The Tojin-san drew a great breath. His eyes kindled. He looked wonderfully pleased.
“Then that is why some of you students speak English so creditably?”
“No, teacher. Many of us studied in Yokohama. Many have learned by the book alone. After the coming of your exalted Lord Perry, it became the chief ambition of all thoughtful men of the New Japan to learn the English language and its sciences.”
Higo volunteered the above information, but the gruff Nunuki quickly followed him:
“Be not deceived, excellent sensei, in regard to the baku [fool] who was here before you. He was not like you, honored sir.”
“No? What was he, then?”
“He was—damyuraisu,” blurted the boy angrily.
The Tojin-san burst into laughter. It was a colloquial word well known in the open ports, and was applied to the foreign sailor of whatever nationality. It was the Japanization of the sailor’s favorite expression: “Damn your eyes.”
Suddenly his face went grave, remembering how the sailors of the white nations had misrepresented their nations! How, in a constant condition of drunkenness, they rioted around the open ports. The gravity in his face was reflected in that of the students.
“It is a subject,” said Junzo gently, “ignored by common consent in Fukui, because it is painful to our Daimio. He was the fellow’s patron and protector till the time when the honorable beast betrayed him. Pray thee, honored sensei,” he added almost pleadingly, “do not seek to know further in the matter.”