“Yes, they said they would raise mine, but I’m thinking of refusing it.”
“Why do you refuse?”
“Why or no why, it’s going to be refused. Say, Red Shirt is a fool; he is a coward.”
“He may be a coward, but if he raises your salary, it would be best for you to make no fuss, but accept it. One is apt to get grouchy when young, but will always repent when he is grown up and thinks that it was pity he hadn’t been a little more patient. Take an old woman’s advice for once, and if Red Shirt-san says he will raise your salary, just take it with thanks.”
“It’s none of business of you old people.”
The old lady withdrew in silence. The old man is heard singing “utai” in the off-key voice. “Utai,” I think, is a stunt which purposely makes a whole show a hard nut to crack by giving to it difficult tunes, whereas one could better understand it by reading it. I cannot fathom what is in the mind of the old man who groans over it every night untired. But I’m not in a position to be fooling with “utai.” Red Shirt said he would have my salary raised, and though I did not care much about it, I accepted it because there was no use of leaving the money lying around. But I cannot, for the love of Mike, be so inconsiderate as to skin the salary of a fellow teacher who is being transferred against his will. What in thunder do they mean by sending him away so far as Nobeoka when the fellow prefers to remain in his old position? Even Dazai-no-Gonnosutsu did not have to go farther than about Hakata; even Matagoro Kawai [11] stopped at Sagara. I shall not feel satisfied unless I see Red Shirt and tell him I refuse the raise.
[Footnote 11: The persons in exile, well-known in Japanese history.]
I dressed again and went to his house. The same younger brother of Red Shirt again answered the bell, and looked at me with eyes which plainly said, “You here again?” I will come twice or thrice or as many times as I want to if there is business. I might rouse them out of their beds at midnight;—it is possible, who knows. Don’t mistake me for one coming to coax the head teacher. I was here to give back my salary. The younger brother said that there is a visitor just now, and I told him the front door will do; won’t take more than a minute, and he went in. Looking about my feet, I found a pair of thin, matted wooden clogs, and I heard some one in the house saying, “Now we’re banzai.” I noticed that the visitor was Clown. Nobody but Clown could make such a squeaking voice and wear such clogs as are worn by cheap actors.
After a while Red Shirt appeared at the door with a lamp in his hand, and said, “Come in; it’s no other than Mr. Yoshikawa.”
“This is good enough,” I said, “it won’t take long.” I looked at his face which was the color of a boiled lobster. He seemed to have been drinking with Clown.