“OH, dear, _how_ I can ever bear this corset!”
Plum Blossom subsided in a little, breathless heap on the floor.
Early in the day both she and Iris had been dressed in their best—a
plum-colored crêpe kimono for little Plum Blossom, and an iris-colored
crêpe one for little Iris. Their hair had been carefully arranged in the
pretty mode at this time fashionable for little girls in Japan. Flower
ornaments glistened at the sides of the glossy coiffures. The
grandmother had regarded them with pride when the maid brought them
before her.
“Certainly,” said she, “your father and mother will be proud to see
you.”
“And _we_ have a great surprise, too, for her,” said Iris, her bright
eyes dancing.
Plum Blossom put a plump little hand over her sister’s mouth.
“Hush! Not even grandmother shall know yet.”
Grandmother smiled knowingly.
“And now,” said she, “can you say all the big English words—you
remember?”
“Yes, yes,” cried Iris, excitedly. At once she began to shout in her
most sing-song voice:
“How de do! Ver’ glad see you two days. Thanzs your healt’ is good. Most
honorable welcome at Japan. Pray seated be and egscuse the most unworthy
house of my fadder.”
Plum Blossom was chanting her welcome before Iris had quite finished.
“Mos’ glad you cum. Come agin. Happy see you. Come agin. Liddle girl,
welcome for sister. Liddle boy, too. Nize bebby! Please I will kees.
So!”
She indicated the kiss by putting a little, open mouth against her
sister’s cheek, leaving a wet spot behind. Iris wiped her cheek
carefully with one of her paper handkerchiefs; then as carefully she
repowdered the spot where her sister’s moist lips had rested.
Ever since their father had been in America, the family had been
learning to speak English. Their teacher was a missionary priest, and
now, at the end of three years, even the smallest child could speak the
language, though imperfectly. In order to obtain fluency, they had made
English the spoken language in the family. The speeches of welcome to
the step-mother were composed: by the grandmother; the children had
learned them like parrots. Madame Sano tapped both of the little girls
on the shoulder and caressed them. Clinging to each other’s sleeves, off
they tripped into the other room, where was the great “secret.” The
secret consisted of a few articles of American attire, which the little
girls had induced a jinrikiman to bring them from Tokio. All of the
money Gozo had left behind for them as his parting gift had been
expended thus. How the boy’s angry heart would have stormed had he known
his little sisters had spent his gift for such a purpose!
Plum Blossom wore a corset outside her kimono. Some one had told her
that this was the most important article of a barbarian woman’s
wardrobe, and the tighter it was the better. So the little Japanese girl
had tied herself by the corset-string to a post. By dint of hard pulling
she had managed to encase her plump form so tightly that she could
scarcely breathe. Iris, with hands clad in large kid gloves, was drawing
on a pair of number five shoes. Her feet were those of the average
American child of seven or eight years. At this juncture Miss Summer
(who being engaged to Gozo was always called “Miss” by the little girls)
opened the shoji and thrust a flushed and excited face between the
partitions. She was six months older than when she had wailed aloud her
determination not to wash the feet of a barbarian mother-in-law, but she
seemed as childish and silly as ever as she came tittering into the
room, an enormous straw hat, from which dangled ribbons and bedraggled
ostrich-feathers, upon her head. The sisters gasped in admiration, their
eyes purple with envy and wonder. Only in pictures had they seen
anything so gorgeous as that hat.
“_Where_ did you get it?” inquired Plum Blossom, letting the corset out
a bit by the simple method of breathing hard, hence snapping the fragile
cord.
“Well,” said Summer, confidentially, “I will tell you if you will never,
never repeat it to my future husband.”
“Gozo?”
Summer nodded. “Gozo hates much Otami Ichi,” said Summer, with meaning.
Plum Blossom’s scorn burst the last string of the corset. It slipped
from her as she arose.
“Hi,” she said, “Otami Ichi! _He_ says he is two years too young to be a
soldier. He is older than Gozo. Did you take gifts from _him_!”
Summer giggled and shrugged her shoulders.
“Why not? His honorable father keeps a fine foreign store in Tokio.”
It was Plum Blossom’s turn to shrug. She undid her obi and tied the
corset to her with the sash.
“What do you suppose Taro has been doing?” said Iris.
“Something bad?”
“No, not bad exactly,” said Plum Blossom, who disliked her future
sister-in-law. “He has been learning jiu-jitsu.”
It was Summer’s turn to gasp, thus displacing her elaborate headgear.
“What! A baby of ten learn jiu-jitsu?”
“Eleven,” corrected Plum Blossom. “His grandfather was samurai. Ver’
well. That grandfather’s friend teach him jiu-jitsu—a few tricks of
jiu-jitsu.”
“What for? Will he, too, fight the Russians?” inquired Miss Summer,
sarcastically.
“N-no,” said Plum Blossom, dubiously, “but he says he will fight
_somebody_.”
“And little Juji,” put in Iris, “has a fine present for our dear
mother.”
“What is it?”
“A bag of peanuts!”
“That’s nize. _How_ can I keep this hat on. It falls off if I move.”
“You must pin it on,” suggested Plum Blossom, “for so the fashion-books
say. There, take one of your hair-pins.” She adjusted the hat back to
front on Summer’s head, and fixed it firmly in place with a long
hair-dagger she took from the girl’s coiffure.
Summer found a seat and began to fan herself languidly. “My sleeves feel
very heavy to-day,” said she.
“Why?”
“They are much weighted,” declared Summer; “I carry in them five
love-letters.”
“Oh! Oh-h! From our Gozo? Why, has he already written to you, Summer?”
“I’ll tell you a secret,” said Summer, giggling. “No, you must not
listen, Iris. You are too young.” She whispered into Plum Blossom’s ear.
Suddenly the latter thrust out her little, plump hands.
“Go away. You are not good girl. Only my brother should write you
love-letters!”
Plaintively Summer made a gesture of annoyance.
“I must spend a lifetime with Gozo,” said she. “Therefore, is it not
better to have a little fun first of all?”
Iris cried out something in a very jeering voice. Summer pretended she
did not hear.
“What is that?” cried her sister, excitedly.
“Oh, I know who wrote Summer’s love-letters to her.”
“Who did?”
“She wrote them herself.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
“I did _not_!”
“You did, for your cousin told me so.”
“Oh, the wicked little fiend!”
“Young ladies,” called a maid from below. “Come, come; come quickly.
Your father is seen. The jinrikishas! Hurry! Your honorable grandmother
wishes you to be at the door to welcome him!”
In a panic the little girls rushed about the room, gathering up their
various articles. Then, grasping each other’s sleeves, they tripped down
the stairs.
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