“I ain’t layin’ any claim to him,” says Binney. “I dun’no’ what I’d do with a Japanese boy if I had him. Them men can have him, for all of me.”
“I guess you said that without doin’ m-m-much thinkin’,” says Mark. “Just figger if you was in Japan and four Americans that had it in for you was t-tryin’ to catch you. S’pose you didn’t have any friends and didn’t know the country. Wouldn’t you be just a mite glad if somebody was to give you some help? Eh? Wouldn’t you sort of l-l-look at it as though it was somebody’s duty to help you? Tell me that. What kind of a country would you think Japan was if nobody l-lifted a finger to help you? Pretty rotten one, I guess. Well, that’s how Motu’s fixed here. He’s in a strange country, bein’ chased by men that’ll do somethin’ unpleasant to him, There ain’t n-n-nobody to help him but us. It strikes me we can’t get out of it if we wanted to, and, for one, I d-don’t want to. ’Tain’t a United States way of doin’ things. I’m just tellin’ you that if those men get Motu it’ll be b-because I can’t help it. I’m goin’ to stick to him just like I’d stick to one of you. Then he can’t go back home and say the United States is no good, and that American boys can’t be depended on. Now what about it? If you f-feel like pullin’ out, go ahead. But I’m goin’ to stay, and I’m goin’ to enlist with Motu.”
Nobody said anything for a minute, then Plunk got up and sort of stretched and felt of his neck and blushed and says, “That goes for me, too. I’m with Mark.”
“Me, too,” says I.
Binney looked pretty embarrassed. “I guess I didn’t think much before I spoke,” says he. “I didn’t have it clear in my head. I’m with you, and Motu can depend on me just as much as on the rest of you.”
“B-bully for you,” says Mark.
Well, sir, something happened then that clean took the wind out of my sails. It was pretty embarrassing, but, come to look at it now when everything’s over, it was sort of pleasing and satisfying, too. It was Motu. He stepped right into the middle of us, and held out his hand to Mark.
“I heard,” says he, his eyes shining, but his face was calm and dignified and without any more expression to it than a buckwheat griddle-cake. I expect it’s the Japanese way not to let your face give away what you’re thinking about. “What you said to the others I heard, and what they said in reply to you. It was as Samurai boy should speak, first for the honor of his country, then for his own honor. You, Mark Tidd, are Samurai,” he turned to the rest of us, with hands stretched out, “and you, too, are Samurai. This story shall be told in my land, not this year alone, but for years to come. It shall be told how four American boys came to the aid of”—he paused, checked himself, then went on—“came to the aid of Motu. It shall be made into a song.”
“That’s all r-right,” says Mark, flustered as could be. “Don’t mention it. You’d be doin’ the s-same for us if we was in your place.”
“I hope I should,” says Motu. “It makes me proud to think I might act as you have acted.”