Considerable Japanese schoolgirls was fetched there by that nationality and I was deliciously shocked to see how American they looked. They wore crippled skirts of considerable thinness and their shoulder blades seemed absolutely destitute. I fetch Miss Ruby Fujimuto, Japanese lady of aggrevated beauty, with me for escort. When she removed off her opera-house cloak, I look at her with my expression all braided up.
“Ladies should be praised for their economy,” I corrode while observing the cloth that was not there.
She curbed up with bridle expression.
“You no like the way my neck is cut?” she snagger, showing peevness by her soprano.
“Your neck is not cut,” I narrate. “I know because I can see it all.”
She seem less engaged to me than formerly and eloped away to make dance-step with J. Haro, Japanese photographer.
Hon. Sadakichi’s Brass Orchestra make music resembling roof gardens.
At that moment of time I could observe how everybody was dancing. They seemed to be jouncing in couples, making crowd-up walk with occasional slouchy-slouchy motion while their eyes said “How-do!” with Romeo expression peculiar to Shakespeare.
“It are nice for youngly persons to be affectionate,” I commute. “But when will dancing begin?”
“They are now Turkey-waltzing,” depose Arthur Kickahajama, missionary boy, with Tuxedo eyebrows.