THOSE QUEER JAPANESE!
Kyoto is by far the most picturesque city in Japan. It is situated
between two mountains, with a beautiful river flowing through it. It is
connected with Tokyo by rail, but the traveling accommodations are far
from being as comfortable or commodious as in America; in fact, there
are no sleeping-cars whatever, so that it is often matter of complaint
among visitors that they are not as comfortable traveling by rail as
they might be. It was in Kyoto that Sinclair and most of the Americans
who visited Japan lived. Sinclair kept one office in Kyoto and another
in Tokyo, and being inclined to shove most of his light duties on to his
secretary, went back and forth between the two cities; in fact, he had a
house in both places. Tokyo, with its immense population and its air of
business and activity, is yet not so favored by foreigners, nor by the
better class Japanese, as a place of residence as is Kyoto. Indeed, a
great many of them carry on a business in Tokyo and also keep a house in
Kyoto. Most of the merchants of Tokyo, however, prefer to live in one of
the charming little villages a few hours' ride by train from Tokyo, on
the shores of the Hayama, where there is a good view of Fuji-Yama, the
peerless mountain. And it was almost under the shadow of this mountain
that Takashima Orito and Numè had played together as children.
The Ballards took up their residence for the time being in the city of
Tokyo, at an American hotel, where most of the other passengers who had
arrived with them were staying. Arthur Sinclair had failed to meet them
at the boat, though he sent in his place his Japanese secretary, who
looked after their luggage for them, hailed jinrikishas, and saw them
comfortably settled at the hotel, apologizing profusely for the
non-appearance of Sinclair, and explaining that he had gone up to Kyoto
the previous day, and had been delayed on important business.
When they were alone in their rooms the mother sank in a chair,
complaining bitterly that Sinclair had failed to meet them.
"I will never get used to this--this strange place," she said, with her
chronic dissatisfaction. "I won't be able to stay a week here. How could
Arthur Sinclair have acted so outrageously? I shall tell him just how I
feel about it."
"Mother," Cleo turned on her almost fiercely, "you will say nothing to
him. If he had something more important to attend to--if he did not want
to come--we do not want him to put himself out for us--we do not care if
he does not." Her voice reflected her mother's bitterness, however, and
belied her words.
"He was always thoughtful," said Tom, laying his hand consolingly on his
aunt's shoulder. "Come now, Aunt Beth, everything looks comfortable
here--and I'm sure after we once get over the oddity of our
surroundings we will find it quite interesting."
"It _is_ interesting, Tom," said Cleo, from a window, "the streets are
so funny outside. They are narrow as anything, and there are signboards
everywhere."
Mrs. Ballard looked helplessly about the room.
"Tom, _what_ do you suppose they will give us to eat? I have heard such
funny tales about their queer cooking--chicken cooked in molasses,
and--and raw fish--and----"
"Mother," put in the girl, impatiently, "this hotel is on the American
plan. The little bell-boys and servants, of course, are Japanese--but
everything will be as much like what we have at home as they can make
it."
Both the mother and daughter were out of patience with everything and
were tired, the mother being almost hysterical. Tom went over to her and
tried to calm her down, talking in his easy, consoling way on every
subject that would take her mind off Sinclair. After a time Mrs.
Ballard's nervousness had quieted down, and she rested, her maid sitting
beside her fanning her gently, while Tom and Cleo unpacked what luggage
they had had in their staterooms with them, their other trunks not
having arrived. The girl was feeling more cheerful.
"When I go back to America," she said, "I believe I'll take a little
Japanese maid with me. They are so neat and amusing."
Tom looked at her gravely. "I thought you contemplated making your home
here?" he quizzed.
"Perhaps I will," the girl said, saucily, "perhaps I won't. It depends
on whether my mind changes itself."
"Hum!"
"Remember Jenny Davis, Tom?"
"Well, I guess so;--never saw you alone when she was in Washington."
"Well, she brought home with her the sweetest little Japanese maid you
ever saw. She used to be--a--a geesa girl in Tokyo, and the people she
worked for were horrid to her. So Jenny paid them some money and they
let her bring--a--Fuka with her to America. Well, I wish you could have
seen her. She wasn't bigger than that, Tom," measuring with her hand,
"and she was just as cute as anything,--walks on her heels, and smiles
at you even when you are offended with her, Jenny says."
"Where is Mrs. Davis now?" Tom asked. "Thought I heard some one say she
had come back here."
"So she did. She is somewhere in Japan now. Last time I heard from her
she was in Kyoto. I wrote her, care of Arthur though, because she moves
around so much, and I told her we were coming. I half expected she would
meet us." After thinking a moment she added, "Tom, do you know, there
was not a single American to meet us? I think mamma is right (though I
won't tell her so), and that Arthur acted abominably in not meeting us.
It doesn't matter _what_ business he had--he should have left it. He
might at least have sent--a--a friend to meet us, instead of that
smooth Japanese. Mrs. Davis says there is a perfect American colony
here, and in Yokohama and Kyoto--they are scattered everywhere, and
Arthur knows them all, and most of them know we are to be married."
"Sinclair's hands, I guess, are pretty full most of the time. Every
American nearly that comes here pounces onto him. He wrote me once that
he had a different party to dinner nearly every day at the
Consulate--when he is in Kyoto, and I guess that is why the poor chap
likes to run down here where every tourist does not throw himself at
him. Sinclair never was a good--a--business man. Don't believe he has
any idea of the responsibility of his work. Believe he'd just as lief
throw it up, anyhow."
But, though Tom stood up for his friend, even he could not help feeling
in himself that the girl was justly indignant.