THE country was ringing with the hateful news of the Kamrahn Bay incident. When a French name was mentioned, Japanese faces looked dark and bitter. Foreigners in Japan talked more about the matter than did the Japanese themselves, however, for they were silent and thought much. Nevertheless, this incident and others pierced deeply. Women, smiling strangely, told their little sons the story, and they repeated after their mothers the words: “We Japanese never forget!” In the higher classes of the schools the teachers quietly instructed their pupils of the unfriendly act of a “friendly” nation. The story-tellers in their halls enlarged upon the theme, and told the story over and over again, with greater exaggeration each time. By-and-by the news reached the ears of the Kurukawa family. Billy and Taro held a council of war.
“How to be revenged?” that was the question.
They marched up and down the little garden-path discussing the subject from every stand-point. By some unfortunate coincidence the little French boy from the neighboring street happened to pass the Kurukawa house at the fateful moment when this fierce debate was in progress. In one of those flashes that often come, even to children, Billy and Taro simultaneously recognized in him the object for just vengeance. With a bound Taro sprang through the garden-gate and seized the helpless and unsuspecting French boy, whom he dragged down the path. Then Taro sat upon him. Billy was jumping about wildly, throwing out his fists, and pretending to spit upon them. Taro, however, was quite calm.
“We kinnod,” said he, proudly, “both beat thad French boy. That’s nod fair.”
Billy’s jaw dropped. Then his face brightened.
“Say, Japan doesn’t want to fight France yet. You leave him to me. They interfered in what wasn’t their affair, and now America’s going to do the same.”
Taro shook his head.
“You be England,” said he, wisely; “she our honorable ally.”
“I am English, then,” shrieked Billy; “all our people come from England originally. Mamma said so. Let him up.”
Taro reluctantly arose, permitting the crushed young Frenchman to do likewise. He was a little fellow, though past his fourteenth year. His eyes were very black and furtive, and he had a tiny little mouth that would not keep closed. Actually his face was smiling. He spoke Japanese with only slight hesitancy. His polite suggestion was that they should go to his father to borrow swords with which to fight a decent duel. The boys received this suggestion with shouts of derision. Then the little Frenchman declared he would not fight at all, and crossing his arms over his chest, told them they could murder him if they wished.