Salim looked up bewildered.
“Overboard,” the big man explained.
“W’at!” cried Salim.
“Dropped her.”
Salim trembled. “He have—drop thee—watch?” he demanded. “No, no!” he cried. “The boy have not drop thee watch!”
“Twelve fathoms o’ water.”
“Oh, mygod! Oh, dear me!” groaned Salim Awad. He began to pace the floor, wringing his hands. They watched him in amazement. “Oh, mygod! Oh, gracious! He have drop thee watch!” he continued. “Oh, thee poor broke heart of thee boy! Oh, my! He have work three year for thee watch. He have want thee watch so ver’ much. Oh, thee great grief of thee poor boy! I am mus’ go,” said he, with resolution. “I am mus’ go to thee Hapless at thee once. I am mus’ cure thee broke heart of thee poor boy. Oh, mygod! Oh, dear!” They scorned the intention, for the recklessness of it; they bade him listen to the wind, the rain on the roof, the growl and thud of the breakers; they called him a loon for his folly. “Oh, mygod!” he replied; “you have not understand. Thee broke heart of thee child! Eh? W’at you know? Oh, thee ver’ awful pain of thee broke heart. Eh? I know. I am have thee broke heart. I am have bear thee ver’ awful bad pain.”
Aunt Amelia put a hand on Salim’s arm.
“I am mus’ go,” said the Syrian, defiantly.
“Ye’ll not!” the woman declared.