Thursday was an important day in the Sophomore’s calendar, for on that day Mihran hodja always took them to the hamam (bath). Garabed, Aram and Archag usually walked in front; Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, as Dikran dubbed them. Archag, who was usually very sensitive, only laughed at this pleasantry, he was so happy with his two new friends. Garabed was really his favorite; to him he could confide his inmost thoughts, and tell his pleasures and his troubles, sure of finding pity and sympathy. Garabed was the eldest of eight children; one after another, he had seen all his brothers and sisters die, the victims of tuberculosis. These bereavements and the sadness that pervaded his home, had invested him with a certain melancholy which he had never been able to shake off entirely. His teachers found him too quick, I was almost going to say too wise, for his years. Archag, overflowing with life and spirits, occasionally found him depressing, and at such times he enjoyed the companionship of his other friend, with whom he could run, jump, and tussle to his heart’s content for Aram was the life and soul of the class, and though his comrades might stand in fear of his raillery, they also admired his unwearied good nature and fearless courage.

It was he, as usual, who took the lead in the conversation on this Thursday, and his friends were content to listen, and laugh at his sallies.

“Great news!” said he. “We are going to have a new professor of French.”

“What?” cried Garabed. “Isn’t President Mills going to teach us any more?”

“No.”

“Well, then, who is this new teacher?” asked Archag.

“Guess.”

“Mr. Hagopian?”

“No.”

“Mr. Pagratian?”

“Yok, yok (no, no).”

“Then I give up.”

“Perhaps he is a Frenchman?” suggested Garabed.

“Bravo, my dear philosopher, you have guessed right; that is, he’s a Swiss from Geneva. Dr. Mills spoke to my uncle about him, and he told me yesterday.”

The three friends proceeded to share the news with their companions and they all entered the hamam in a state of great excitement. After undressing, the boys bound cloths about their loins, tied on bath-slippers, and passed into the “harara,” a narrow room with temperature at white heat. Thanks to the exertions of the “abou saboun,”1 who lathered and rubbed them thoroughly, they were soon perspiring freely. Aram, seeing everyone busy, took advantage of the situation to play a thousand pranks; now he pinched fat Soghomon, or again, took possession of all the soap. When the boys were all sufficiently red, they left the harara for the “hanefije,” where they cooled themselves off with water made increasingly cold. Then they wrapped big sheets around them, twisted woolen bands about their heads, and returned to the “mashlach” (dressing-room). There they sat down in little groups on the divans, and began to play checkers and talk, at the same time disposing of a goodly number of cups of coffee.

The hamam plays an important part in the life of Orientals; they go there for sanitary reasons, but still more for pleasure; it is really a place of recreation for them, just as the theater or concert-hall is for us.

Archag, Garabed and Samouil were playing cards. Aram had mysteriously disappeared, and our two friends had asked Samouil to take a hand with them. Samouil, though quite fifteen years of age, looked barely thirteen. During the massacres of 1894 his parents and two older brothers had been killed by the Kurds, and the enemy had left him for dead beside the bodies of his relatives. A charitable person had taken and cared for him, and it was only by a miracle that his life was preserved; indeed, this life was rather a burden to him than otherwise, for he was pining away. A wound in the hip had left him lame, for the bone was affected. Dr. Spencer had operated, but the trouble had spread, making a second operation necessary. The poor boy knew quite well that he would not live to grow up, and he would speak of his going to heaven as we should allude to a railway journey. Mrs. Spencer was always doing something for him; she had placed him in the college, where masters and pupils alike loved him for his sweet nature.

The game of cards was suddenly interrupted by angry cries:

“By the beard of my father, I’ll pay you for that!”

“And I’ll break every bone in your body!”

What had happened was this: Aram, bent on mischief as usual, had furtively stirred a big spoonful of powder into Dikran’s coffee; the latter had discovered the perpetrator of the trick and had given him two resounding slaps in the face; Aram hit back, but Nejib came to his cousin’s aid, and Aram could not cope with the two. Archag, seeing his friend attacked by two lusty opponents, ran to help him without stopping to find out what the quarrel was about; he pitched into Nejib and punched him in the chest and stomach while Aram struggled with Dikran. In a short time, Mihran hodja and the older boys succeeding in separating the combatants, but Aram’s nose was bleeding, Nejib had a black eye, and Archag and Dikran were covered with bruises. It took some time to quiet them down, for they were all shouting at once, without listening to what any one was saying. Aram was punished by two days on bounds; the others got off with a severe reprimand.

On that same evening, the Sophomores were invited to a “sociable” at the house of President Mills. This invitation was a real event in the monotony of the college routine; the boys began to get ready quite two hours in advance. When they had completed their washing, shaving, shoe-polishing and prinking, they all started off in a body.

Mrs. Mills was waiting for them in her drawing-room. She was a pleasing and lively woman, not more than thirty years of age, and the boys were much attached to her. She was born at Aintab, and spoke both Turkish and Armenian like a native. It was she who was doing most of the talking now, although she was seconded in her efforts by another American lady, Miss Wylie, the directress of the Girls’ Normal School, a little person of uncertain age, dressed in red silk, with her hair cut short like a boy’s.

Archag, accustomed only to the simple dwellings of the interior of the country, was much impressed by the arm-chairs and pictures which gave the room an air of great luxury. He sat up very straight in a rocking-chair, not daring to move a muscle, and looked with envy at Aram, who was rocking away carelessly, as if he had been used to it all his life. Following Oriental custom, Archag had left his red leather slippers behind the door, while his companions had all worn shoes and kept them on. To add to his embarrassment, there was a great hole in one of his socks, and at his slightest movement his big toe would protrude. The other boys had put on European dress for the occasion, and his zouboun looked quite out of place in this grand drawing-room.

“The very first time I go to town I must buy a European coat and pantaloons.” (he called them “bantoloons.”)

Suddenly, as he was talking to himself, he felt something cold tickling the soles of his feet. One bound took him into the middle of the room, but in his haste, unfortunately, he caught at a table-scarf, dragging it off, together with a handsome jardiniÈre which fell, broken into a thousand fragments.

“The clumsy boy!” said the president under his breath.

Mrs. Mills was in dismay; she thought of all the trouble she had had in bringing this ornament to Aintab on her last journey back from America; it was a present from her brother, besides, and there it was, all broken to bits by the clumsiness of a country lad.

Archag stood staring vacantly, his ears tingling, until Mrs. Mills took pity on him and told him he need not feel so badly about it; an accident might happen to any one. But Archag made no reply; he had not heard a word she said.

Mrs. Mills made a gesture of impatience: she thought the boy very ill-bred, and that he might at least have offered some apology. If she had observed him a little more closely she would probably have changed her opinion. In order to enliven the company and make a little diversion, she sat down at the piano and asked Garabed and Dikran to accompany her. The boys always took their mandolins with them when they were invited to the president’s house, for it was a great pleasure for them to play with Mrs. Mills.

At nine o’clock, tea and sweetmeats were served, and then the boys took their leave, after thanking their hosts for their kindness.

Then Garabed tried to console Archag:

“I say, whatever got into you? I didn’t see what happened.”

“Well, if you were ticklish, and somebody began to scratch the soles of your feet with a pen-knife, I guess you would jump, just like me.”

“I wonder who could have played that trick on you?”

“I don’t know, and what good would it do if I did? The mischief is done.”

But now Aram had joined them: “Listen, Archag,” he said resolutely. “It’s all my fault, and I assure you on my honor I’m broken-hearted over it. You know how I love to play tricks. Well, when I saw you with your legs holding on to the chair like cork-screws, I couldn’t resist the temptation to make them change their position, but I never dreamed of causing such an accident. I let you come away first, so I might speak to Mrs. Mills, and I owned up to her. And now I have an idea: we’ll go and buy a pretty table-cover, you and I, and send it to her; then she will understand that we are doing what we can to make up for our stupidity.”

Archag clapped his hands:

“Yes, that’s a fine idea, and we’ll put on the outside: ‘From Aram and Archag, in memory of their awkwardness.’ I was very angry with you for a minute, but now I forgive you with all my heart; you just wanted to tease me, but as for me, I have been too awkward for words.”

He held out his hand to Aram, who gripped it again and again.

A few days after this, Mrs. Mills showed her husband a charming table-cover of white silk, embroidered with arabesques, and handed him a note.

The president read it.

“Do you know,” said he, “this boy from Van is a perfect puzzle to me. First he is awkward as he can be, breaks your jardiniÈre, and never offers a single word of apology; then here comes this present, which shows a delicacy of feeling rare in a boy of his age.”

“He is exceptionally shy; but I believe there is good stuff in Archag, and that we shall make something of him. Mrs. Spencer has spoken to me of him very favorably, and you know how accurate her judgment is.”

“Yes, yes; only don’t spoil him for me by flattery and kind attentions.”