“I keep drawing dinner partners who can’t speak English, and somebody’s French doesn’t click, perhaps it is mine. They try me in German, and some other funny lingoes; then we all give up, and nod and wave our arms at each other the rest of the meal. Believe me, I’ve had my lesson. When I get home I am going to learn to speak German and French and Spanish, some Italian, a little Scandahoovian, and enough Czechoslovakian to put me across.”
“You are going to be busy,” Dulcie said grimly.
“Well, joking aside,” David continued, “an aviator ought to be able to speak something beside the good old mother tongue. It makes me ashamed to grin and flap and contort my face at these people who are doing everything that can be done to make our visit pleasant, and showering us with presents, beside. And we can only thank them through an interpreter. I’ve always suspected those guys. I’m afraid they don’t transmit the fine shades of my eloquence.”
“I know,” said Dulcie. “I’d like to tell my little maid how I appreciate everything she does for me. It’s an awful nuisance that I can’t. And tonight what a lot more fun it would be if we could know what it is all about.”
“Being a mere man,” said David, “I shall get quite a kick merely out of seeing those Geisha girls dance. Hello, here we are already!”
They had arrived at the most pretentious and luxurious tea house in the city, the Tea House of a Thousand Flowers. A couple of Japanese aviators were watching for them, and ushered them into the tea house, where a native orchestra was tuning up. Most of the passengers of the Moonbeam were present, while the officers and crew had come as one man. Dulcie and David joined Mr. Hammond and his hosts, and immediately refreshments were served.
The Geisha girls trotted out on the floor. They had honored their audience this night by wearing their most elaborate and colorful costumes. The music beat out a strange dreamy tune. The tiny dancers with their placid, bland little faces might well have been animated flowers. Their shuffling short steps gave the effect of gliding as they gyrated, weaving and interweaving in a series of rhythmic movements as old as time—movements that had been premeditated and practiced to the last turn.
“What a kick the crew is getting out of all this,” whispered David. “They will all go home and talk darkly about having seen the Geisha girls dancing and they will say, ‘Boy, it was some dance, believe me!’ I wish you could have seen the other dance at the dinner. That was just plain fierce.”
The music stopped and the little dancers trotted out. Next came a troupe of Japanese jugglers, who whirled gaily painted barrels, gold chairs and small boys about their heads with an abandon that made Dulcie gasp and the crew of the Moonbeam roar with approval. Next came a tight-rope act, which included such difficult and daring feats that the audience was spellbound.
“Makes me feel as though I was at home at Keith’s, only it’s a thousand times better than Keith’s ever thought of being,” whispered David.