He reaches us at last, and advertises the fact by unconsciously swinging his imp lantern into my face.
Mousmé bursts out laughing, and so do I—merriment is so infectious; and in a moment the people near us are laughing too.
Aki is delighted, and seizes hold of a hand of mine and one of Mousmé’s, and we advance along the street a little further.
The shops we pass are simply blazing with lights. They have stall-like extensions, encroaching upon the roadway, all of them piled up with astonishing sweetmeats of brilliant hues, toys, flowers, and hideously grotesque masks.
Aki is so attracted by the latter that we make scarcely any progress. Mousmé, who is getting impatient, makes a brilliant suggestion.
“Cy-reel, buy Aki a mask. He will never cease gazing at them or come along if you don’t. And we shall never reach the temple. No one can see my obi and dress here.”
I laugh quietly to myself at this last remark. The woman had popped out unwittingly.
I buy my little brother-in-law a most monstrous head. He is in raptures, and Mousmé and I are in convulsions of laughter at the hideous god into which little Aki is at once transformed. We get on famously now, till his acquisitive eyes light upon a pile of crystal trumpets.
“Ah!” exclaims Mousmé, as she sees him pause, “he must have one.”
It is obvious that queer little Aki’s heart is set upon possessing one of these weirdly articulate instruments, so another quarter of a yen changes hands, and Aki adds his quota to the unearthly, gobbling sounds which dozens of these strange instruments produce, blown by other equally lusty-lunged boys.