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The next month was one of real effort. We had planned to go to Panama, and had our passage engaged; but when we broke the news to Tufik he turned quite pale.

“You go–away?” he said wistfully.

“Only for a month,” Tish hastened to apologize. “You see, we–we are all very tired, and the Panama Canal–“

“Canal? I know not a canal.”

“It is for ships–“

“You go there in a ship?”

“Yes. A canal is a–“

“You go far–in a ship–and I–I stay here?”

“Only for a month,” Aggie broke in. “We will leave you enough money to live on; and perhaps when we come back you will have found something to do–“

“For a month,” he said brokenly. “I have no friends, no Miss Tish, no Miss Liz, no Miss Pilk. I die!”

He got up and walked to the window. It was Aggie who realized the awful truth. The poor lonely boy was weeping–and Charlie Sands may say what he likes! He was really crying–when he turned, there were large tears on his cheeks. What made it worse was that he was trying to smile.

“I wish you much happiness on the canal,” he said. “I am wicked; but my sad heart–it ache that my friends leave me. I am sad! If only my seester–“

* * * * *

That was the first we had known of Tufik’s sister, back in Beirut, wearing a veil over her face and making lace for the bazaars. We were to know more.

Well, between getting ready to go to Panama and trying to find something Tufik could do, we were very busy for the next month. Tufik grew reconciled to our going, but he was never cheerful about it; and finding that it pained him we never spoke about it in his presence.

He was with us a great deal. In the morning he would go to Tish, who would give him a list of her friends to see. Then Tish would telephone and make appointments for him, and he would start off hopefully, with his pasteboard suitcase. But he never sold anything–except a shirt-waist pattern to Mrs. Ostermaier, the minister’s wife. We took day about giving him his carfare, but this was pauperizing and we knew it. Besides, he was very sensitive and insisted on putting down everything we gave him in a book, to be repaid later when he had made a success.

The allowance idea was mine and it worked well. We figured that, allowing for his washing,–which was not much, as he seemed to prefer the celluloid collar,–he could live in a sort of way on nine dollars a week. We subscribed equally to this; and to save his pride we mailed it to him weekly by check.

His failure to sell his things hurt him to the soul. More than once we caught tears in his eyes. And he was not well–he could not walk any distance at all and he coughed. At last Tish got Charlie Sands to take him to a lung specialist, a stupid person, who said it was a cigarette cough. This was absurd, as Tufik did not smoke.

At last the time came for the Panama trip. Tish called me up the day she packed and asked me to come over.

“I can’t. I’m busy, Tish,” I said.

She was quite disagreeable. “This is your burden as well as mine,” she snapped. “Come over and talk to that wretched boy while I pack my trunk. He stands and watches everything I put in, and I haven’t been able to pack a lot of things I need.”

I went over that afternoon and found Tufik huddled on the top step of the stairs outside Tish’s apartment, with his head in his hands.

“She has put me out!” he said, looking up at me with tragic eyes. “My mother has put me out! She does not love Tufik! No one loves Tufik! I am no good. I am a dirty dago!”