One must have seen one of these masks to appreciate this.
But they all laughed good-naturedly, as their host had designed, and quite forgot their errand. And Pinkerton labored that they should remember it no more. This was quite Japanese. In the politest way possible he made them drink his liquors and smoke his tobacco (in the generous Western fashion), either of which operations was certain to make a Japanese very ill. This was thoroughly like Pinkerton.
They protested a deal of friendship for Pinkerton that night; but at the final conference, where Cho-Cho-San was solemnly disowned, none were more gloomily unfriendly than they who had eaten and drunken with him.
"I did the very best I could for you, little moon-goddess," said Pinkerton to his wife; "but they were proof against my best wine and tobacco."
She bent her head in reflection a moment.
"Ah, you mean—I begin learn you, Mr. B. F. Pikkerton! You mean they not proof. Aha!"
And Pinkerton delightedly embraced her.
"You are no longer a back number," he said.
