Chapter 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.”