I see Bateese de oder day, he's work hees fader's place.
I t'ink mese'f he's satisfy—I see dat on hees face.
He say, "I got no use for State, mon cher Napoléon.
Kebeck, she's good enough for me—Hooraw! pour Canadaw."
THE JAPANESE REPORTER
We do not know to this day to what circumstance we owed the honour of appearing in print in Japan—whether we were mistaken for individuals of distinction, or whether we were considered remarkable on our own merits on account of being by ourselves; but we went downstairs fully believing it to be a custom of the country, a rather flattering custom, to which we were much pleased to conform; and this is a true chronicle of what happened.
It was a slender, round-faced youth who made his deprecating bow to us in the drawing-room. His shoulders sloped, his gray-blue kimono lay in narrow folds across his chest like what the old-fashioned people at home used to call a sontag. American boots were visible under the skirt of the garment, and an American stiff felt hat reposed on the sofa beside him. His thick, short black hair stood crisply on end, and out of his dark eyes slanted a look of modest inquiry. He was the most unaggressive reporter I have ever seen. His boots and his hat were the only things about him that I could connect with journalism, as I had previously been acquainted with it.
"How do you do?" I said, seeing that the silence must be broken and the preliminaries gone through with by somebody.
"Yes!" he responded, with an amiability that induced Orthodocia to get up hurriedly and look out of the window. "Did the radies arrive to the Duke of Westminster?" looking from one to the other of us.