FullReads

Tufik was not mentioned, though twice Tish got as far as Tu– and then thought better of it; but her mind was on him and we knew it. She worked the conversation round to Bible history and triumphantly demanded whether we knew that Sodom and Gomorrah are towns to-day, and that a street-car line is contemplated to them from some place or other–it developed later that she meant Tyre and Sidon. Once she suggested that Aggie’s sideboard needed new linens, but after a look at Aggie’s rigid head she let it go at that.

No one was sorry when, with dinner almost over, and Aggie lifting her ice-cream spoon straight up in front of her and opening her mouth with a sort of lockjaw movement, the bell rang. We thought it was Charlie Sands. It was not. Aggie faced the doorway and I saw her eyes widen. Tish and I turned.

A boy stood in the doorway–a shrinking, timid, brown-eyed young Oriental, very dark of skin, very white of teeth, very black of hair–a slim youth of eighteen, possibly twenty, in a shabby blue suit, broken shoes, and a celluloid collar. Twisting between nervous brown fingers, not as clean as they might have been, was a tissue-paper package.

“My friends!” he said, and smiled.

Tish is an extraordinary woman. She did not say a word. She sat still and let the smile get in its work. Its first effect was on Aggie’s neck, which she forgot. Tufik’s timid eyes rested for a moment on Tish and brightened. Then like a benediction they turned to mine, and came to a stop on Aggie. He took a step farther into the room.

“My friend’s friend are my friend,” he said. “America is my friend–this so great God’s country!”

Aggie put down her ice-cream spoon and closed her mouth, which had been open.

“Come in, Tufik,” said Tish; “and I am sure Miss Pilkington would like you to sit down.”

Tufik still stood with his eyes fixed on Aggie, twisting his package.

“My friend has said,” he observed–he was quite calm and divinely trustful–“My friend has said that this is for Miss Pilk a sad day. My friend is my mother; I have but her and God. Unless–but perhaps I have two new friend also–no?”

“Of course we are your friends,” said Aggie, feeling for the table-bell with her foot. “We are–aren’t we, Lizzie?”

Tufik turned and looked at me wistfully. It came over me then what an awful thing it must be to be so far from home and knowing nobody, and having to wear trousers and celluloid collars instead of robes and turbans, and eat potatoes and fried things instead of olives and figs and dates, and to be in danger of being taken back and made into a Mohammedan and having to keep a harem.

“Certainly,” I assented. “If you are good we will be your friends.”

He flashed a boyish smile at me.

“I am good,” he said calmly–“as the angels I am good. I have here a letter from a priest. I give it to you. Read!”

He got a very dirty envelope from his pocket and brought it round the table to me. “See!” he said. “The priest says: ‘Of all my children Tufik lies next my heart.'”

He held the letter out to me; but it looked as if it had been copied from an Egyptian monument and was about as legible as an outbreak of measles.

“This,” he said gently, pointing, “is the priest’s blessing. I carry it ever. It brings me friends.” He put the paper away and drew a long breath; then surveyed us all with shining eyes. “It has brought me you.”

We were rather overwhelmed. Aggie’s maid having responded to the bell, Aggie ordered ice cream for Tufik and a chair drawn to the table; but the chair Tufik refused with a little, smiling bow.

“It is not right that I sit,” he said. “I stand in the presence of my three mothers. But first–I forget–my gift! For the sadness, Miss Pilk!”