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 palm in his own two hands and bent over it. He was not weeping and he was not talking, but he stood with his head lowered until only the wiry black hair was visible, and in his throat rose guttural and incoherent noises like groans. "I can't show my appreciation as I'd like," said Paul. "The day for that is gone, but there are some clothes that I didn't pack. I left them for you--" Even in an hour which called for defense of every penny, Paul was still the impractical man whose open heart and affectionate nature called for expression. "And this--" he put his hand in his pocket and drew out a watch upon which any pawnbroker would have advanced a goodly sum--"this was Hamilton's." His voice broke as he held it out. "I think he would like you to have it. His will left you twenty thousand dollars--but--well, you know." Yamuro straightened up. He raised both hands in a gesture of protest and his words came fast and vehemently. "No, no! Thanks ver' mutch--no--no! You great artist--you not un'stand making money. You need. Mother--sister--father all need. No--please!" He halted; then in a deep embarrassment, went on. "Me got money in bank. Me not want be impert'nent, but--" He paused, seeking a disguised and delicate fashion of volunteering aid and looked appealingly into the other's face for assistance. Fresh tears welled into Paul's eyes. "I understand you, Yamuro," he said, laying a hand on the stocky shoulder. "No, Yamuro, you have done enough--God bless you!" He could not trust himself further and so he turned abruptly and left the room.