Red hair is vivacity, fit for Summer’s shiny air.
I remember that I trembled at sight of the red hair of an American woman at Tokio. Japanese regard it as the hair of the red demon in Jigoku.
I sat before the looking-glass, with a pair of curling-tongs.
I tried to manage them with surprising patience. I assure you God doesn’t vouchsafe me much patience.
Such disobedient tools!
They didn’t work at all. I threw them on the floor in indignation.
Drawn by Genjiro Yeto
“Such Disobedient Tools!”
My wrists pained.
I sat on the floor, stretching out my legs. My shoe-strings were loosed, but my hand did not hasten to them.