The old lady once in a while would come to my room and chat on many things. She questioned me why I had not brought my wife with me. I asked her if I looked like one married, reminding her that I was only twenty four yet. Saying “it is proper for one to get married at twenty four” as a beginning, she recited that Mr. Blank married when he was twenty, that Mr. So-and-So has already two children at twenty two, and marshalled altogether about half a dozen examples,—quite a damper on my youthful theory. I will then get married at twenty four, I said, and requested her to find me a good wife, and she asked me if I really meant it.
“Really? You bet! I can’t help wanting to get married.”
“I should suppose so. Everybody is just like that when young.” This remark was a knocker; I could not say anything to that.
“But I’m sure you have a Madam already. I have seen to that with my own eyes.”
“Well, they are sharp eyes. How have you seen it?”
“How? Aren’t you often worried to death, asking if there’s no letter from Tokyo?”
“By Jupiter! This beats me!”
“Hit the mark, haven’t I?”
“Well, you probably have.”
“But the girls of these days are different from what they used to be and you need a sharp look-out on them. So you’d better be careful.”