Part 17 (1/2)

”And hurry up back to college,” he said, with a little catch in his voice. ”There are twenty other Jewish undercla.s.smen who want the same sort of counsel from you. You see--they didn't know they had a leader--and they do need one!”

It is not part of the tale, perhaps, but I cannot help intruding the fact that Frank was the first freshman to be elected to the editorial board of the college paper--and that, in his senior year, he became its managing editor.

My aunt came, too. I had been secretly expecting her--hoping, perhaps, for no especial reason, that she would come.

She wept a little at the sight of my healing scar. It was a long while since I had seen her, and it shocked me--she looked so worn. She clung to my hand for several minutes before she would speak.

”I read about it,” she sobbed. ”It was in the papers--and they said the nicest things of you.... But I didn't come sooner because--because I didn't know whether you wanted--you wanted--”

”Yes, Aunt Selina, I am very glad to see you.”

She drew a deep sigh. ”It has been so long--and I am growing old. I'm just a lonely old woman, boy. And there's no comfort in old age.”

I looked at her. She had changed much, I thought. ”But you had so many friends,” I remonstrated. ”All those intellectual society folk!”

”I don't know--they don't seem to interest me any more. I'm growing old.

That's all--old and lonely. And they are such fools, every one of them--almost as foolish as I am--and hypocrites, all.”

Her hand went tighter about mine, and her rheumy eyes sought mine and searched them. ”You seem so happy, boy--so changed. What's the secret of it--can't you tell me?”

I shook my head. It would be of no use, I thought.

”I want it,” she begged. ”The comfort of it--I did not know I should need it when I was old--and when all else fell away.”

So I reached for a book which was on a table nearby, and gave it to her.

It was an old Union Prayer Book.

She took it with the barest flicker of lashes. ”It's--it's Hebrew,” she protested. ”I don't know how to read it.”

”There is always an English translation on the opposite page,” I showed her. ”You will be able to read that. Perhaps it will help you.”

”Perhaps,” she said after me, her thin voice quavering.

”Read it all. You will come at any rate to a better understanding of your fellow Jews.”

Her head went down, as if in shame of some unpleasant reminiscence.

”Perhaps--I will try, anyhow--and perhaps--”