“Perry! how are you, Perry!” The naval officer’s English, with scarce an accent, opened the flood-gates of memory.
“Well, of all the luck,” Phil exclaimed heartily, the annoyance of a moment since dying in his face as he seized the outstretched hand of his former classmate at the Naval Academy at Annapolis.
“Taki, you young heathen,” he cried, hugging the young Japanese boyishly.
Mutakito Takishima was laughing joyously, and in turn wringing Phil’s hand and slapping him over the shoulder.
“I am so glad to see you, Perry,” Takishima cried again, renewing his demonstrations of affection.
This meeting of two old friends and their evident joy at seeing each other again caused the curious ones to stop, and the little Japanese saw that very soon the walk would become crowded.
“Will you come with me, Perry?” he asked, and Phil, accepting readily, marched away arm in arm with his classmate.
They made their way to one of the many tents spread on the velvety grass of the garden. Phil gazed in admiration at the wonderful construction of these frail out-of-door houses. The material was of many delicate tints, and all bedecked with flags. The floors were covered with costly rugs, while polished tables and upholstered chairs were strewn about in profusion, the tables well covered with refreshments.
As they entered several dainty little Japanese girls came running up with their quaint shuffling gait, and bowed low, uttering polite words of welcome in their own language.
Takishima clicked his heels together and bowed almost to the ground before these sparkling-eyed little ladies, dressed in exquisitely embroidered silk and satin kimonos.