XI
YAMAMOTO AND HIGH COST OF LIVING
After lunch at the missionary's I found my team at the gate spoiling for a run.
"Yamamoto, take me to your home," I said; "I want to meet your family. I want to see how a rikisha man lives. And, Yamamoto, I'll give you a yen if you'll invite me to supper at your home tonight."
The yen looked tempting, but Yamamoto wouldn't play the game.
He said to have a foreigner as a guest at his humble home would bring around his house such a crowd of curious neighbors that all pleasure in the repast would be spoiled—or words to that effect; but he would take me to his home. Off we started, a three-mile run; Ushi pushed and Yamamoto pulled, and I was soon a self-invited guest in Yamamoto's home; and, if to break bread or chopstick rice in Yamamoto's home would have brought a greater horde of curious neighbors than gathered to witness a foreigner's call at that home, then Yamamoto's head was level—Yamamoto's head was level anyway.
He said to have a foreigner as a guest at his humble home would bring around his house such a crowd of curious neighbors
A little house 8 x 16, two rooms 8 x 8, the front opening on a street about eight feet wide; a yard in the rear 6 x 8, was Yamamoto's home.
It was as neat as wax and furnished with an hibachi on which to cook, a tanstu in which to store their clothes. No chairs—they sit on the floor; no beds, save futons, to lay on the floor; and an okimono dai, a sort of what-not stand, on which a few ornaments and articles of household use were placed.