“Buy something for father,” said Plum Blossom in the store. Then Juji had pointed with a fat finger at something bright. It proved to be a silk handkerchief. Even Norah and the baby had gifts for him. A pin the Irish girl had prized much, since it had been given her by an old sweetheart, and which bore in twisted letters of silver the legend, “Remember me,” was the nurse’s tribute. The baby’s gift Mrs. Kurukawa had chosen—a leather folder containing the photographs of the entire family. Her own gift she put upon his finger, a ring he had given her. “Bring it back to me,” she said, and he promised that he would.
The parting took place on the threshold. It was not similar to that of most Japanese farewells, for Mr. Kurukawa embraced his little girls and his wife, and they clung about his neck and kissed him, while Marion, because she could not keep back her tears, rushed into the house to hide them.
The boys, Billy, Taro, and Juji, were allowed to go with him to the train. As Gozo had done, Mr. Kurukawa carried Juji on his shoulder.
The little boys waved their flags as the train drew out, and shouted at the top of their voices.
“Banzai! Banzai! Banzai Dai Nippon!”
They were silent as they made their way homeward. Even Billy, the garrulous, found he could not speak with such a great lump choking his throat. When they reached the house they found all the blinds drawn. Suspecting that the “females,” as Taro called them, had retired to weep in their rooms, Taro drew Billy towards the pond.
“Let’s play,” said he.
Billy shook his head.
“Play fight,” urged Taro. “I will be Admiral Togo—you be the Lussian admiral.”