Just then another carriage drove up, choke full of little dark men.
"It is the Japanese," says Dempster.
"The Japanese! How can you say so?" says I. "Where are their punch-bowl hats and stiff veils?"
"Oh," says Dempster, "they have given those things up, and dress just as we do now."
"Dear me!" says I, a-looking into the carriage from under a slope of my parasol. "How funny they look with stovepipe hats, and boots, too—oh my!"
The Japanese were getting out of their carriage, but they seemed as if afraid of straining too hard on their clothes, and stepped on the ground as if it was paved with eggs.
Bang!
"Oh, goodness gracious!"
It was I that screamed out these words, and I hopped up at least half a yard from the ground, for somewhere, close by, a great gun went off—roaring over the water, like thunder.
"What does that mean? Does anybody want to murder us?" says I, shaking like a poplar-leaf.