THE tea-house was only a short distance from the shops, and the runners,
rested and refreshed by sake, drew them swiftly into the heart of the
town. Soon they were in a shop kept by a tiny Japanese, very old and
very wrinkled, who begged, as he bowed deeply, that they would help
themselves to all they saw in his most insignificant shop. The
magnificence of this offer, made in intelligible English, quite
delighted Billy. He began to have visions of what he would do with his
twenty dollars since this Japanese was so polite that he was actually
offering to _give_ them the articles. Soon he was undeceived. In a short
time the unwary children were enmeshed in the wily bargaining web of the
shrewd small merchant of Tokio.
Billy saw a flag which warmed his heart. It was a large Japanese flag,
with the sun solidly embroidered in its centre. What a gift to send to
his father! In imagination he saw the flag torn and cut by bullets. He
priced it. It was ten dollars. The old man insinuated that he might take
eight dollars for it. Billy shook his head, swallowing deep
disappointment. The old man would let it go for five dollars. No?
Possibly the young augustness was poor? Billy flushed proudly and dipped
into his sleeve for his money. Then he said, sturdily: “I’ll give you a
dollar for it.”
The old man shrugged, protested, but finally rolled up the flag tenderly
and gratefully took the dollar in exchange.
“My goodness!” said Billy, “are there Jews in Japan?”
“Be careful, Billy,” his mother warned.
She herself, however, was feeling strangely drawn towards a certain
padded silk dressing sack, heavily embroidered with chrysanthemums of
the color most admired by her husband. Unlike Billy, she did not pause
to bargain. Her husband had warned her: “The Japanese shop-keeper will
take what he can get. Set your price and give no more.”
“I’ll give you five dollars for that,” said she. Then she felt ashamed
of herself when he, with a sad shake of his head, began wrapping it up
for her.
The little girls’ purchases were trifling but pretty. Their sleeves,
being full of parcels, hung down on either side like heavy bags. Billy’s
and Taro’s purchases, however, were so large that there was some
question how they were to be carried.
Three swords, an old American rifle, and a water-pistol were among
Taro’s acquisitions. Billy had his large flag, a soldier’s uniform, a
miniature cannon, and a folio of bright pictures describing war. At the
last moment his conscience smote him. Neither he nor Taro had bought
presents for the girls. Both had been too absorbed in buying things for
boys. They put their heads together and whispered now. Ten cents
remained to each. Taro bought toothpicks, cheapest facepowder,
nail-polish, and a back-scratcher, each article costing three cents. He
grudgingly gave up one of the articles he had already, and instead
purchased for the mother a pot of the rosiest paint.
Billy, too, begrudged the money necessary to spend on the girls, so he
was determined not to part with any of his own things. His gifts cost in
the neighborhood of a cent or two cents each. For Marion he bought one
paper handkerchief, for Plum Blossom a brass ring, for Iris a hat-pin,
for Juji a bit of candy, and for Norah tooth-blacking. This, he thought,
she could utilize for her shoes. As the presents looked very bright and
gaudy, Billy and Taro felt that they had done their duty, and that the
girls ought to be duly grateful.
On the way home a shrill voice shouting in the street was recognized by
the sharp-eared Taro.
“The treasure-ship!” he cried, excitedly.
Around the corner came a most wonderful cart piled high with brightly
colored toys and things dear to the heart of a child. Following the cart
was a veritable procession of little children. Loudly the vendor
shouted:
“Otakara! Otakara!”
Ambitious to imitate the commercial foreigner, the treasure-vendor had
decided to play this little trick on his fellows. He would not wait till
January 2d, but would appear on the street with his treasure-cart thus
early in the season when people had not yet spent all their money.
The entreaty in the faces of the children Mrs. Kurukawa could not
resist. Soon some of the bright things of the treasure-cart were
transferred to the jinrikishas.
“But, mind you, children,” she said, as they turned gleefully homeward,
“I’m going to put everything away until Christmas.”
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