“I want also a sugar-candy dragon for the bairn,” said Leslie. “Ask ’em to send out and get one. I suppose you can get such things?”
M’Gourley gave the message to the maid, and she departed.
The travelers’ luggage—a frightful-looking old mid-Victorian carpet bag belonging to M’Gourley, and a Gladstone of Leslie’s—had already arrived at the tea house, having been sent on by rail via Utsu-no-Miya, and the two sat down on small square cushions, placed on the cream-colored matting, to smoke a pipe, whilst dinner and the bath were preparing.
“The police will be here the morn about that bairn,” said Mac in his cheerful way, “and we’ll have to acoont for her.”
“Of course we will.”
“Ay, ay,” said Mac, “but have you ever acoonted for a thing to the Japanese police?”
“Well, considering I’ve only been in Japan ten days, I haven’t had much time, you see, to fall foul of the police.”
“I found a scairf pin once,” said this comforter of Job, “on the Bund at Nagasaki. Twa-and-sax-pence it was worth, or maybe three shullin’, and I took it to the police office and began to acoont for it.”
He stopped and sighed and sucked his pipe.