"Not yet.I've asked the clerk，whenever I signal him，to send someone to carry me to my room.If I'm not able to say good—bye to you，please accept now my thanks for all your kindness to a stranger.You see，I'm not sure whether I'll have a sudden seizure or the pains will come on gradually.""What pains？"demanded Patsy.
"I can't explain them.Don't you believe something is bound to happen ？"he inquired，nervously removing the ash from his cigar.
"To be sure.You're going to get well."
He made no reply，but sat watching Beth's nimble c ？ngers.Patsy was too excited to resume her embroidery.
"I wonder if you are old enough to smoke ？"remarkedBeth.
"I'm over twenty—one."
"Indeed ！We decided you were about eighteen.""I suppose I look younger than my age.At home，in Sangoa，I am still regarded as a mere child.That is because Ihad no brothers and sisters，and my father never could realize that I was growing up.The people still call me—"He paused，in an embarrassed way，till Patsy asked："Call you what ？""By my old childish name."Both the girls were distinctly disappointed.But bluff Patsy Doyle would not be denied the satisfaction of her curiosity.Within the last hour she had felt as if she had adopted this friendless boy，and some information concerning him was her due.
"Your name is A.Jones？"she aid.
"Yes."
"What does the 'A'stand for ？"
There！The question was out，at last.He hesitated，ushing read.Then he replied slowly：
"It stands for one of my father's peculiarities.I think I have told you how proud he was that we are direct descendants of John Paul Jones.'John Paul，'he would often say，'has ennobleda the name of Jones，so that to be a Jones is to bear the proudest name known to mankind.'When I was born they were undecided what to name me.'There is no hurry about it，'said my father，'whatever we call him，he is a Jones.'My mother must have been something of a humorist.She kept referring to her baby as 'a Jones'until father caught the absurd idea of letting it go at that，and had me christened merely'A.Jones.'""How delightful？"cried Patsy，clapping her hands gleefully."Then 'A'doesn't stand for anything at all ？""Oh，yes；it stands for a Jones，"said the boy，making a wry face."I think it is dreadful.""But what did they call you，afterward？What was thechildish name you referred to ？""Another of my mother's humorous fancies.She called me 'Ajo，'and others quickly caught up the horrid nickname.It is merely a contraction of A.Jones，and in Sangoa I am called nothing else.""Ajo，"repeated Beth，her sweet voice giving the title apleasant sound."In Spanish it would be pronounced 'Ah—ho.'""But we are not Spanish in Sangoa.""What are your people？""Formerly all Americans.The younger generation are，like myself I suppose，Sangoans by birth.But there isn't a black or yellow or brown man on our island.""How many inhabitants has Sangoa ？""About six hundred，all told."There was silence for a while."Any pains yet ？"inquired Beth.
"Not yet.But I'm feeling drowsy.With your permission I'll lie down and take a nap.I slept very little last night."He threw away his cigar，which he had smoked nearlyto the end，and rising without assistance，bowed and walkedaway.
"Will he ever waken，I wonder ？"said Beth softly.
"Of course，"declared Patsy."He has crossed the Rubicon aand is going to get well.I feel it in my bones ！""Let us hope，"responded Beth，"that Ajo also feels it in his bones，rather than in his stomach."