“Boys are commenting on you,” I whispered.
I beseeched him not to act so droll.
He tossed out in his careless fashion his everlasting heroic laughter, “Ha, ha, ha——”
A hawkish lad—I have not seen one sleepy fellow yet—drew near the minister shortly after we left the wharf, and begged to carry his bag.
He was only too glad to be assisted. The brown diplomatist thought it a loving deed toward a foreigner.
He bowed after some blocks, thanking the boy with a hearty “arigato.”
“Sir, you have to pay me two bits!”
His hand went to his pocket, when my uncle tapped his stooping back, speaking: “This is the country of eternal ‘pay, pay, pay,’ old man!”
“What does a genuine American beggar look like?” was my old question.