At last they got through. A Japanese attendant, saluting the three officers of his own country, ran nimbly to the end of the porch, striking his hands together and summoning three jinrikisha men, who raced up to the steps.
“Farewell, for an hour or two, at least, American brother in arms,” cried Toruma, the most talkative of the three Japanese. Friendly salutes were exchanged, and the Japanese trio were rushed away.
Dave’s jinrikisha came around. In appearance it was an exaggerated baby-carriage, with shafts, between which a stout Japanese coolie played the part of a horse.
These curious little street vehicles are comfortable, and the seasoned coolie in the shafts often displays great speed. The slowest he is allowed to travel on short journeys, when he has a fare in his ’riksha, is five miles an hour.
“To the Imperial Hotel,” said Dave briefly. That was all that was needed. The human “horse” in the shafts would do the rest.
In a few minutes Dave arrived at the big, handsome Imperial Hotel. This hostelry, famous among travelers in the East, is an imposing white pile, built originally by the Japanese government, that travelers might be sure of having a stopping place as comfortable as any in the lands from which they came. Bit by bit the management bought over the government’s interest in the hotel, until now it is privately owned, though the pride of the Japanese is such that the government still supervises the hotel, and sees to it that the high standard is kept up.
As Dave Darrin entered he passed into one of the parlors at the entrance. Belle rose and came forward, a glad little cry on her lips.
“How thankful I am that I thought of coming to Yokohama!” she cried. “It was but a step to Tokio. And you are punctual.”
“It is one of the virtues—or vices—of an officer and a gentleman,” Darrin laughed, as he bent over to kiss her.
“And now are you ready for tiffin, dear?”