"I shall be glad to show you about," said the Russian, "but the fact is that I have little time. I am busy. You see, I am here professionally. For the moment, at least, dancing has taken the upper hand over music with young Japan, so I have become a dancing teacher. I have more than I can do. I dance from morning till night, giving lessons. It is not bad. They learn more easily than you would think. Then, when they become a bit proficient, I take them out here; but I must dance with them myself, at first, to give them confidence. A lot of these girls, and men, too, for that matter, are my pupils. So you see I am busy as a matter of duty. N'importe. It pays, and one must live.
"However, let us sit down for a moment. Have a drink." He called a boy. "You want to know who they are. Well, they are a mixed crowd. All kinds; that's part of the charm, is it not? See that pretty young woman over there, just passing the pillar. She is the wife of the Buddhist priest of the big temple on the other side of the hill. The young fellow with her is an American boy in some company in Yokohama. Priestess and office clerk. Odd, isn't it? Bizarre. Still, I daresay mighty few of them realize it, or give it a thought. See that cadaverous Eurasian with his Japanese wife? They are pupils of mine. They dance well, don't they? Well, two years ago they had never danced a step. Now that is all they do; it is their whole life interest, a new step, the latest fox-trot. You can still see when she walks that she has not gotten over the duck-walk that they get from Japanese geta; but you don't see it when she dances. These two have reduced life to terms of fox-trot. That has become their sole standard of measurement; they regard people as good or bad, according to how well they dance."
It was interesting. "Tell me about more of them," said Kent. "I have an absolutely insatiable curiosity."
"I'll do what I can, when I get the chance, but, as I told you——" He caught by the arm a young chap who was passing. "Here, Dick, I want you to look after my friend, Kent. He wants to know some of the girls. Show him about." He turned to Kent. "Dick here can do the honors better than I can. He knows nearly all of them. Duty calls, I am off. Be good."
Dick grinned pleasantly. Kent had noticed him often, a slim, vivacious man of about thirty, always laughing behind his small mustache, radiating effervescent vitality, infectiously bubbling over with joy of life.
"First of all you must know Madame Hirano," he said. "She's the boss. It pays to be on the good side of her. She rules with a hand of iron in a velvet glove, not so much velvet, either, if she should catch you here with a girl too much on the off side. Then she'd give you the quick bounce. She's done it often enough. But she's a good fellow really. Come along over and I'll introduce you."
They went over to a corner where the tyrant had a place of vantage, whence she might survey the entire hall. She was an elderly woman, handsomely dressed. As she sat there, surrounded by a small court of girls from the neighborhood, attached in an indefinite way to the establishment, with her sharp, black eyes constantly roving among the dancers, it was easy to see that here was one of these rather exceptional Japanese women with will power and executive ability; that she was, as Dick had said, the "boss."
She acknowledged the introduction graciously, with the slightest hint of condescension, consciousness of her power. It was evidently in Kent's favor that he was a newspaperman. She told him, annoyedly, of the inimical attitude towards foreign dancing of the Japanese press. They were so stupid, she complained, so old-fashioned. He began to ask her questions about the dancers. She looked at him sharply, as if a bit suspicious. He explained his motive—curiosity—how all these types which were familiar to her were strange to him. He wanted to become acquainted with the new woman of Japan. For instance, he should like to meet some of the motion-picture actresses, a type which seemed so characteristic of the most modern tendencies of the country.
Yes, some of them came here, she acknowledged, but she let it go at that, and gave him no information. He tried to press the subject. A slight, vivacious girl, in a splendid kimono in the black and white checkerboard-like pattern which was fashionable that year, fox-trotted nimbly past them. He had often noticed the passionate pleasure which she took in the dance, the cat-like grace with which she swung her body in intoxicated undulations, clinging to her partner, smiling up to him, teeth flashing in an alluring smile—a Japanese Theda Bara, it seemed to him. There now, he ventured, was undoubtedly a lady of the screen.
"But no," she was shocked, with quick intake of breath. "What a mistake. That is a go-fujin, a lady of good, oh, extremely fine family. Certainly not."