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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 *** |