"It is a secret," said Mr. Cohen. "But it is time now for me to disclose what his mother and I have planned for him. For ten years we have saved. And we have saved enough to send him to college. He shall go there and we ourselves shall send him." He drew himself up as he said it, so that I had a glimpse of that pride which all Jewish fathers seem to take in hardships which they undergo for their children. "It is so with the son of the president of my synagogue," he said. "It shall be no less so with my son, either. He shall have what his father could not have, though his father starve and slave to give it to him!" The dull interpreter gave me this in flat, spiritless tones; but I could see the clenched hands and the earnest face of Mr. Cohen, and I nodded quickly. "I am very glad," I told him. "And I know it will mean ten times more in happiness to you because you are giving him all this with your own hands. Frank said to me he dared not ask it of you--he thought the sacrifice too great--and that is why I came to you with my offer. Do not think me rude, therefore." He answered gravely. I was not rude, he assured me, and he owed me deep thanks. He had only one favor to ask; that I should not tell Frank the secret, but would leave it and the joy that it would bring, for him, his father. He would tell him immediately after Frank had returned home from his stay at my apartment. I hurried home, for it was now nearly suppertime. To my amazement I found Frank sitting in the lobby of the apartment, his old suitcase beside him, his look one of fevered disconsolement. "What's the trouble?" I asked him. "Oh, I just wanted to say goodby to you," he said hurriedly. "I did not want to go without doing that. I've--I've had a pleasant time." "But why are you going?" "Oh, I want to be home ... you know, I get a little homesick." But he said it so stumblingly that I was sure he was not telling me all. "Frank," I demanded, "tell me the truth. Has anything gone wrong? I had hoped you would stay until my aunt returned." He laughed at that, and mystified me the more. "Have any of the servants offended you in any way?" I asked, searching my brain for some reason for his change of attitude. "The servants? Oh, no, of course not!" He picked up his suitcase and started for the street. "Well, goodby," he said. He stopped as if he wanted to explain, then thought better--or worse--of it, and went on. I was a little nettled by this time, and let him go. As I went up in the elevator, it seemed to me a mighty mystery. But no sooner had I let myself into the apartment than I was due for a bigger surprise. For there, blocking the hallway, a figure of offended pride, stood Aunt Selina. I went to her to kiss her, but she stepped back and glared into my face.