“You speak English, of course?” David said, his candid eyes smiling.
“Yess, sir.”
“I thought so,” David said. “Well, how about a drive this morning? We are crazy to see the city, and I bet you can tell us all about it.”
“It will be to me a great happiness,” the young Japanese answered.
“Come on then, Red; we’re off!” They hopped in and the car started smoothly away.
A short distance from the hotel, their driver called to a youth who was standing at the curb. They conversed in a chopped sibilant jargon, then the driver asked permission to take on another driver, so that he himself might be free to designate and explain points of interest.
“Of course,” said David. “And you had better come over in back so you won’t have to shout.”
He came readily enough and sat on one of the little folding seats, with many apologies for occupying a place in front of them.
Then began such a story of Japan and of Tokio that the past lived and the present blossomed for them. The Japanese, he said, had never been a roving people. They did not live by conquest. Japan’s rulers are well beloved, guiding their industrious subjects with kindly wisdom, as they forge ahead in agriculture and the arts on a high plane of civilization. Centuries ago, while all the rest of the world was new and racked by conflict, civil and foreign, the Japanese were taught to read and write.
They drove through miles of streets as modern as the newest of American cities. Block after block of beautiful office buildings and shops with great windows full of the most up-to-date gowns and Paris ties, socks, and shirts. Snappy gloves laid over correct walking sticks that would have been a credit to the most exclusive Fifth Avenue shop. There were magnificent banks; and movie houses everywhere.