“No! no!” persisted Omassa with gentle obstinacy, “he tell me always true, he very poor, good man—­he got only one name, my Frank Sen.”

“There,” cried Mrs. Holmes, triumphantly, “you see he has two names after all, you have just called him by them both—­Frank Sen.”

At which the invalid sent forth a tinkling laugh of amusement, crying:  “Oh, that not one man’s name, oh, no!  That Sen that like your Mr.—­Mrs.; you nurse-lady, you Holmes Sen.  Ito—­big Japan fight man, he Ito Sen, you unnerstand me, nurse-lady?”

“Yes, child, I understand.  Sen is a title, a term of respect, and you like to show your friend Frank all the honour you can, so you call him Frank Sen.”

And Omassa with unconscious slanginess gravely answered:  “You right on to it at first try.  My boss” (her manager Kimoto) “find me baby in Japan, with very bad old man.  He gamble all time.  I not know why he have me, he not my old man, but he sell me for seven year to Kimoto, and Kimoto teach me jump, turn, twist, climb, and he send my money all to old man—­all.  We go Mexico—­South America—­many Islands—­to German land, and long time here in this most big America—­and the world so big—­and then I so little Japan baby—­I no play—­I no sing—­I know nothing what to do—­and just one person in this big lonesome_ness_ make a kindness to me—­my Frank Sen—­just one man—­just one woman in all world make goodness to me—­my Frank Sen and my nurse-lady,” and she stroked with reverent little fingers the white hand resting on the bed beside her.

“What was he like, your Frank?” asked the nurse.

“Oh, he one big large American man—­he not laugh many times loud, but he laugh in he blue eye.  He got brown mustache and he hair all short, thick, wavy—­like puppy dog’s back.  He poor—­he not perform in circus, oh, no!  He work for put up tents, for wagon, for horses.  He ver good man for fight too—­he smash man that hurt horse—­he smash man that kick dog or push me, Japan baby.  Oh, he best man in all the world” (the exquisite Madame Butterfly was not known yet, so Omassa was not quoting).  “He tell me I shall not say some words, ‘damn’ and ‘hell’ and others more long, more bad, and he tell me all about that ‘hell’ and where is—­and how you get in for steal, for lie, for hurt things not so big as you—­and how you can’t get out again where there is cool place for change—­and he smooth my hair and pat my shoulder, for he know Japan people don’t ever be kissed—­and he call me one word I cannot know.”

She shook her head regretfully.  “He call me ’poor little wave’—­why poor little wave—­wave that mean water?” she sighed.  “I can’t know why Frank Sen call me that.”

But quick-witted Mrs. Holmes guessed the word had been “waif”—­poor little waif, and she began dimly to comprehend the big-hearted, rough tent-man, who had tried to guard this little foreign maid from the ignorance and evil about her.