A glint of hope came to me.  I made a mental note to write to the mayor, or whatever they call him over there, and tell him where he could locate his wandering boy.

“He loves the God of America,” said Tish.

“Money!” Aggie jeered.

“And he is so pathetic, so grateful!  I told Hannah at noon to-day—­that’s what delayed me—­to give him his lunch.  He was starving; I thought we’d never fill him.  And when it was over, he stooped in the sweetest way, while she was gathering up the empty dishes, and kissed her hand.  It was touching!”

“Very!” I said dryly.  “What did Hannah do?”

“She’s a fool!  She broke a cup on his head.”

Mr. Wiggins’s anniversary was not a success.  Part of this was due to Tish, who talked of Tufik steadily—­of his youth; of the wonderful bargains she secured from him; of his belief that this was the land of opportunity—­Aggie sniffed; of his familiarity with the Bible and Biblical places; of the search the Turks were making for him.  The atmosphere was not cleared by Aggie’s taking the Cluny-lace centerpiece to the cemetery and placing it, with my sheaf, on Mr. Wiggins’s grave.

As we got into Tish’s machine to go back, Aggie was undeniably peevish.  She caught cold, too, and was sneezing—­as she always does when she is irritated or excited.

“Where to?” asked Tish from the driving-seat, looking straight ahead and pulling on her gloves.  From where we sat we could still see the dot of white on the grass that was the centerpiece.

“Back to the house,” Aggie snapped, “to have some chicken and waffles and Tufik for dinner!”

Tish drove home in cold silence.  As well as we could tell from her back, she was not so much indignant as she was determined.  Thus we do not believe that she willfully drove over every rut and thank-you-ma’am on the road, scattering us generously over the tonneau, and finally, when Aggie, who was the lighter, was tossed against the top and sprained her neck, eliciting a protest from us.  She replied in an abstracted tone, which showed where her mind was.

“It would be rougher on a camel,” she said absently.  “Tufik was telling me the other day—­”

Aggie had got her head straight by that time and was holding it with both hands to avoid jarring.  She looked goaded and desperate; and, as she said afterward, the thing slipped out before she knew she was more than thinking it.

“Oh, damn Tufik!” she said.

Fortunately at that moment we blew out a tire and apparently Tish did not hear her.  While I was jacking up the car and Tish was getting the key of the toolbox out of her stocking, Aggie sat sullenly in her place and watched us.

“I suppose,” she gibed, “a camel never blows out a tire!”

“It might,” Tish said grimly, “if it heard an oath from the lips of a middle-aged Sunday-school teacher!”

We ate Mr. Wiggins’s anniversary dinner without any great hilarity.  Aggie’s neck was very stiff and she had turned in the collar of her dress and wrapped flannels wrung out of lamp oil round it.  When she wished to address either Tish or myself she held her head rigid and turned her whole body in her chair; and when she felt a sneeze coming on she clutched wildly at her head with both hands as if she expected it to fly off.