CHAPTER XIX.

A JAPANESE THEATRE.

WE reached Tokio in time for dinner, after having in six days travelled two hundred and fifty miles by a circuitous route. It may be useful to know that the journey cost us, a party of three, a trifle over £36, or £2 each per day. On arriving at the hotel we remarked that Ito was coming along with our baggage. The mention of our guide's name had a remarkable effect upon the landlord. His face lighted up with joyous recognition.

"Ito!" he explained. "Ito great friend of mine. His house burned down last night; everyting lost; his mudder burned out."

It is a long time since I have seen a man in such a state of exultation. That he should by good luck be the very first to tell Ito this great news, after a sojourn of six days out of the reach of letters or newspapers! Ito might

have gone straight home to Yokohama, and then some one else would have told him. Whilst I was wondering how I could keep this really amiable man from Ito, or at least induce him to break the news gently, the guide himself appeared. The landlord made a dash at him, and seizing him by the hand as if to congratulate him on some momentously happy event, he cried

"Ito, your house burned down last night; I got telegram.'

Ito was evidently stunned at the blow thus ruthlessly dealt. It was only yesterday he had been telling me how he had bought the house just two months ago, and set his "mudder" and sister up in it. Now it was gone; and Japanese houses are never insured, for the sufficient reason that no insurance company will grant policies.

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Well," he said, after a pause, during which the landlord had been eagerly scanning his face," it can't be helped."

This was disappointing. But the landlord had other shots in his locker.

Everyting burnt up," he cried.

"Well," said Ito, with a brave little smile, "it can't be helped."

Things were looking hopeless. Now was the time to bring up all reserves.

Our young gentleman from Glasgow was at this stage of the journey the most interesting feature in the landscape. Seated on the deck, his boots, at any time an appreciable object on a square acre of ground, came into full and prominent view. They were shooting boots, made to his order, with exaggerated soles spreading beyond the uppers and the tops lacing well above his ankles. The bare-footed Japanese crew regarded these monstrosities first with awe, then with an overmastering curiosity that brought them, at whatever risk, to group themselves on the deck around the boots.

I suppose some one was steering the steamer, and I could see the anxious engineer with his body thrust upward through the circular hole that gave ingress to the engine-room; but I declare there was no look-out, every other man of the crew from the captain downward being seated round the young gentleman from Glasgow, examining his pipe, feeling the texture of his Scotch tweed, running their fingers over his ribbed stockings, or glancing sideways at his boots. He, on his part, freely entered into conversation with them, having great faith in the English language when slightly improved by use in Glasgow. Moreover, he had a small glossary of Japanese words.

With this in his hand he managed to conduct a conversation of much length, though of doubtful meaning. When in a fix, and having slowly repeated syllable by syllable what he had to say in the English tongue, he finally put his mouth to the ear of his interlocutor and bawled the words over again, as if deafness naturally accounted for the difficulty of comprehension.

At length the united efforts of the captain and crew succeeded in making clear that they wanted him to take his boots off. One naturally supposed that the steamer being so small they wanted to trim her; but as they left the boots together on the same side of the vessel they were probably afraid of the ravages of the nails upon their deck. When the excitement had subsided and the crew returned to their posts, I saw the captain heave alongside, take up one of the boots, gaze reflectively upon its broad, spike-studded sole, put it gently down, and go away. After a few more turns he would stop, take up the boot again, turn it over in his hand, and replace it. In the afternoon, coming on deck after luncheon, we caught the first mate (still without his trousers) in the act of trying on the boots.

Right away in the stern of the little

steamer, only approachable with infinite peril of tumbling overboard, was a minute cabin registered for the conveyance of sixteen passengers. If the sixteen had been herrings they might have been packed in, but it was difficult to see how any other kind of passengers could be so dealt with. Nevertheless, if we wanted deliverance from casual passengers, we three must pay sixteen fares, which, in the end, we did, the total amounting to a little less than £3.

Forward of our cabin, separated from it only by sliding panels with glass windows, was another cabin. There was no one in it when we went on board, but presently it began to fill, and long before we reached Tokio we had ceased to regret the little extravagance in the matter of a private cabin. An hour out, we began to pick up passengers. Thereafter they came and went on crowded wharfs through miles and miles of country gradually increasing in signs of life and labour. The steamer did not always stop to be moored at the wharf. Out from some little ferry would shoot a punt with a solitary passenger on board. The steamer slowed but did not take the trouble to cast out a rope. When the punt got alongside, the passenger, taking off his clogs, threw them on board, then jumped on