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.