Chapter 10: On the Search

The clerk’s prophecy proved all too true. Percival and his valet sat all night in a crowded, smoke-dimmed car, between a fat Japanese wrestler and a fatter Buddhist priest, both of whom squatted on their heels and read aloud in monotonous, wailing tones. The air was close, and the floor was strewn with orange peel, spilt tea, and cigarette ends. Percival’s fastidious senses were offended as they had never been offended before. Under ordinary circumstances nothing could have induced him to submit to such discomfort, but the circumstances were not ordinary.

The alternative of remaining calmly in Yokohama and allowing an aggressive young American to monopolize the girl of his even temporary choice was utterly intolerable. Moreover, he was coming to see that while Bobby had failed to droop under the frost of his displeasure, it was still probable that she would melt into penitence at the first smile of royal forgiveness.

During the long hours of that interminable night he had ample time to reflect upon the folly of pursuing an object which he did not mean to possess. But though wisdom urged discretion, a blue eye and a furtive dimple beckoned.

When morning came, he straightened his stiff legs and, picking his way through the wooden sandals that cluttered the aisle, went out to the small platform. The train had stopped at a village, and a boy with a tray suspended from his shoulders, bearing boxes of native food, was howling dismally:

“Bento! Eo Bento!”

Percival beckoned to him. “I say, can’t you get me a roll and a cup of coffee!”

“Bento?” asked the boy, expectantly.

“Coffee!” shouted Percival. “Rather strong, you know, and hot.”

“Tan San? Rhomenade?” asked the boy.

“Coffee. Café. What a silly fool!” Percival muttered.

About this time several windows in the car went up, and many voices took up the cry of “Bento.” When Percival reëntered, he found that a large pot of boiling water had been deposited in the aisle, and small tea-pots had been distributed among the passengers. Everybody was partaking of breakfast, and everybody seemed to be enjoying it, especially Judson, who was attacking his neatly arranged bamboo sprouts, pickled eels, and snowy rice with avidity.

“This is a bit of all right, sir,” he said with enthusiasm. “Shall I fetch you a box, sir!”

Percival lifted a protesting hand. And yet the pungent odor of the pickle and the still smoking rice was not unpleasant. He watched with increasing appetite the disappearance of the various viands. There were occasions when a man might even envy his valet.

At the Kioto Hotel there was no record of the Weston party, so he snatched a hasty bite, and rushed on to the other large hotel. It was on a hillside well out from the city, and two coolies were required for each jinrikisha. Seeing that they had a newly arrived tourist, they were moved to show him the sights, much to Percival’s annoyance.

“San-ju-san-gen-do Temple,” the man in front said, putting down the shafts of the jinrikisha confidently. “Thirty-three thousand images of great god Kwannon. Come see? No? So desu ka?”

Later he stopped at a flower-girt tea-house.

“Geisha maybe! Very fine dancers. Come see? No? So desu ka?”

So it continued, the two small guides trying in vain to arouse some interest in the stern young gentleman who sat so rigidly in the jinrikisha, with his mind bent solely on reaching the Yaami Hotel in the shortest possible time.

On his arrival, he met with disappointment. The effusive proprietor informed him that a party of five, “one single lady, and two young married couples, he thought,” had breakfasted there and left immediately with Dr. Weston for Hieizan. They would not return until night.