believe—by pretending to swallow the latter whole. I am not yet quite used to the chop-sticks, and occasionally fail ludicrously to spit my morsels, making both my companion and the mousmé roar, the latter clapping her pretty small hands with delight. But I am not annoyed; I have yet to see the foreigner who handles these strange implements better.
“It is not so easy as it looks,” I say in excuse; and Kotmasu, with recollections of far worse performances than mine, agrees with me.
Our little dinner of toy-like viands, served by the soft-footed little mousmé, is gone through with fitting ceremoniousness, but at last it is finished, and Kotmasu is so pleased with the repast, that he is in no hurry for the long walk back to the town.
“There are generally pretty geishas here,” he said to me, when we had lighted the ridiculous little pipes—mere tubes of
