadi. When I got your letter, I +was in doubt, and told the boys so. But war with +Servia is nothing. It will be localised like the last two +wars.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">[294]</span></p> + +<p>“Fool!” cried Saadi; “you are journalist, but nothing +reaches you. I went from Chicago straight to +Petersbourg. I tell you it will be war for whole world. +Write!”</p> + +<p>The plucky Serbian messenger spoke up: “I won’t +carry any notes.”</p> + +<p>“I will,” said Jaffer. “And permit me to remark +that if they have caught Ned alive, they will learn the +whole story. Gavro can hold his tongue, but Ned +can’t.”</p> + +<p>“Then write, Ilitch!”</p> + +<p>“You must excuse me, Saadi.”</p> + +<p>“Then I’ll kill you.”</p> + +<p>“You’ll hang for it.”</p> + +<p>“Of course. I shall do that anyhow. Write!”</p> + +<p>Ilitch shook his head, and it was all that saved his +life. The bullet knocked his fez off and flattened itself +against the wall. The messenger boy shrank into the +corner.</p> + +<p>Whether it was the deafening report, or fear of Saadi, +or fear of Ned’s tongue, Ilitch yielded. He drew from +his pocket a note-book, tore out four leaves, and wrote. +Jaffer took the scraps of paper and left.</p> + +<p>The two boys at the bank were easily found and +went with the silent Peshawari. He saw them safely +inside and disarmed, and placed their weapons on +Saadi’s person. Then he went south, and at last found +Trifko on the crowded Appel Kai. He had left the +Kaiser bridge on hearing the bomb.</p> + +<p>Jaffer drew him aside into an alley. “I told you you +might see me here. Ilitch wants to speak with you at +once. Here’s his note.”</p> + +<p>“Ilitch is not my master,” said Trifko. “What is +this change of route?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know, but he seemed anxious.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I’ll go. I’ve been trying to find Gavro. It +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[295]</span>is an awful responsibility we’re taking, Dr. Jaffer. I’d +be glad of an excuse—”</p> + +<p>And Trifko went his way. He had hardly gone +when the crowd began to cheer, and two or three automobiles +appeared, coming west along the river. Jaffer +tried to buck the line, only to get wedged in.</p> + +<p>But he was much taller than the Bosnians, and could +see perfectly. The first car, as he learned from remarks +of those about him, carried the Burgomaster and +the Royal Commissioner of Serajevo. Next to the +chauffeur of the second car sat a hard faced man whom +Jaffer guessed to be Governor Potiorek. Behind him +appeared the nodding plumes of the Crown Prince’s +helmet, and beside the prince, on the running board, +stood an aristocratic officer, as if to shield the prince +with his own body.</p> + +<p>But at the right of the prince, and therefore nearer to +Jaffer, sat the Duchess of Hohenburg, a summer-like +figure. Jaffer noted the tall black pompon in her white +hat, the pearls about her throat, the roses in her belt, the +fur cloak which she wasn’t wearing, but which she might +need to pull up round her shoulders later in the day. +Beside her fluttered a little tricolour flag, as if to say, +“She is Slavonic, and she thinks all Slavs dear and good +and friendly.” The car was moving very slowly, and +Jaffer smilingly struggled to get his arm free that he +might salute. The quick eye of the Duchess caught the +smile and the movement, and she turned to her husband. +Instantly Franz Ferdinand raised his hand to his helmet, +his little eyes half closed with amusement, and as +Jaffer disengaged his arm and returned the salute, the +Duchess bowed. Her smile was almost a laugh, so +pretty and genuine that Jaffer immediately vowed that +she ought to be Empress. What a shame that the laws +of “Ebenbürtigkeit” ruled her out.</p> + +<p>The first car reached the corner of Franz Joseph +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">[296]</span>Street, about a hundred feet from where Jaffer stood. +It turned to the right, then stopped, and proceeded along +the river. But the manœuvre had halted the car of the +Crown Prince, and as it stood there for a few seconds, a +shot rang out. Then another. There was a great +scuffle and confusion, and the car moved on, turning +to the left over the Latin bridge.</p> + +<p>Apparently the shots had gone wild. The crowd +swayed. Though jammed against the wall, Jaffer +caught a glimpse of Gavro as he was dragged along by +the gendarmes. The boy’s hat was gone, his face was +covered with blood, and his mouth was open, as if with +mortal sickness. As the crowd began to follow the prisoner, +and the jam yielded, Jaffer made his way out and +hastened to the rendezvous.</p> + +<p>It was a roomful now, with Saadi holding them all at +bay. Trifko was standing there with the rest, his arms +held high, according to instructions, and Saadi was compelling +all to listen while he went over the political +situation. It was evident that he had made an impression, +and Trifko looked relieved in more than a physical +sense when Jaffer disarmed him.</p> + +<p>“Gavro,” said Jaffer, “has fired and been arrested. +I don’t think he hurt anybody, and the game is up. I +wish to assure Trifko that I have not broken my promise, +and I hope that the gentleman who showed me how +to get here will be able to get back to Belgrad.”</p> + +<p>The words had hardly left Jaffer’s lips when another +boy dashed in, gasping. “He killed them both, Mr. +Ilitch!”</p> + +<p>“You mean Potiorek?”</p> + +<p>“No! The Duchess!”</p> + +<p>A piteous silence fell upon the room. Saadi began to +take the cartridges out of the three revolvers, and Jaffer +relieved Saadi’s bulging sash and pockets of four bombs +that looked like lumps of soap. Saadi was the first to +speak.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">[297]</span></p> + +<p>“Let the younger fellows take these things, and go +home, and give them to their mothers to get rid of.” +He gave two boys a burden, and they went.</p> + +<p>“You are safe from us, Saadi Beg,” said Trifko, +“but you are not safe.”</p> + +<p>“I know it, boy. I was recognised last night at +Ilidze. I was there because I thought you would +operate there. I’ve done my damnedest to find you all. +I’ve been clear to Oblaj and then to Hadsisi to find +Gavro, and to Pale after you, and to Zenitza after Ned, +and missed you all. I must try now for Starigrad. +Who comes with me? You?”</p> + +<p>“No, Saadi Beg. I must go to Pale.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t! Don’t stop at Pale. They will catch you +sure as fate.”</p> + +<p>“I must say good-bye to Mother.”</p> + +<p>“All right, then. I’d do the same thing myself. +But keep to the Planina and don’t enter Vishegrad. +Good-bye, boy.”</p> + +<p>Saadi dropped his fluent Serbian and turned to Jaffer, +speaking Halsted dialect as he understood it. “Good-bye, +Jaffer, good-bye, good-bye, and give love to Doctor +and all boys. You brave old son of gun, I would give +half of world to send letter by you to girl in Chicago, +but you must not be seen with us. Go to hotel and go +to bed.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer’s black eyes flashed. “If I were as inhospitable +as you are, I’d walk over and ask Potiorek for a +bed in jail.”</p> + +<p>Saadi reached up and chucked him under the chin. +“You dead game old sport, we will see! We will see if +there is room in Starigrad for Old Sleuth aus Peshawar! +Come on, Jaffer! If we get there alive, we will play +whole bunch is with us. Deland can preach to kmets +and play on guzla. Ameen can talk Persian with Papa. +Wu can put on specs and look for blastomycosis in village. +Becker can sit on top of kula and wish he owned +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">[298]</span>whole damn landscape. And Chat—well, Chat can +try to prove assassination is only bad dream.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer, mollified, thanked him and accepted.</p> + +<p>Meantime all the boys had stolen away except one. +He lingered to shake hands with Saadi and introduce +himself. “I wish you had come earlier, Saadi Beg. +I had heard before that Franz Ferdinand was a friend +of the Slavs, but I didn’t believe it. You know he +wouldn’t let Red-Cross supplies come through. But +when I saw him coming along so devil-may-care—for +I was with Ned before I went to the Bank—I simply +couldn’t shoot or throw.”</p> + +<p>“You’re all right, Cvetko. Where do you live?”</p> + +<p>“In Semlin. I’m only at school here. My father +and mother—” Cvetko stopped, his lips quivering.</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes, old man. I know about fathers and +mothers. Now haidee, Cvetko! Get to them as quick +as quick. What are you going to do with the toys?”</p> + +<p>“Put them in the cellar of the Kostich house. +Good-bye, Saadi Beg, and may we meet again—ako +Bog da!”</p> + +<p>“Ako Bog da!—if God grant it,” echoed Saadi, and +Cvetko was gone.</p> + +<p>“Haidar is waiting for us at the crossroads, Saadi.”</p> + +<p>“Haidar! What you know about Haidar!”</p> + +<p>“I have been to Starigrad, Saadi Beg Sereef Stepanovitch +Etcetera. And your excellent father sent a signed +message by me to Potiorek. It contained just two +words: ‘Remember Vareshanin.’ And Potiorek evidently +scorned it.”</p> + +<p>Saadi shook his head. “Franz Ferdinand would +not care for what Potiorek said. Franz Ferdinand was +little bit off trolley. It was old trouble coming back +and getting busy with central nervous system. I will +tell you about it sometime. But my God I am sorry +for his babies. Sophie, Maximilian, Ernest! Once in +Chicago—with Deland—I did see them sitting in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">[299]</span>church.” Saadi stood with veiled eyes, lost in vision. +He softly murmured, “On papa and mamma be peace.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer touched him on the shoulder. “Are we wasting +time?”</p> + +<p>Saadi roused himself instantly. “Suremike. Well, +Haidar is at crossroads. How many horses?”</p> + +<p>“There will be one for you, and mine is at the +Europa. I can have a third sent here, if you say so.”</p> + +<p>Saadi turned to Ilitch. “Will you come, professor? +It is only little walk from Starigrad to Montenegro.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t run away, Saadi.”</p> + +<p>“Better get the habit. Slip around to London and +Zürich and Budapest, and I will pay the bills. In Budapest +you will be scolded by Tisza, but he is honest old +Calvinist and will not let you starve. As soon as war +begins, he will give you Golden Cross of Merit for journalistic +achievements.”</p> + +<p>“Save your sarcasm,” responded Ilitch. “There is +no need to drag Tisza or anybody else into this business. +Look to your own safety. You are going to +have trouble in getting to Dobrinje.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose so, I suppose so. Inshallah, I will show +Jaffer trick or two! And now it is time to say good-bye. +You know I did not enjoy pulling gun on you.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t mention it, Saadi. I—almost wish you had +done it a month ago.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Ilitch, we both did what we thought was best. +I will say this for you—boys obeyed you as if they +were in school, and Serbian boys are not very obedient. +Good-bye, old man. It is crazy world, and they will +hang you, but you must not mind little thing like that. +<i>Sbogom! Do vidjenja!</i> See you in jail.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">[300]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XL">XL</h2> + +</div> + +<p>As they emerged from the house, Saadi drew Jaffer +aside. “Go to Europa, and pay bill and say man will +come for horse. Is it any Muhammedan clothes in your +bag?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, an old suit and a new one.”</p> + +<p>“Put on oldest and put others in dirty bundle. +Come with bundle to big mosque—Husrev Beg.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer obeyed orders, remarking to the clerk at the +hotel that he was not enjoying Serajevo, and was going +into the country to find peace. The clerk replied that +he could blame no guest for doing so; already the mob +was attacking Serbian shops and throwing the wares into +the streets.</p> + +<p>At the mosque Jaffer found Saadi under the old sycamore. +“We go now into crowd and cross river by +Bendbashi. It is not any use to try to get by railroad +station. We will try to get past Koniak and go up +mountain. You are pilgrim. I wish you were more +dirty—here, I will wash hands and face for you with +good dirt, so! Well, if any gendarme arrests me, scoot. +Drop bundle and scoot! Dear Jaffer, is it what you +say impossible to exaggerate how fast you must scoot. +Imagine Dr. Trench is in mountain with nine babies +bleeding to death for want of your shirt to tie up little +legs. When you are lost in mountains—all lost as +possible, Jaffer—hire kmet to guide to Starigrad.”</p> + +<p>“Very good, Saadi. But I shan’t drop the bundle. +It has a canister of tea for the doctor.”</p> + +<p>They walked in leisurely fashion down Saratchi +Street, Jaffer carrying his own bundle. They bought +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">[301]</span>a dozen rolls, and Jaffer ate one as he slouched along, +trying to feel like a pilgrim. They reached the Rathaus, +and Saadi calmly approached a gendarme and +asked him if there was any truth in the report that the +assassins came from Belgrad. Twice he found it advisable +to execute the same manœuvre again before they +reached the other side of the river. Near the Koniak +he did not wait to be halted, but addressed the first pair +of gendarmes and informed them that the only way to +get any peace from the accursed Serbs was to spend the +night at the shelter house on Mt. Trebevitch.</p> + +<p>This was the critical moment. The bodies of the +Crown Prince and his Duchess lay within eight hundred +feet, and the orders were strict. For that matter the +orders are always strict about Serajevo, which is surrounded +by a ring of concealed fortifications, and persons +leaving the main highways have been fired on at +sight. The guard ordered them back. Saadi flew into +a rage. “If I go back,” he said, “my first job will be +to smash Tankossitch carriage factory, and I will say +that you told me to go ahead. Tausend Teufel! I +promised to see the Pilgrim out of town. He returns +from the tomb of Gul Baba in Budapest, and the accursed +Serbs make Serajevo a hell for him.”</p> + +<p>The guard hesitated, but repeated the command. +Saadi sank upon his knees before the turbaned tower of +melancholy called Jaffer. “Farewell, holy Hadji. +Give me your blessing.” Jaffer slowly extended his +arms and bestowed an Afghan benison, adding a few +well chosen Persian words. In fact, he bestowed so +many, and kept on bestowing, that Saadi began to weep. +The gendarmes grew tired of so much religion, and +ended by letting them both pass.</p> + +<p>Four hours later, having dodged forts and folks, they +reached the shelter house, and got something to drink. +Not a word of the trouble down below had reached those +heights, but Saadi made the story very clear. Serajevo +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">[302]</span>was no place for a pilgrim. The noble Hadji had +frowned and turned his back upon it.</p> + +<p>Not until darkness made going unsafe did the fugitives +pause again. Saadi stood leaning on Jaffer’s +shoulder, surveying the horizon. There they stood, +drawn together from the ends of earth, two cells in the +web of life. Stars were coming out. Earth was no +longer blindly busy to improve the shining hours of one +bright particular star, but was beginning to notice those +about it. But even as they gazed, clouds gathered till +the sky was all welkin.</p> + +<p>Silently the two men found a sheltered place among +the rocks, gathered withered stalks, and made a friendship +fire.</p> + +<p>“Now we will talk. Oh, my Jaffer, you are wonderful +as Devil himself. Did Chat give you message? +Did you go to Tashkent? Only one man in Tashkent +knows Saadi.”</p> + +<p>“I found him. Now read what I have for you.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer opened his raiment and extracted from his +money-belt a letter addressed in a feminine hand, “Aux +soins de Dr. Jaffer.” Having delivered it at last, he +took his sharp Afghan knife from the sheath and daintily +split a roll, and held it on the point of his dagger +over the flame.</p> + +<p>Saadi leaned forward by the friendship fire and read. +Jaffer calmly shifted the position of the toast lest his +companion’s shapely head should knock it off the dagger. +Suddenly Saadi pressed the paper fiercely to his +lips.</p> + +<p>“God in heaven! Son, Jaffer, I shall have son!”</p> + +<p>“It is a pleasure to be the first to congratulate you. +Will you have a piece of toast?”</p> + +<p>“No, no! Eat, Jaffer. Play it is wedding cake! +Oh, Elsie, you are Mecca and Mecca’s eight kinds of +honey! But—”</p> + +<p>“But what?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">[303]</span></p> + +<p>“I am not much of doctor. I never guessed.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer bit into the toast. “Spare your blushes, +Saadi. I suppose that even doctors have some natural +sense of delicacy. Had you made up your mind to remain +in Chicago?”</p> + +<p>“Yessiree. Soon I was going to tell Dr. Trench. +But always something was hanging over me. My promise!”</p> + +<p>“With Mohammed Beg?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Jaffer. We had sworn to kill Franz Ferdinand. +But I had bad record. I went from Vienna to +America because already I was suspected.”</p> + +<p>“And there you lost your nerve?”</p> + +<p>“No, Jaffer! But there I got word about Archduke. +Long I knew—all boys in University knew—that he +had same trouble that killed his brother. They both +got infection at same place, Göding, up on river Märch. +But Franz seemed awful strong. When he stole Bosnia +I hated him for strongest enemy of Slavs. Papa said, +‘You do not hate him, you hate Kismet that made his +soldiers kill Stepanie; you must learn to be impersonal.’ +But after two years I hated him worse than +before, and made Mohammed swear with me to end him. +Well, Jaffer, two days before Lister opened came letter +from medical man in Vienna who knew. He wrote, +‘Saadi, Archduke will live one year, maybe two, but not +three.’ My God, what was use to shoot him! It would +only give Austria excuse to wipe Servia off map, and +Germany would jump at chance to get to Stamboul +while Franz Joseph was alive to help. Then came +worst of all!”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“My mother died. Why should it almost kill me? +What is one mother in whole world of mothers? I got +papa’s letter on day before Lister opened. I entered, +but that night all was too much. In your room I tried +to end up Saadi with gas.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">[304]</span></p> + +<p>“Poor kid! I didn’t know that. Who found you?”</p> + +<p>“Dr. Trench. He was shorter with me than what +you say piecrust. He did not give one damn. He was +colder than Allah and harder than army of Turks. It +did me lot of good, Jaffer. I could see inside him. He +had worse despair than I had. I said, If this man can +stick it out, so can Saadi. You must be good to him, +Jaffer.”</p> + +<p>“I’m trying to be.”</p> + +<p>“I mean what you say <i>simpatico</i>. It is big internal +wound in doctor. I do not know what.”</p> + +<p>“And thinking him wounded, you proceeded to lie +to him.”</p> + +<p>“Suremike. I told him Arabian Nights about Bokhara. +He did not believe one word. He just said, +‘Let me look at wound in neck!’ He looked, and +knew I was lying, and said, ‘Go on.’ He is best of all +men.”</p> + +<p>“Was it necessary to fill him up like that?”</p> + +<p>“Suremike. Doctor is Vienna man. Suppose he +went to dinner of Vienna men. Suppose Silvestri +talked to him. Silvestri is consul in Chicago, and he is +not anybody’s fool. Suppose doctor said, ‘I know +Vienna man named Saadi Sereef.’ That would be nice +business!”</p> + +<p>“I see. And you had to keep up the Bokhara bluff +till the last minute, I suppose.”</p> + +<p>“Suremike. When cable came, I had to have money +quick. I could not get up nerve to bleed doctor with +direct operation. I went to Congress Hotel and hired +room, and put on whiskers and eyeglasses same as when +I handled teachers in Bosnian schools. I was Rosenvine, +agent of Kushbeg wishing to find wandering kid. +Becker came to see Rosenvine, and I filled him up to +neck—only I made one little break when I tried to +quote Jew proverb. I followed him to Western Union, +and after he sent wire I went in and read torn up +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">[305]</span>scraps he left. It was funny, Jaffer. All dear boys +in Caravansery offered Saadi money, and Becker told +doctor, and doctor handed me thousand dollars in gold. +But something made me awful sick when Deland talked +to me so kind. I had to lie about mamma. I had to +kill her once more, for Bosnia.”</p> + +<p>“You certainly missed your calling, Saadi. Anybody +who can play the Jew well enough to fool Becker, +and play the Bokharan well enough to fool Ameen—well, +he has most actors beaten to what Deland would +describe as a frazzle.”</p> + +<p>Saadi sighed. “We are all actors. We go to play +to get points about daily acting, which is serious business. +Issa was great actor.”</p> + +<p>“What!”</p> + +<p>“I say, Issa was great actor. Did you ever read +third sura of what you say Fourth Gospel?”</p> + +<p>“Not on your life, Saadi. It is bad enough for a +binamaz⁠<a id="FNanchor_6" href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> to go to the mosque and act like the faithful, +as I do sometimes when it will help business.”</p> + +<p>“Well, my Jaffer, sometime you read third of John, +and see Issa pretend damn war-machine of universe had +son called prince of peace. It is good business. He +pretended so hard he went glorious crazy and believed it. +Elsie made me read, because friend of hers dared her to. +It seemed to inject good big dose digitalis in poor old +Saadi’s circulation. If not that last dose for nerves, I +think Saadi would have wired Mohammed Beg to please +go to hell.—Well, Jaffer, go on tell how you tracked +me.”</p> + +<p>“Why, the doctor sent me a telegram containing the +mystic letters B.S.V.D. It took me some time to get +the ingredients of that formula.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, ho! I was careless child to leave it in your +room. I thought it was in my flat, in grate fire. It +was signal with Mohammed. We had long code. It +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">[306]</span>was wonderful you could guess ‘Bosna Serai, Vidov +Dan!’ But how you knew boys in Belgrad?”</p> + +<p>“Yukitch told me that you used to haunt the Green +Wreath, and so I went there to find you.”</p> + +<p>“It is wonderful. It is very wonderful. And all +this you did for me. No, you did not do one damn +thing for me. You did for Dr. Trench.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Jaffer, “and partly because I don’t like +to be beaten.”</p> + +<p>“It was for Dr. Trench,” repeated Saadi. “It was +for living breath of science in damned unscientific +world. Jaffer, it is terrible thing that is going to happen +in two three months.”</p> + +<p>“You scared Ilitch, my friend, but you can’t scare +me.”</p> + +<p>“Of course I can’t scare you. When Franz Ferdinand +walks straight into trap with eyes open, how can I +scare wide-awake Dr. Jaffer aus Peshawar? But +look!”</p> + +<p>Saadi rose and thrust his finger into the western darkness. +“It is about nine miles down to Ilidze as raven +flies. There is old arsenal in ground, where neolithic +men made stone weapons. In six months all Europe +will be back to neolithic stage. Bogomi, Bogomi! +Tell Dr. Trench never to let Elsie come to Starigrad to +live. Let my little Saadi grow up in Chicago, and Dr. +Trench keep eye on him. My father will send money +always. My father will settle money on Elsie. But it +is end of Starigrad.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t get gloomy, Saadi. Where are you going to +be all this time?”</p> + +<p>“In grave, Jaffer. But we will give both sides good +run for money. I wonder if they have taken Haidar +yet.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer emptied his bundle, drew Saadi close to him +beside the little fire, and spread his European clothes +and the Bokhara suit over them. “Rest now, my +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">[307]</span>friend. Dream that you are at Starigrad safe in the +kula, or in Halsted Street safe in our room.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer fell asleep at once, but he slept so quietly that +Saadi thought him still awake. “Jaffer,” said Saadi +softly.</p> + +<p>Jaffer heard, far away, and slowly came back.</p> + +<p>“Jaffer, when Kaiser of Germany goes to sleep you +think he feels like child?”</p> + +<p>“Khuda medanad,” growled Jaffer.</p> + +<p>“Well, Jaffer, I do not see how in such big lonesome +world any man can go to sleep—I do not care how big +is jaw or cerebrum—unless he plays he is child again.”</p> + +<p>“All right, Saadi. Try it on.”</p> + +<div class="footnotes"> + +<h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_6" href="#FNanchor_6" class="label">[6]</a> One who does not say his prayers.</p></div> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">[308]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XLI">XLI</h2> + +</div> + +<p>Jaffer was awakened by his own shivering. He +reached over and found that Saadi was gone. He +raised himself on his elbow and looked around in the +dim dawn, but there was no trace of his companion. +Had the gendarmes come and carried him off? If so, +it was kismet. Jaffer turned over and went to sleep +again, minding the hard earth no more than he minded +the floor on which he usually slept at home.</p> + +<p>When he was again awakened, it was by a subdued +crackling. Saadi sat there by the renewed fire, smoking +a cigarette and writing a letter. An earthen jug +of milk foamed beside him, and a small bag of food lay +open—bread, cheese, and dried figs. Saadi had +walked a mile and a half to the little hamlet of Luka, +to give his friend a proper morning welcome.</p> + +<p>Jaffer rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “Take a +drink, thou admirable chamois-beast, and pass the jug.”</p> + +<p>“After you, dear Alphonse-Jaffer,” mumbled Saadi, +not removing his cigarette. And Jaffer drank. Never +had milk of kine tasted sweeter to human kind.</p> + +<p>Saadi finished what he had been writing on the blank +sheet of Elsie’s letter. “Open belt again, Jaffer, and +put this in. You can put with it three hundred dollars +of Dr. Trench’s money. I have it in belt round diaphragm.”</p> + +<p>“Not so, my friend, but far otherwise. You might +need it, and your father has already sent the doctor a +draft. Please pass the figs.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer munched and drank, munched and drank, disobeying +the rule of the East, which separates the two +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">[309]</span>operations by a considerable space of time. Saadi ate +stale rolls in silence, and by and by carefully collected +the remaining food and put it into the little bag he had +wheedled from the kmet’s wife on the outskirts of Luka.</p> + +<p>“Do we dry these things before we start?”—Jaffer +held up the improvised bedclothes, dripping with dew.</p> + +<p>“We do not. We wait till to-night, when we will +dry tumbees and what you say breechaloons. In words +of esteemed Deland, it is one wide river for to cross.”</p> + +<p>“Are there no bridges in Bosnia?”</p> + +<p>“Not for us, Pilgrim. We shall cross beautiful +Austrian road which goes along by beautiful Zeleznitza, +but less we walk in road less we will be in it. Come on, +Pilgrim. You are dirty enough, to-day.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer was much the taller man, but it taxed his long +light limbs to keep up. They did not enter the hamlet +of Luka, but left the bridlepath and moved west, at the +imminent risk of breaking their necks. Saadi sprang +from rock to rock like a flying theory which occasionally +touches a fact.</p> + +<p>Before noon they had forded two streams in two canyons, +and lay in hiding on the mountain above the Austrian +road. They watched till they saw the motor-diligence +which runs from Serajevo to Tirnovo. The news +of the assassination was on its way south, and by night +it would reach the lonely fort at Kallinovitch.</p> + +<p>When the coast seemed clear they scrambled down, +crossed the road, and stepped into the river. Saadi +moved slowly through the rushing current, holding his +watch on high, gripping the stones with his toes, and +illustrating every law of balance, strain, and strength +of materials. Jaffer slipped, gasped with the cold +shock, and had to swim for it. He emerged a hundred +yards farther down the stream at the foot of the opposite +cliff. A minute’s rest, and they scaled the cliff tooth +and nail.</p> + +<p>They were now in the foothills of the Treskavitcha +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">[310]</span>Alps, and Saadi knew little more about this savage region +than did his dripping companion. The sky had +clouded over and a mist was settling down, but there +could be no waiting. They pressed on, up and through +ragged gulleys and beech trees deformed as envy. +There was no question of roads. To get south was the +only aim, and not to get lost in the mist. But by and +by they blundered into a bridle path.</p> + +<p>By five o’clock it was unsafe to proceed farther. +They were at an elevation which made breathing too +rapid for tired bodies, and they were apparently descending. +They spent an hour hunting for the right +camping place, and found it. Sheltered in the pines, a +wide rent in the rock ended against a blank wall of precipice. +They shivered for another hour, collecting pine +cones and boughs. Then they built a roaring fire +against the cliff, and stripped to the skin. Every rag +was hung where it would dry. Saadi rolled in the pine +needles like a white hound. Jaffer stood close to the +fire, swartly elegant against the blaze.</p> + +<p>When everything was incontestably dry, they dressed, +and ate all the cheese and most of the remaining bread, +slowly. Jaffer fell asleep in the process.</p> + +<p>A few miles to the south of them, far down below, +a sentinel at the Fort of Kallinovitch went on watch. +For three years he had been marooned in that spot, his +chief consolation being the patch of kraut which he had +patiently forced to grow. As he now took up his round +he was plaintively singing his favourite song—“Ade, +mein Land Tirol.” He turned his eyes to where the +Tirol lay inaccessible, and behold, on the nearer barrier +he beheld a misty glow. He watched it. It did not +widen, but towered. Never before had he seen anything +like that on the mountain. It was a signal fire, +and could mean but one thing—the news of the assassination +had spread, and all Bosnia was rising. He +called aloud to his lieutenant, and the whole garrison +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">[311]</span>was presently with him. It was clear to the commandant +that with the dawn he must despatch as many scouts +as could be spared, and also summon reinforcements.</p> + +<p>All of which was far from Jaffer’s mind as he slept +off his first irresistible drowsiness, there between the +sheltering walls that caught the heat and warmed him to +the marrow. He was roused by the sound of music. +Saadi had arranged for himself a comfortable hollow, +and was softly singing an English song:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“The world is so wide, dearie,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">True friends are so rare, dearie,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Who knows what danger may wait for you there!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">No matter how well we have guarded the fold,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The wolves will come in somewhere.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But rest you and slumber, and dream if you will,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">You’re safe this night, I know—”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>The singing was not very good, and the singer struggled +in vain with the sound of w. But the scene smote +Jaffer to the heart. Not till the young husband arose +to replenish the fire did the Peshawari turn slowly on +his side and exclaim, “Excuse me, Saadi Beg. I believe +I’ve been asleep.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Jaffer, you presented all symptoms. Which +reminds me that we are taking rest from study of medicine. +Last thing I was up against was Heubner on +feeding of infants.”</p> + +<p>“Trench has disproved all that calorimetric nonsense,” +said Jaffer, arising. “Didn’t you see his article?”</p> + +<p>“Not guilty. I was too busy writing letters. Especially +about Irish and English. You did not know +Saadi had correspondent in Belfast.”</p> + +<p>“How should I?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I have. It is boy from Agram which is now +in Belfast. He gets on what you say scrumptious with +Irish. I guess I am little bit Irish myself. Now if +you were Englishman, and I were Irishman that hated +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">[312]</span>you, and Austrian gendarmes should see us scrapping +up here, what would gendarmes say? They would say, +Jaffer is very busy with howling handful called Saadi, +and will not fight if we jump on kmets. But when we +saw kmets jumped on, would we sit still? I don’t +think.”</p> + +<p>Jaffer assented, but he did not see what bearing the +parable had on the study of medicine, and said so.</p> + +<p>For answer Saadi changed the subject. “Please ask +Dr. Trench to break rule and take care of my Elsie in +October.”</p> + +<p>“Ask him yourself, Saadi.”</p> + +<p>“I will whenever I see him. But I shall never see +him.”</p> + +<p>“What reason have you for saying that? I think +we’re progressing finely.”</p> + +<p>“No reason. It is some old Bogumil talking inside +me. It keeps saying, ‘Saadi, look up at your star. It +is going out pretty quick now.’”</p> + +<p>“Forget it, Saadi.”</p> + +<p>“Call me old man, like Deland!” Saadi’s eyes had +a strange, hungry, uncanny look, as he arose and stood.</p> + +<p>“Forget it, old man. You and I are rationalists. +We don’t believe in signs. We say ‘Allah’ because it +is a language.”</p> + +<p>Saadi backed against the unyielding rock and stared, +as if then and there trying to wrest from the darkness +the dread secret of all darkness.</p> + +<p>“Good God, Saadi! Have I struggled up out of +Hindu superstitions to have you look at me like that, +on the cliff of a mountain, with the wind rising in the +pine trees!”</p> + +<p>Saadi laughed, and the spell was broken. “I wish I +knew how Elsie went to Dr. Trench. She says nothing +in letter except she is glad I went, and glad baby is +coming.”</p> + +<p>“I’m sure I don’t know. I have his cable somewhere, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">[313]</span>but it only directs me to find you and tell you the +news. He wrote a letter with ten lines in it. Wu had +given him Yukitch’s address, but not his name.”</p> + +<p>“Wu! Ah, yes! Good old yellow dog with memory +like flypaper. But, Jaffer, it was some words on Elsie’s +letter in French. Elsie does not know French.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Saadi, maybe she learned it suddenly, as I +learned Serbian. And perhaps you left the telegram +in Elsie’s room, and perhaps she found it. But it is +too bad she thinks of you as a Bokharan.”</p> + +<p>Saadi looked at Jaffer appealingly. “I did not dare +tell Elsie. She does not care if I am Bokharan or Turk +or Wild Indian. She knows I will not come back +maybe. She knows I am trying to stop some sort of +Shaitan business. She told me she would be ashamed +of me if I did not go. Oh, my Jaffer, think how little +is one man—one poor fool kid like me.”</p> + +<p>“There, there, old man! You were right to take no +risks. I’ve noticed that most fellows are good critics, +because they judge by their ideals, but very few of us +would start out single-handed to do what you did.”</p> + +<p>Saadi was still leaning against the rock, and the fire-light +gave his features a certain grimness. “When I +am dead, it is end of Saadi except for thoughts of him +in heads of Elsie and papa and Jaffer. I wish thoughts +to be good thoughts. I did not run away like Yukitch, +or say it was no use to be anything but animal. I +wanted to be scientific like Dr. Trench—to set few +bones awful careful which are out of joint. Yesterday +operation failed. But we came awful close, Jaffer, to +stave off war for many years.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you for including me. I was only an atom +in the game.”</p> + +<p>“You were bigger atom than Saadi. I was only hydrogen, +but you were atom of gold. It was all accident, +Jaffer, but think how strange that atoms have idea of +good. You remember sura nine and twenty?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_314">[314]</span></p> + +<p>“Yes. That’s a short one. ‘Whosoever has +wrought an atom’s worth of good shall behold it in that +Day.’ But I thought that you and I had abandoned +any fear of paradise.”</p> + +<p>“We have. We have chucked whole damn dream, +including ‘houris like pearls hidden in shells.’ But I +behold atom of good—now, here, in night, close up by +snowpeak on top of mountain. I behold what we did +yesterday as little piece of all right.”</p> + +<p>“It was little, sure enough.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t care, Jaffer. World is probably damn failure. +World is probably what Bogumils said—one big +mistake. But in it are little specks of pure gold and +little bits of red <i>l’al</i>. What is <i>l’al</i> in English?”</p> + +<p>“Rubies.”</p> + +<p>“Suremike. If I had ruby I would send to Elsie, +and say, ‘Teach our boy not to be afraid to spill drop +of blood to make little bit more good in world!’ Oh, +damn, Jaffer. I am preaching to you off minaret.”</p> + +<p>“Let ’er rip, Saadi.” Jaffer rubbed his stomach reflectively, +unbuckled his money-belt, and extracted a +bunch of tissue paper. “Here is a present I brought +you. Fellow in Afghanistan gave it to me.”</p> + +<p>Saadi unfolded the tissue paper by the fire, and the +ruby blazed out. He stood gazing at it as it lay in the +palm of his hand. “You old Devil. You abuse me +for being superstitious, but when I am in trouble you +walk in like geni. When I say <i>l’al</i>, you rub tummy +like Aladdin’s lamp and hand me <i>l’al</i>.”</p> + +<p>“Won’t you take it?”</p> + +<p>“What would I do with it? Here, Jaffer, hold +hosses one minute.”</p> + +<p>Saadi returned the ruby, and pulled off his own +money-belt. “Here are two of Dr. Trench’s gold +eagles. You must have ruby set in ring for Elsie, and +say it is from Saadi and Saadi’s new pobratim. You +cannot afford to give,—I know. What I care! Jaffer +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_315">[315]</span>must suffer because he has good heart. All good hearts +must bleed.”</p> + +<p>And so Jaffer put the ruby back into his belt, wrapped +up with two gold eagles. And by this time the fire was +burning low, and both men crept into the hollow that +Saadi had made. But this time Jaffer slept less +soundly than his companion. There was a burden on +his mind—a message still to be delivered. He was +saving it till the last possible minute, and giving his +friend a chance to store up needed energy. Time and +again he opened his eyes to look upon the glowing bed +of coals, and listen to the roaring of the wind in the +pines. Some such sound Trench had heard as he stood +beside the grave of his oldest friend, three years before.</p> + +<p>But in the earliest morning the wind had gone down, +and the mists were light, and the travellers looked out +upon the southern landscape as they gnawed their last +crusts.</p> + +<p>“To-day we must be careful, Jaffer. Down there +to left is Fort Kallinovitch. We must go to west, and +keep off roads. I have finished breakfast. Give me +cigarette.”</p> + +<p>The minute had come. Jaffer extracted from his +cummerbund the long saved packet of Stepanies. It +had been soaked by the river, but he opened it gingerly +and handed it over. Saadi took out a cigarette carefully, +not noticing the brand, and began to smoke.</p> + +<p>“Saadi, did you know the Belgrad boys’ password?”</p> + +<p>“No. Did you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, by accident. It was a box of Stepanie cigarettes.”</p> + +<p>Saadi tossed the cigarette away.</p> + +<p>“Yukitch—” began Jaffer.</p> + +<p>“Well—Yukitch?”</p> + +<p>“Told me about your little sister. And then I +couldn’t smoke the things.”</p> + +<p>“God bless you.” Saadi’s face was twitching.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_316">[316]</span></p> + +<p>“But that is not all, old man. Brace up and take +the last message I have for you. I stopped at Kadri +Beg’s. He sent this curious word to you: <i>The son of +the Haiduk is grown, and Haidar has forgotten how to +shoot.</i>”</p> + +<p>Saadi did not start, but sat gazing intently downward +into the plain. “He did that for my mother’s sake.”</p> + +<p>“I inferred as much. Does the message trouble +you?”</p> + +<p>“I should worry. Haidar killed man that he thought +killed Stepanie. It was in days of Streifkorps—volunteers +to guard against uprising after Annexation. +Many Turks joined Korps with Austrians. Of four +guilty brutes one was Turk. Tell Ameen it was Turk, +not Jew. Haidar thought he knew that Haiduk, and +went and shot him down in presence of little son. No +man could prove Turk was guilty. Boy was twelve +then. Boy is eighteen now. But I should worry. +Son of Haiduk does not know Saadi is coming to Starigrad.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t feel certain on that last point, Saadi. The +guslar celebrated my arrival, and I guess he had a little +too much raki to drink. He stood up and told the +whole village that you would appear soon after Vidov +Dan.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I should worry. Village does not go marching +down Sutjeska canyon, yelling that Saadi is coming +home.”</p> + +<p>“I thought that you had a sort of presentiment.”</p> + +<p>“It was nothing. It was night and nerves. Anyhow, +I am only afraid of Vienna, Budapest, and Belgrad. +I am not afraid of Turkish kids. If he wants +to kill somebody, he will kill Haidar. But he cannot +get gun to do it with, and he sure can’t get within knife-reach +of old Haidar.”</p> + +<p>“You relieve me. You certainly do relieve me. +I’m ready to start.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_317">[317]</span></p> + +<p>“What is it down there? Look, Jaffer, where fog +has busted. It is two gendarmes.”</p> + +<p>“I fancy that you’re right. They’re patrolling the +bridle path. It’s up to you, old man.”</p> + +<p>For answer Saadi arose and led the way still higher +on the mountain, through the pines that clung to the +steep sides. And that detour was the model of travel +for the rest of the day. They saw other gendarmes and +they made other chamois excursions. Before ten o’clock +they descended into a little village which shall be nameless, +and bought food, and got out again just in time to +see a considerable squad of soldiers march in. They +crawled down a cliff into the gorge of the Narenta, and +this time stripped and carried their clothes on their +heads as they waded across.</p> + +<p>Having at last reached a high region barren as logic +and very familiar to Saadi, they settled down into a jog +trot, and dodged boulders hour after hour. The Alps +grew dim behind them, and Saadi capered like a Bosnian +pony as they approached Starigrad, going down +hill mile after mile.</p> + +<p>Seven o’clock, and red evening in the west, and the +old kula appeared, with deep dark shadows at the foot +of the cliff. A belated flock of doves, rising from the +polje, whirled above them. Instead of flying upward +to their home, they seemed to be delaying and gazing +downward.</p> + +<p>As the two footsore men stepped upon the Saadi +bridge, the heir of Starigrad gave a long, chirruping +whistle. Instantly the air was full of wings. The +older doves had recognised him, and circled down, down, +till one settled on his shoulder. There stood Saadi in +the middle of the bridge, laughing joyously, and putting +morsels of dry bread on his shoulders to be caught up by +the whirling cloud of iridescence. Jaffer leaned against +the parapet and watched the pretty sight.</p> + +<p>Then he glanced ahead, and he saw a form in the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_318">[318]</span>shadowy defile. It was not Haidar. It held something +in its hand. Jaffer’s heart gave a jump. He tore open +his kurta, grasped his knife by the hilt, wrenched it +loose, and dashed forward. The evening light made +him a perfect mark, and he had not gone ten feet when +his right arm seemed to drop dead and the Afghan knife +clattered on the stones. Checked by the mere impact of +the shot, he stood grasping the burning arm, long +enough for the defile to send out one, two, three, four +red flashes past him. Then Jaffer plunged ahead, left +arm extended. But the fellow darted past him on the +right, across the bridge.</p> + +<p>Jaffer wheeled. One of the doves lay dead. The +rest had fluttered higher, but they had not gone. Saadi +stood clinging to the parapet, as a wounded squirrel +clings to a tree. Even as Jaffer approached, a dove +settled on Saadi’s shoulder as if to ask who made all +that unwonted noise.</p> + +<p>Jaffer’s left arm went round the silent form.—“Where +is it, old man? For God’s sake, where is it?”</p> + +<p>Saadi lifted his hand to his neck, smiling. He was +unable to speak, but he was fighting, fighting, there +among the shattered tissues, to rule his little transient +kingdom of earth.</p> + +<p>Jaffer ran his fingers over the neck and pressed a +handkerchief to the wound, but he could not raise his +right arm or apply a bandage. He could only stand +with his left arm around his friend, and pray. Poor +old rationalist—the blood of centuries was too strong +for him.</p> + +<p>Three or four minutes passed before it occurred to +him that he could yell. But now there was a sudden +noise—the sound of hoof-beats on the karst. They +came swiftly nearer, and down the defile swept Haidar +on horseback—revolver held high. He did not draw +rein, but went across the bridge like the thrown hammer +of an ancient god.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_319">[319]</span></p> + +<p>Saadi straightened himself. Saadi opened his lips +and spat a mouthful of blood. “No, Haidar, no!” he +shouted clear and strong.</p> + +<p>Then the blood filled his mouth in one swift surge, +and earth slowly drew his stained lips to her breast.</p> + +<p>Haidar heard and drew rein. It cost him dear, for +in half an hour it would have been all over with the +Turk’s son, and there are chasms in the karst which +never give up that which is flung into them. It cost +him dear, but reason told him that his young lord needed +help.</p> + +<p>Back he came and flung himself off his horse. Jaffer +was sitting on the ground, wiping the paling lips, and +the doves had departed.</p> + +<p>“Hakim! Hakim! You will save him! You are +the mighty Marko!”</p> + +<p>“I cannot raise the dead,” said Jaffer, and was silent.</p> + +<p>Haidar sank beside his master, looked long upon the +face, lifted a hand and kissed it. Then he bowed his +forehead to the earth, and again and again struck the +insensate stone with his brow. He said no word, but +his groans were terrible to hear.</p> + +<p>Presently it was no longer necessary to wipe the lips. +The eyes were closed. The form lay in its eternal +peace. Haidar lifted it and placed it on the horse.</p> + +<p>“Wait, Haidar. Is there still some other man in +Starigrad, swift and trusty, who needs no moon to guide +him?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Hakim.”</p> + +<p>“Can he leave within the hour for Cetinje, for +Saadi’s sake?”</p> + +<p>“Anything can be done for Saadi’s sake.”</p> + +<p>With the uncertain fingers of his left hand, Jaffer unloosed +his money-belt, drew out a handful of gold, and +then a short pencil and a bit of paper. Placing the +paper on the parapet of the bridge he laboriously +printed six words, addressed to Trench.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_320">[320]</span></p> + +<p>“This cable message will reach our Saadi’s wife. +Here is gold of Austria. Tell your messenger to buy a +second Turkish horse when he has killed the first. +Otherwise on the morrow the Lady Ilsa will think her +husband a murderer.”</p> + +<p>With his free hand Haidar took the gold and the +paper. Then the little cortège mounted the hill.</p> + +<p>But it was not Haidar who dared to meet Stepan Beg. +It was Jaffer who went forward by himself, and opened +the door, and walked steadily upstairs, dripping blood. +Stepan Beg, whose scarlet turban was bent forward in +the moonlight of the old brass lamp, sprang to his feet.</p> + +<p>“Once you called me a hero, Prince Stepan. It was +false, for heroes die in the path of God. Saadi is a +hero.”</p> + +<p>Stepan Beg trembled, clutched the folds of his tunic +where it leaves the throat, and stood erect.</p> + +<p>“Repute them not dead who are slain in God’s path, +for God is He who turneth, Merciful.”</p> + +<p>Then he stepped forward and swiftly removed Jaffer’s +kurta. He took the scarlet turban from his own +head and wrapped it skilfully around the arm, drawing +it very tight and knotting it. Jaffer suddenly swayed. +Stepan Beg caught him, urged him toward the divan, +and then—for it was necessary—lifted him bodily +and laid him there.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_321">[321]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XLII">XLII</h2> + +</div> + +<p>“No, doctor, not with that hand!”</p> + +<p>It was Dr. Becker who spoke, developing with his +new degree a new authority. He led his chief back +into the house, made him sit down, and sent Chat for +whisky. For Trench was white and faint, and had +started out with his arm still in the sling.</p> + +<p>The case was simple enough. On June 22, Trench +had infected the tip of his best finger. The accident +was not due to any excited assistant. He did the thing +himself, in the course of showing a fresh specimen to +a visiting surgeon. The whole right arm had swollen +almost instantly, and had to be lanced four times. Also +he had spent that number of days in bed. In short, the +children of Halsted had come within an ace of losing +the hand that had helped them so often. They had not +lost it, but that finger-tip would have to be re-educated.</p> + +<p>Therefore on Sunday morning, June 28, 1914, +Trench was obliged to telephone Edith that those about +him were tyrants, and that he should be unable to hear +her prove life something more than photochemistry. +She expressed her sympathy, and said that the subject +would keep.</p> + +<p>Soon after eleven that morning, as he lay on the +couch in the library, Trench received Jaffer’s first cable. +He read it with joy, and called Chatterjee.</p> + +<p>“Say, old man,”—he had caught the human trick of +that from Saadi,—“didn’t I hear you mention your acquaintance +with Miss Bridgman?”</p> + +<p>“You did, doctor. I feel like Saadi, who was always +declaring himself a barbarian, or some such +thing.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_322">[322]</span></p> + +<p>“Then change your feelings, my son, and change +your Calcutta clothes to American, and kindly go at +once to call on the lady. I want you to tell her all +about your poet who looks like Tennyson—I forget his +name. And incidentally don’t fail to give her this +cable. Read it yourself, if you want to. You didn’t +know that Jaffer was asked to call on Saadi.”</p> + +<p>Chat wanted to say “Oh, didn’t I?” but he intended +to make no more breaks. He read the message while +he was changing his clothes, and couldn’t for the life of +him understand who, besides himself, had been sending +messages to Saadi via Jaffer.</p> + +<p>After Edith Bridgman received the message, there +wasn’t much conversation about Mr. Tagore. She simply +introduced the courteous youth to her sister, got +them to talking, excused herself, and scurried out of the +house.</p> + +<p>“Elsie, my dear girl, what do you think of that?”</p> + +<p>Elsie studied it, and got out an atlas and Saadi’s +scrapbooks, and looked up Serajevo. Neither of them +had heard of the place before. There were probably +numerous references to it in the clippings printed in +Cyrillic, but they couldn’t even find the word there, the +letters were so strange. Finally Edith sent home for +a volume of the encyclopædia, and when it came they +studied Bosnia for two hours.</p> + +<p>“It’s a great mystery, Edith. Would you—could +you—stay with me until to-morrow?”</p> + +<p>Edith stayed. That evening Elsie made her beguile +the hours with some account of the studies that had +occupied her all the year. With growing wonder she +soon made her narrow biology to the subject of embryology. +And awe filled her heart as she listened. Little +had she dreamed what infinite and impersonal lines of +force met within her own body, finding their sole significance +in the miracle of personal love.</p> + +<p>Next morning Edith was the first one up, and she +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_323">[323]</span>made Elsie stay in bed. A little lovering would not +hurt Elsie, just now. While the teakettle was boiling, +Edith brought in the morning paper, and glanced it +through in the kitchen.</p> + +<p>Of course the news of the assassination caught her +eye, and made her heart stand still. All her old fears +came back, or rather a wholly new set of worse ones. +Saadi—so his wife had said—was going to attempt +something dangerous, and Saadi was a revolutionist. +His name was not given in the paper, but these first +reports were not to be trusted.</p> + +<p>Her first thought was to burn the paper before Elsie +saw it. But Elsie would be sure to ask for it, being +very much alive to daily news, and much grieved that +the socialist daily had to suspend, and disgusted that big +business kept certain news out of the other papers. +And no sooner had Elsie drunk her coffee and eaten her +toast than she did ask for the paper. Edith went and +got it, and pointed at once to the Serajevo story.</p> + +<p>Elsie ran it through, and her dark eyes kindled. +“Poor boy, poor boy!” she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“What are you saying? Do you think he knew of +this? Did he tell you anything?”</p> + +<p>“Never a word, Edith. But it is all as clear as the +day. He tried to stop it, and he didn’t succeed. He +told me that he was going to stop some sort of Satan +business.—Well, all we can do is to wait.”</p> + +<p>And there they sat and waited, for Edith wouldn’t +let her get up. They talked of many things until nearly +noon, when Elsie insisted on rising and getting luncheon +herself.</p> + +<p>After that was eaten, Elsie was persuaded to go for +a drive with Helena. Edith telephoned Dr. Trench, +asking him to send any further message to the flat, +where she would remain to receive it.</p> + +<p>But no cable came that afternoon from Jaffer. Only +there came Stepan Beg’s two drafts on Serajevo, one +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_324">[324]</span>for Trench and one for Elsie, together with a note in +German, “repeating the grateful salaams he had so +often sent by Saadi.” Trench understood now why +those salaams had never reached him. He sent Chat +over to show the note to Miss Bridgman, and to leave for +Mrs. Sereef the wedding gift sent by her father-in-law. +This time Chat went with an understanding heart, having +had all explained to him.</p> + +<p>It was late in the afternoon of the next day when +Trench got Jaffer’s second wire—laboriously printed +on the parapet of the Saadi bridge, and cautiously +worded in case it should fall into the hands of the Austrian +patrol:</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="right">Cetinje, June 30, 1914.</p> + +<p class="noindent">Dr. Trench, Halsted Street, Chicago.</p> + +<p>Dead. He waged war against war.</p> + +<p class="right">R. R. J.</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p>Trench sank into a chair, stricken, and closed his eyes. +But he kept saying to himself, “Thank God, thank +God.” He did not intend it as prayer or praise, but it +was perilously near the line.</p> + +<p>Half an hour later he ascertained that Edith was still +with Elsie. He waited till next morning, however, in +order to give Elsie a night’s rest. Then he went to the +flat, found Edith alone in the front room, and silently +showed her the message.</p> + +<p>Edith as silently read it. She asked him to remain, +in case the shock made medical attendance necessary. +Then she went into Elsie’s bedroom.</p> + +<p>“My dear, dearest girl—are you brave this morning?”</p> + +<p>Elsie turned her great dark eyes toward her friend, +and again they seemed to kindle.</p> + +<p>“Give it to me!”</p> + +<p>Edith obeyed, kneeling beside her as she read. The +yellow paper slowly crumpled in Elsie’s clenched hand, +and her very lips grew white, but her eyes blazed.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_325">[325]</span></p> + +<p>“I’m going to get up! There’s a man within me, +and he shall never say that I lay crying when his father +had just died for the workers.”</p> + +<p>Edith saw that it would be unwise to protest. She +helped her dress, and they both went into the living +room. Elsie spoke.</p> + +<p>“Dr. Trench, you have been a good friend to my husband. +If it had not been for you he would have done +some reckless and destructive thing. But now he has +done a reckless thing that is constructive, and he and I +are glad to pay the price.”</p> + +<p>“I am proud to have known him, Mrs. Sereef, and +proud to know you. I owe him more than I can well +explain or understand. But you will draw on me for +anything—money, counsel, or blood—so long as we +both live.”</p> + +<p>Elsie took his hand silently. Then she turned and +went into the kitchen. It is true that when she was +there alone she leaned against the wall, gasping “Saadi, +Saadi,” but the evidence of her grief was not heard in +the other room.</p> + +<p>Trench rose, and Edith walked beside him, into the +hall. As they stopped, she lifted her eyes to Trench—and +Trench knew. She held out her left hand to meet +the one uninjured, but instead of taking it he put his +left arm about her, as Jaffer had put an arm about +Saadi. From each person sprang that which might still +have been held in leash, for each soul—poor discarded +name for something—was mightier than the passion. +She leaned her head against his breast, and he kissed her +forehead.</p> + +<p>“You see what life is like.”</p> + +<p>“I am not afraid. Is it worth while without me?”</p> + +<p>“Yes! Without heaven and even without you!”</p> + +<p>“Then take me!”</p> + +<p>“My beautiful, we both are scarred, but you had a +father, let your son say so.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_326">[326]</span></p> + +<p>“My great impersonal man, scars are not transmitted.”</p> + +<p>“Thank God for that! And Jaffer has sent a ruby +that shall cover yours.”</p> + +<p>“A ruby! There should be one for Elsie, too. I +saw the web of life like an opal, full of scars. But I +saw it change to a ruby, hiding them all.”</p> + +<p class="titlepage">THE END</p> + +<p class="center smaller">PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA</p> + +</main> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79064 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/79064-h/images/cover.jpg b/79064-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d5142bf --- /dev/null +++ b/79064-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/79064-h/images/macmillan.jpg b/79064-h/images/macmillan.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..54ebd66 --- /dev/null +++ b/79064-h/images/macmillan.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6c72794 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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