Burton rose and stalked very stiffly, though no longer with his old
time cock-sureness, for the last time out of the National Union Club,
and spent the afternoon in the rear room of a saloon further east.

Paul, whose plight was as pitiable as that of a pet pomeranian turned
out of a perfumed and cushioned boudoir to hold his own among foraging
street curs, for a while bore up with an artificial courage. Under the
long strain of successive anxieties his mother had broken in body and
mind, and Paul was with her much, though sometimes she did not
recognize him, but called him Hamilton and begged him not to leave the
mountains, lest life in a new world should hold worse things than
poverty.

Hamilton's dream-palace, with all its splendid plunder of art treasures,
had gone under the hammer in satisfaction of a court judgment. Next went
the house which his parents had occupied, and before that all the
servants had gone--save one. Yamuro's passion of devotion to Hamilton
had descended in a lesser degree to Paul and with the grave courtesy of
the Samurai he waved aside all discussion of wages. Had he not saved
much money for a Japanese boy who needed little? Already he could open a
small shop and sell kimonos and jade trinkets and embroideries ... but
that could wait until such time as his usefulness ended here.

The final day came, and the shrunken household effects were removed to a
small apartment in Greenwich Village, so it was time for Paul to say
good-by to Yamuro. It was Yamuro who had found the flat and haggled
explosively over the terms of the lease. It had been Yamuro, too, who
had gone with Mary, when she carried her mother's jewels from place to
place, offering them for sale. The faithful little attendant knew that
what was salvaged from such bargaining must be the last resort and sole
capital of this shattered family. As the lady with the pale, but lovely,
face looking out from the shadow of her mourning veil went from dealer
to dealer, he followed a step behind her, watchful of eye, guarding her
remnant of treasure against possible mischance.

Now he stood with Paul in the room which the musician would not again
occupy, and Paul's eyes suddenly filled with tears while the son of a
race called stoical turned away and occupied himself with a lump in his
throat.

"Yamuro," began the musician in an unsteady voice, "you aren't a
servant, you are a friend; good-by and God bless you."

The Jap caught the extended