AN AMERICAN CLASSIC.
The day before Orito was to arrive home Numè had crossed the rice fields
and gone to the American lady's house.
"I have felt so nerviss," she said, with her pretty broken English,
"that I come stay with you, Mrs. Davees."
"What are you nervous about, dear?" Mrs. Davis asked, kissing the girl's
pretty, troubled face.
Numè slipped down from the chair Mrs. Davis had placed for her, and sat
on the floor instead, resting her head against the older woman's knee.
"Orito will return to-morrow," she said, simply. "I am so joyed I am
nerviss."
The American lady's sweet blue eyes were moist.
"Do you love him, sweetheart?"
The girl raised wondering eyes to her.
"Luf? Thad is so funny word--Ess--I luf," she said.
"And you have not seen him for eight years? And you were only ten years
old when you last saw him? My dear, I don't understand--I can't believe
it."
The girl raised a wistful face to her.
"Numè nod unerstan', too," she said.
"Of course you don't, dear. Numè, I wish your father would let me take
you away for a time. It is a shame to tie you down already, before you
have had a chance to see anything or any one, hardly. You aren't a bit
like most Japanese girls. I don't believe you realize how pretty--how
very, very lovely and dainty and sweet you are. Sometimes when I look at
your face I can't realize you are a Japanese girl. You are so pretty."
"Bud the Japanese girl be pretty," Numè said, with dignity; "pretty more
than Americazan girl," she added, defiantly.
Mrs. Davis laughed. "Yes, they are--I suppose, some of them, but then an
American can't always understand their _style_ of beauty, dear. You are
different. Your face is lovely--it is a flower--a bright tropical
flower. No! It is too delicate for a tropical flower--it is like your
name--you _are_ a wild plum blossom. Sometimes I am puzzled to know
_when_ you look best--in the sweet, soft kimona or--or in a regular
stylish American gown; then I couldn't tell you were anything but an
American girl;--no, not an American girl--you are too pretty even for
that--you are individual--just yourself, Numè."
"The Americazan lady always flatter," the girl said, rising to her feet,
her face flushed and troubled. "Japanese girl flatter too; Japanese girl
tell you she thing' you vaery pritty--but she nod mean. Tha's only for
polite. Thad you thing me pretty--tha's polite."
This speech provoked a hearty laugh from a gentleman reading a batch of
letters at a small table.
"There's a lesson for you, Jenny. She can't jolly you, eh, Numè?"
"Numè nod unerstan' to jolly," the girl answered.
"Come here, Numè, and I'll tell you," he called across to her. She went
over to his side, her little serious face watching him questioningly.
"A jollier is an American classical word, Numè--a jollier is one who
jollies you."
"Numè _nod_ unerstan', still."
Mrs. Davis drew Numè away from him.
"Leave her alone, Walter," she said, reprovingly; and then to the girl:
"Numè, you must not believe a thing he tells you."
Walter Davis laid his paper-cutter down.
"Madam, are you teaching that young girl to lose faith in mankind
already?"
Mrs. Davis answered by placing her little hand over his mouth and
looking at him with her pretty blue eyes so full of reproach that he
pulled her down beside him. They had been married only a little over
eighteen months.
"Here is the literal translation of the word 'jolly,'" he said to Numè.
"Now, I want Mrs. Davis to be in a good humor, so I squeeze her up and
tell her she is the darlingest little woman in the world."
Still the girl's face was troubled. She looked at the husband and wife a
moment; then she said, very shyly: "Numè lig' to jolly, too."
Mrs. Davis pushed her husband's arm away.
"Don't use that word--it is ugly. Walter is full of slang."
"Ess, bud," she persisted, "_if_ thad the 'jolly' means to be _luf_,
then I lig' thad liddle word."
"But you must not use the word, dear."
When Numè had gone to bed for the night, and husband and wife were alone
together, Mrs. Davis reproached her husband.
"Really, Walter, I wish you would not teach that poor little thing
such--a--a--wicked things--or--or that awful slang. First thing we know
she will be using it seriously. You have no idea how quickly she catches
on to the smallest new word, and she will ask more questions about it,
if it catches her fancy, than a child of three."
"That's her charm, my dear," the man answered. "Ought to encourage it,
Jen."
"She does not need _that_ kind of a charm. She is a charm all by
herself. Every movement she makes is charming, every halting word,--her
own strange, sweet beauty. She is irresistible, Walter. You remember
that Englishman who stayed over at the Cranstons'? Well, you know what a
connoisseur of beauty every one thought him. You ought to have heard him
after he had seen Numè. He was simply wild about her--called her a
dainty piece of Dresden china--a rose and lily and cherry blossom in
one."
"Did he tell Numè so?"
"No, he didn't get the chance. He made the _awful_ blunder of telling
her father so. _He_ (Mr. Watanabe) disagreed very politely with
him--said his daughter was augustly homely, and wouldn't let the poor
little thing out of his sight for a month after. Really, Walter, you
needn't chuckle over it,--for Numè suffered dreadfully about it. If you
won't laugh I'll tell you what she said to me afterwards, though I
believe it was you, yourself, you wretch, who taught her the words. I
told her how sorry I was that the Englishman had been so stupid; because
she had told us never to praise her to her father--and at any rate not
to let any gentleman do so. Well, I half apologized to her, because, you
know, I had taken him to their house, and she said, 'Numè not lig'
Egirisu' (Englishman)--'he cot-tam.' I _know_ she did not know what the
word meant, poor little thing, and I spent half a day explaining to her
_why_ it was not proper to use such an expression. Yes, you can
laugh--you wicked thing--but really, Walter, I won't let that child
listen to you any longer."
Mrs. Davis left her husband almost in convulsions over this, and stole
on tiptoe to the girl's room. She was sleeping without a pillow under
her head. Beside her on the bed was a small English-Japanese dictionary.
Mrs. Davis picked it up and glanced at a page which was turned over. It
was a page of the letter J. Towards the bottom of the page was the word
"jolly," with the interpretation, "to be merry--gay."
Her husband's definition had been unsatisfactory to Numè, and she had
looked it up in her little dictionary.