“Well, mother,” protested Billy, “he did get funny, now didn’t he, father?” He appealed to Mr. Kurukawa, who was patting the ruffled head of the discomfited and conquered jiu-jitsu student.
Taro’s expression had undergone a change. In his little black eyes a gleam of respect for Billy might have been seen. Suddenly he nodded his head significantly, and made a motion of his hand towards the garden, signifying in boy language the invitation:
“Come outside. I’ll show you some things.”
Out they wandered together, excellent friends at once.
“Sa-ay,” said Taro, pausing on the brink of his own private garden brook, “you—you,” he touched Billy with a stiff little finger—“you—Gozo!”
Billy was at a loss to understand what “say—you—Gozo!” could mean, but he liked the look on Taro’s face, so grinned and said: “Me—Gozo.” Taro nodded. He had paid Billy the highest compliment in his power, likening him to the hero of the Kurukawa family, the great, elder brother Gozo.
