a few days later he went to viscount kikuchi's office. a young fellow occupied the seat at the head of the stairway. "you are new here, aren't you?" kent ventured. yes, he had come here only yesterday. kent tried a few more discreet questions, but the lad was uncommunicative. still his manner indicated clearly enough that he regarded himself as a permanency. kent was glad to learn that the viscount was absent; he would have hated to face those piercing old eyes. it was impossible to tell just how much he might know.
for days he kept up the search, made occasion to linger about kanda-bashi, visited the places where they had been together. he even had ishii make inquiries, but beyond ascertaining that she had left her lodgings at kanda, he could learn nothing. again he went for council to karsten. he laughed a little.
"by the gods, but you are the damndest man for losing ladies, for futile amours. however," he added more seriously, "it's probably as well that things have turned out as they have. the fact is that you have not the light, care-free touch to make a successful philanderer. you're a 'one woman' man. you take your affairs of the heart seriously, and for that reason it's the more essential that you make no mistake. as i say, you're a born monogamist. it's an enviable condition; you'll be happy, serene, content with just one woman, provided you find the right one. these affairs you have had recently count for nothing. you've been lonesome, in a susceptible mood. let it[pg 226] pass. some day you'll run into the right one and your problem will be solved for good. and, one thing more, you're not the sort of a fellow who is cut out for a japanese woman. run along, go to the dances, play with kimiko-san and the rest, but don't get involved, for their sake, for they take such matters seriously and you have no right to cause them heartache; and for your own sake as well, for you, too, take such matters seriously. go to work and forget serious thoughts about women, sadako-san and the rest. heavens knows, there ought to be enough going on in japan just now to keep a newspaperman occupied."
it was true. the atmosphere had become hectic. the railroad strike had alarmed capitalists and bureaucrats. the police were frantic, and strike leaders and socialists, any one thought to be harboring the detested "dangerous thoughts," were being jailed right and left. strikes became frequent. those who incited them were put away by the police mercilessly. the method seemed successful, but soon the workers resorted instead to what they called "sabotage," grasping fondly at the foreign word, though the movement involved no violence, but consisted entirely in organized effort to do as little as possible; "going slow" was a more descriptive phrase for it. the men went to work as usual, went through the motions of performing their tasks, remained at their posts during the prescribed number of hours, but production fell to a minimum. machinery revolved as busily as usual, but raw material was fed to it but sparingly; lathe tools moved around, back and forth, but found no steel to shape, looms whirred hummingly but empty of fabric. it was especially conspicuous in the case of the tramcar men, who would run a car a block or so, stop for half an hour while making pretense of [pg 227]searching for some break, then progress a block or two only to halt again. fights were staged in all the big cities between car crews and irate passengers. the police were helpless; there was no way of making men work quickly. the capitalists groaned; here were the economists calling all the time for reduction of production cost in order that japanese goods might meet the competition of foreign wares, and yet their output was becoming absurdly expensive. but the workers were in high feather. capital had closed so many factories and had discharged so many workmen in order to keep the stock of goods in the domestic market so low that prices would remain high—unable to grasp any theory except that high prices meant high profits—and now it was compelled to employ more workers in order to make up for the loss caused by the "go slow" tactics.
labor leaders, socialists, communists, syndicalists, and all the worshipers of half-understood 'isms found fine fishing in troubled waters, certain of responsive audiences wherever they might find places in which to shout their lurid, variegated doctrines. the police were ubiquitous. by scores, even hundreds, they would attend meetings, breaking them up and jailing leaders whenever occasion offered. the seiyukai party hired bands of soshi, professional ruffians, to raise disturbances at these gatherings, and free fights and broken heads became commonplace. still, the various movements gathered force, came together in common interest as streamlets flow together and form a river. the many feeble unions joined hands, formed federations. where heretofore strikes had been mainly isolated, men in this shop or factory striking solely in the interests of their own purely personal concerns, demanding discharge of unpopular foremen, shorter hours, higher pay, they now amalgamated and struck[pg 228] together, the entire body of workers of one industry, striking in sympathy with other unions. the dockyard workers went out because the employers would not pay a full year's salary to discharged workmen; the seamen threatened to follow suit unless the demand were granted, and the employers gave in. capital became frightened, tried to stave off the evil day by paying ever greater allowances, hoping desperately to soothe the clamor by doles of money; but the situation had gone beyond this. the day of the old feudal relation between master and workman, the personal touch of a feeling of common interest, had passed. as if born over-night, class consciousness loomed forth, overshadowed the entire situation. demands for higher pay, shorter hours, became subordinated, fell into the background; now the cry was for a share by the workmen in control of industries, abolition of capitalism.
it became almost impossible to segregate fact from fiction. one could not know what might have happened. it was impracticable to depend on the reports of the press; one knew that the most important news was not allowed to see the light of day. kent tried to get what he could from original sources. what was capital thinking of all this; what was it doing about it? he sought bankers and industrial leaders. they all professed that there was no cause for great worry, brought forth sheafs of statistics compiled by various government offices and capital-labor harmony societies, trying to console themselves with patently absurd figures proving that there was no unemployment, that more men were given work than lost employment, that all was serene. ostrich-like they buried their heads in the convenient mess of figures, insistent on not seeing the truth.
"it's only a phase of the depression which we are[pg 229] passing through just like other countries," they insisted. "things are no worse here than they were in america and europe a few decades ago when your workmen were in a similar condition. remember, we have in a few years almost caught up industrially with the countries which were several centuries ahead of us. give us a few years more and conditions here will be the same. anyway, the situation here is not as bad as in the united states and england, for example. our strikes are insignificant in comparison. we have never had business held up for weeks and months by nation-wide strikes. in new york and chicago you have daylight bank robberies and hold-ups. in japan a man may walk safely anywhere with a roll of bank notes in his hand, even in the poorest quarters. and the industrial workers are too few in proportion to the total of population to count for much; only they make lots of noise. the bulk of the people is agricultural. there's nothing very much to worry about."
he pointed out that danger lay in the fact that the agricultural population also had become infected with resentment against capital. thousands of unions of tenant farmers, who constitute half of the agriculturists, had been formed and clamored against the exactions of rapacious landlords. some of them had made united demands for rent reduction, had refused to till the soil when such were not granted, and had proclaimed that if other tenants were brought in to cultivate the land, these men would be ostracized; so the fields now lay idle. what about the formation of the gigantic federation of farmers' unions and its great convention in kobe? what about the report that soldiers who had served their term in the army in siberia were sowing the seeds of bolshevism throughout the peasantry? did not that show that the farmers[pg 230] were likely to make common cause with the industrial workers?
but they remained stubbornly sanguine here also. this, too, was only a phase. a general of the siberian expedition had said that this bolshevism was only on the surface, like face powder, which would speedily wash off. so that was that, so to speak. presently there would be a big rice crop; there were all indications of a bumper yield, and then the farmers would be happy again, and quiet. anyway, capital was doing what it could. a horde of scholars and statisticians was studying the situation, and obviously it would be unwise to move in the dark, until these experts had reported. and the government had appointed a commission for studying the problem of universal suffrage, which would report some day. it was a grave question whether the masses were ripe for the vote. it would not do to be over-hasty.
the task of obtaining reliable data with respect to the other side of the situation was equally baffling. a woman socialist had sprung into fame through her articles in various magazines advocating the cause of the masses; partly, also, from the fact that her husband, a university professor, had been placed in jail. kent went to see her in her small house crammed from floor to ceiling with books and pamphlets, the inevitable karl marx tomes looming forth with glorious prominence. she hailed him with joy, chanted a tirade of almost unbelievable accusations; the capitalists were holding the workers—men, women, and even children—in slavery. many of them were kept far underground in mines and were not allowed to see light of day for months; they tried purposely to kill them by means of unwholesome food and unsanitary quarters in order to prevent them from going back to the country districts and spreading the cause of[pg 231] socialism. it was easy to get young men and girls to replace them, owing to the general unemployment. but he wanted something more definite, data, figures. certainly, he should have them. she would send him such in a few days. she sent him a vast bundle of papers, a mass of laboriously contrived compilations of figures, going back into the early days of japanese industrialism, showing by minutely detailed statistics that one-half of the factory work women died from consumption within two years of employment in the great textile mills. it seemed almost incredible, and as he went into the matter he found that figures had been given for periods before the time when vital statistics of any kind had been kept by the government or any one else; still closer examination showed that the tables did not check, were wildly contradictory in many cases. evidently the author had drawn her data, enthusiastically, from her inner consciousness. he went back to her, told her that her information must be more consistent, more reliable. she tore the bundle from his hands. a few days later one of the vernacular papers published a lurid account from her, mentioning him by name as a capitalist spy who had been frustrated by the famous lady socialist.
he called on ikeda, the head of the federation of labor, a rotund, pleasant-faced man with humorous eyes beaming from behind great round spectacles. "yes, it is getting worse all the time," said the leader. "of course, all this helps to bring the unions together, but it is difficult to keep them in hand. we all want abolition of capitalism, but while some of us want it accomplished peacefully, by evolution, many of the workers, most of the smaller unions especially, want nothing short of revolution. they are sovietists, communists, syndicalists, anarchists, all kinds. they are getting more and more out of hand."
[pg 232]
"would universal suffrage content them any?" asked kent. "i should think if you centered on the suffrage movement, gave them that to think about, you might maintain control. anyway, it seems to me that labor must remain powerless as long as it is voiceless and has no control in the government. i take it that you people will back up the universal suffrage agitation at the next session of the diet?"
the eyes behind the great lenses became serious. "no, we're going to leave it alone. in fact, we dare not take it up. the workmen look upon that as futile, a mere sop, a process that's altogether too slow to suit them. we're afraid that if we took up suffrage as an organized movement, the unions would get out of hand; it would set them thinking of more revolutionary measures; they would insist on them and would sweep aside us who are trying to lead them along a constructive line of action. anyway, the masses are hardly ripe for suffrage yet. they must be educated first; that's what we are trying to do now, to educate them."
so here, too, was temporizing. labor leaders, like capitalist leaders, were trying to play for time, to avoid facing the music, while the steam in the kettle kept becoming denser and stronger, with ever more insistent force striving against the walls of repression. but how much was there really behind all this clamor of labor? he came to wonder to what extent these complaints were justified. it was true, what the capitalists said, that conditions in japan were no worse, or not much worse, than they had been in america and europe not so many decades ago. of course, the unrest was due to the fact that workers and farmers, heretofore satisfied with feudal conditions not knowing that they could be otherwise, had suddenly been shown by the socialists, the soldiers coming back from[pg 233] siberia, the radical press, that workmen in other countries lived in what seemed to frugal japanese eyes the luxury of millionaires, and now they wanted similar privileges, yes, rights. but capital was right in its contention that workers who could individually bring forth only one-fifth the result produced by the white workmen could be paid wages only in proportion to their output capacity—otherwise japanese production cost would rise to the point where japanese goods would be helpless in world competition and industry must cease. the point seemed to be whether capital was holding down labor to unduly harsh conditions.
he took to rambling about in the poorer quarters of tokyo, but could learn but little. the houses were frail, of thin boards and paper, but so were those of the wealthier classes; it was the form of construction adopted by a hardy people. even if these buildings were dirtier, dingier, the population showed no sign of abject poverty, of misery. children played merrily in the streets; men and women moved about or sat chatting in the open stores. a japanese might have learned something, might have penetrated more intimately into their lives, might have entered their dwellings, have drawn from them their confidential thoughts, but as a foreigner he felt himself baffled by an invisible veil of reserve. they were courteous, friendly, but impenetrable. only occasionally might he detect a hostile, wondering glance—what might this foreigner be doing in such places—or he might hear childish voices behind his back uplifted in song to the effect that the foreigner's father was a cat. one night a couple of fellows mellowed by sake wanted to take him to their bosom, tried to embrace him, overcome by all-enfolding love of mankind generally, insisted on his joining them in their festive circumambulations. it was annoying. they were harder to deal with than[pg 234] if they had been unpleasant. he was trying to hold them off, irritated at the laughing crowd that had gathered, to escape, in some way. suddenly the ranks of the onlookers parted and a japanese in foreign clothes strode through, a middle-aged man, muscular, authoritative. "here, you fellows, run along; can't you see that this foreigner wishes to pass?" the men stood back shamefacedly, murmured some apology. "all right, now run along." he cleared a way through the crowd. "they mean well enough," he explained to kent, "but probably you had better let me go with you for a moment."
"oh, i'm all right. still, i want to thank you for your help." he began to explain why he had come; it was only due this unknown rescuer, and then the man had spoken in english, and evidently held some authority that the people here recognized. who might he be, anyway?
"so you come to see poverty," the man laughed. "well, if you really want to see it, the real thing, i think you may find no better man to guide you. that's my specialty, you see." he went on to explain. he was an official, it appeared, had charge of a government home for unemployed, where men might sleep for fifteen sen a night and board for forty sen a day. "but there are too few of these places," he complained. "we can take care of less than one tenth of the thousands who need it. there are no free sleeping places, no free food. the capital-harmony society has provided a few reading rooms, playgrounds and all that; every now and then some rich man gives a small park; but they all give a few hundred thousands where they ought to be giving in millions. they can't see that if they don't give now, freely, these people will come some day and take it from them by force. if you care to come along, i'll show you how these people live."
[pg 235]
he led kent through a maze of narrow alleys, into the fukagawa quarter, through dark lanes illumined only by faint light from open doorways. they must walk warily over rotten boards covering the slimy gutters which served as sewers, to avoid the deepest of the universal mud. presently they came to a collection of buildings more squalid than the rest,—long, barn-like houses of filthy, rotting wood.
"here you are," said the guide. "these are the 'nagaya tunnels'; they are famous for being the worst place in the city."
they entered. through the length of the building ran a narrow passage, faced on both sides by cubicles of three mats each, spaces of six by nine feet, each housing a family, several adults and swarms of children. in the passageway all cooking and washing was done. it was cluttered with hibachi, firewood, cooking utensils, buckets for water brought from a pump outside, heterogeneous implements. women were busy cooking, and acrid smoke ascended idly against the roof, escaping through a large hole and numerous cracks and crevices. as they passed down this corridor they could look into the minute rooms, packed with goods, ragged futon, tattered clothing, poor belongings of every kind, leaving only a scant space in the middle where humans sat huddled together or lay asleep. some of the rooms, particularly those where a few men maintained slovenly bachelor housekeeping, were ill-kept, with paper hanging in streamers from broken shoji ribs, and goods scattered about haphazardly. others formed striking contrast with desperate attempts at cleanliness, where woman hands had tried pathetically to create some kind of home atmosphere in the box-like spaces allotted them in this turmoil of poverty. kent caught a glimpse of a family seated about a low japanese table, father, mother and a couple[pg 236] of children, sitting decorously, with the same display of graceful manners as might be seen in the abodes of the rich, daintily picking with their chopsticks fish and vegetables from cheap earthenware. a tiny glass globe with a couple of goldfish was suspended from the window frame. the little tableau was like a ray of light in the mass of grime and poverty all about it, a pitiable insistence on maintenance of the spirit of family life, of decency despite the squalor hemming it in on all sides.
as they fumbled on, some of the inhabitants recognized the guide, crowded up to him with tales of their troubles. these were men only; the women eyed them curiously, dully, but remained apathetic. from the shadows unkempt wretches emerged. an old fellow with only one eye insisted on removing his bandage. he had lost his eye in an accident while working for the municipal electric light works; but they had given him nothing. now, he had been trying to peddle small fish, but they had stopped him because he had no license. where could he get money for a license? he had nothing to eat; others could find no employment. they wanted assistance, money, jobs.
but, oddly, try as he might, kent could not draw even from the all-surrounding evidences of abject poverty an impression of suffering, of heart-rending misery. it was revolting that here several hundreds of humans were forced to find shelter in these miserable hovels, collections of rotten wood worth probably less than a thousand yen as kindling and fit for nothing else. but while presence of americans or europeans in such quarters would have caused him indignation, intense sympathy, here these people, inured to hardship by generation after generation of spartan frugality, possessed a happy faculty of making the best of these wretched circumstances, of accepting them stoically.[pg 237] mingled with the complaints, the stories of distress, had been laughter of children, the glimpse of the family at table, triumphantly wringing content from even such mean material. he was annoyed that he should feel like this, essentially unsympathetic, unable to register the distress which the plight of these people should produce; but the fact was that there seemed to be no anguish, no grinding, torturing grief.
he mentioned it to his companion. "it seems strange to me; here is poverty, and squalor and even want, and yet most of these people do not seem to be altogether unhappy; some even seem fairly well satisfied."
"yes, that's true, but, as a matter of fact, you've come at the wrong time. yesterday was the first of the month, and those of them who had jobs got their pay, and even those without jobs benefit from that. those who have money share with the rest. but you ought to have been here last month, during the rains. i was down here trying to help, and the water came up to my armpits, tide and rain water mixed. the whole district was flooded, and the houses. in the single-story ones like the tunnels the water stood several feet over the floors and the people had to construct makeshift shelves for themselves and their belongings. there they sat for several days, wet, hungry, cold. i've heard the cry of little children for food and their mothers trying to hush them, explaining that the father could not work during the flood. and that sort of thing is not unusual; it happens several times a year, as often as half a dozen times, whenever there is a heavy rain. this entire quarter is not fit for human habitation, but the factories have been built here because the location is convenient and the land comparatively cheap; and the workers must live near the factories. the whole district should be filled, but these[pg 238] people have no voice in the government. only the rich can vote for city councilmen, and the government funds are spent for the benefit of the rich, in wide avenues in the fine residence districts, by hundreds of thousands for celebrations—but there is no money for rescuing the poor from the floods.
"and do you know that the odd thing is that it's these very same poor people who are carrying the burden of maintaining the city. tokyo collects less than four million yen a year from land and house taxes, and yet she is the sixth largest city in the world. the revenue is collected by indirect taxation, by the huge profits of the car system, by the imposts and stamp duties and licenses for every conceivable thing. the proportion of business tax paid by the magnates is infinitesimally small when compared with that wrung from the peddlers and small shopkeepers. so you see, the poor wretches who must cling to their walls like bats while the flood waters sweep over their floors, are at the same time paying for the boulevards and improving the property whose owners contribute almost nothing. until a few years ago they did not think of that; they didn't know that things could be different. but now they're being taught, and they're beginning to figure things out. this is the kind of a place that breeds 'dangerous thoughts,' and, i tell you, when i am down here during flood time, i come pretty close to having 'dangerous thoughts' myself."
a few days later kent was telling of this experience to a group of friends, japanese and foreign, chance-met at the imperial hotel bar. "it's damnable. of course, in every country we have rich rolling in luxury and poor ones groaning in misery, but in no place is the gulf between the classes so great, and nowhere else are the plutocrats so utterly unfeeling, so heartless; in no place are the poor ground so hard to make[pg 239] such absurdly high profits, your sixty and seventy per cent. dividends, your constant subsidies to giant companies and industries, your tariffs for protection of profiteers. i tell you, when i was mucking about down there in fukagawa and heard of what it was like during the rains, and what it will continue to be like, i felt that i should like to meet these people, the watanabes, the inouyes, the yamanakas, the oharas, the lady with the blood-dyed silken shift of the song, you know, and i should like to kick the whole damned outfit, yes, the lady, too, by the gods."
"look out, kent, you're getting 'dangerous thoughts.'" they laughed and dismissed the subject, but one of them, hata, leaned across the table to kent.
"you know, kent-san, i don't think you'd want to kick them at all, if you met them. in fact, you'd like them. i'll bet you a tiffin on it."
"all right, you're on," he replied thoughtlessly. the others had taken up the question of the chinese demand for the return of the liaotung peninsula, and he was interested.
a few days later hata appeared at his office. "i have an invitation for you, you and your friend, mr. karsten, to have luncheon with baron and baroness ohara, almost any day that would suit you. would next friday do? you know," he had noted the surprise on kent's face, "you said you'd like to meet them."
could ever such an absurd situation occur outside of japan? how the devil could he accept the hospitality of people whom he had said he would like to kick, the baroness at that? and still he was greatly tempted to grasp this opportunity to see at first hand, in their intimate home surroundings, these people, these heartless plutocrats who ground down the poor that they might amass wealth in a measure far greater[pg 240] than they could possibly use by even the most extravagant luxury. he hesitated.
"did you by any chance say anything to the oharas about my desire to kick them, hata-san? of course, you see that——"
"no, of course, not," he interrupted eagerly. "you know, i'm fairly close to baron ohara, and i really wanted you to meet him and the baroness. they are charming people; you'll revise your opinion. i've told them of your investigation of the conditions of the poor in tokyo, and they are much interested and really want you to tell them about it all. anyway, do you think it would be fair for you to see only one side and then condemn the other? how about friday?"
kent accepted. what an odd proposition. of course, hata was right enough; he must seek both sides before passing judgment; but what the devil interest might hata have in this? he did not know much about him, a suave, frock-coated gentleman, highly intelligent, fluent in english and french, ubiquitous in all places where japanese and foreigners intermingled. he was known to be more or less definitely connected with the big interests—some even claimed that he was obscurely identified with the foreign office—but he was clever, an excellent companion, always ready to be of service in giving information or obtaining it for the foreigners. they accepted him as a sort of unofficial liaison officer maintained by the japanese for the purpose of keeping them informed as to what the foreigners thought; also, in some measure, to elucidate the japanese point of view. he was a bit of a mystery, but a pleasant one.
on the appointed day hata came to escort them in one of the baron's automobiles. "here we are; this is the place," he pointed with almost proprietary pride to a long brick wall rising well above the height of a[pg 241] tall man's head, hiding from view whatever might be enclosed within. "how do you like that gate?" liveried commissionaires held open the massive iron-grille work, flanked on each side by tower-like buttresses. "the baron had it brought from france; it's an exact copy of that of some château somewhere there."
"frankly, i'd rather have seen in its place one of those great wooden, brass-studded gates of old japan," said karsten. "wouldn't you, kent?" but kent did not answer. he recalled a picture he had seen in the japanese papers, some months ago, of this very gate, closed, with a score of women clamoring, gesticulating through its ornate bars, workers who had vainly tried to bring their complaints direct to the owner of the factories in which they were employed. eventually they had been hustled away by the police.
the automobile swept round a miniature mountain cleverly built up from carefully placed rocks. trees had been planted amongst them; vines sprang from the interstices; skillful hands had laboriously contrived to reproduce a picture of untouched, untrammeled nature, an atmosphere of the free and restful mountainous country that made it difficult to realize that the grimy tangles of the city were but a hundred yards behind.
more liveried servants met them at the door of the mansion, a large modern thing, but well planned, with the quiet air of great wealth which disdainfully avoided garishness. the baron met them in the hall, a young man—kent judged him to be about thirty-five—slim, seeming tall with his trim athletic figure, almost like some young french aristocrat as is a type which recent years has brought forth among the wealthy classes of japan. he was graceful, pleasantly placing them at ease. harvard, then cambridge, had[pg 242] obliterated the stamp of race; it did not enter one's thought; one felt exactly as if he might have been a young frenchman, italian, spaniard. he led them into an immense living room, high-ceilinged, with french windows giving on to an italian garden which had been laid out behind the house. this also was entirely modern, with the same atmosphere of wealth carefully restrained by unfailing taste, excellently chosen furnishings, each thing of value and elegance, but harmonious, with an air of comfort, of a delightful living place. possibly a hint of excess, over-crowding, might be conveyed by the superabundance of paintings which covered the walls everywhere. at first glance the display seemed too lavish, garish even, but this soon wore away as one came to look more closely, appreciating the beauty of each individual piece. here was a gallery of modern art with here and there an almost priceless thing by some old master, and one sensed that this profusion was due, not merely to a desire for display, but to a genuine affection for these pictures, a real wish to have them ever before the eye.
karsten became enthusiastic immediately, could not keep away from the paintings. in a moment he and the baron had become as if they were old friends, passing from one thing to the other, appraising, commenting, sharing enthusiasm. even kent became absorbed. a discreet clearing of the throat from hata recalled them. "baroness ohara."
in this atmosphere of modern europe she seemed almost out of place as she came up slowly, with tripping gait in her soft zori, absolutely japanese in her garb of soft, neutral-hued kimono silks and great obi band; only the coiffure showed some concession to the modern, the hair, free from the oil of conventional hairdressing, being arranged in its natural softness[pg 243] into a wavy crown hiding part of the forehead and protruding over the ears.
the baron made the introductions and she bowed deeply, gravely, extending her welcome to the guests in the polished refinement of japanese phrase.
"it's a good thing you speak japanese," commented the baron to karsten and kent. "my wife speaks only japanese. she has never been abroad." so for a moment the commonplaces were exchanged in japanese, but soon he and karsten were back at the pictures again. two other guests, japanese, joined them. one of these spoke french as his only foreign language. the conversation became polyglot, as they conversed in english or french about the pictures, or in japanese with the baroness. kent was asked to take her in to luncheon.
at table, also, everything was in european style. it was with difficulty that kent could compel himself to realize that here he was really in japan; he could succeed only by glancing at the pretty, dainty figure at his side, listening to her soft, melodious japanese. at the beginning the talk concerned itself about the poor quarters. kent tried to describe what he had seen. they were all interested, receptive; but somehow he felt that he was not speaking well, that he was failing entirely to convey the picture, the sensations which he had felt; he could not drive himself into the vein in these surroundings. he tried to conjure before his mind the miserable realities of the "tunnels," to revive the sense of indignation caused by contrast of the misery there and the luxury here, at the unfeelingness of these plutocrats whose most trifling bit of ornament was worth many times the value of the tunnel shacks and all they contained. but he could not make himself despise these people, or hate them. he caught a glance from hata. was he thinking of his expressed[pg 244] wish to kick them, this graceful, petite incarnation of charm who was sitting right next to him, eyes wide with interest as if he were telling of matters of a distant country, things which were far from her, which had not the least direct concern with her. the thought confused him. he felt with irritation that his talk was unconvincing, featureless, lame. he was glad when the interest of karsten in the pictures brought the main drift of the conversation to that subject. the talk became general, the baron and karsten leading. when they left the table, they returned to examination of the pictures, followed them down along the walls, karsten and the japanese, into the hallway beyond. presently kent found himself alone with the baroness.
"tell me some more about these poor people," she asked. "you know, they came here once, a lot of poor women, and wanted to talk to my husband. but he was not here. i crept outside and hid in the shrubbery so i could watch them. they were standing there by the gate and stretching their arms in through the iron grilles. i felt so sorry for them. i wanted to go and talk to them, to have them come in here and talk to me; but i was afraid. i know nothing about business. they might not have liked it, the men in charge of the business. i was afraid of them, these grave, old men who are in charge of the factories and the mines and all that. i was more afraid of them than of my husband. he knows so little of the business, too, you know."
so this was the lady whose silken shift was dyed crimson with blood from working girls' fingers. he wondered if she knew the song; probably not; she lived as if she were thousands of miles removed from the grim sordidness whence was evolved almost miraculously all this wealth of beauty and art. but[pg 245] as he began to tell her about it, it seemed so futile, so incongruous, like trying to contaminate the frail fairness of a hothouse orchid with thought of the grimy coal mines which furnished fuel for the heat which gave it life. he could understand how it was possible for these people, the plutocrats, to be innocent of realization of the meanness of the sources of their wealth. again he wanted to get away from the subject.
"this is a wonderful garden," he stepped up to a window. "i admire the artistry with which it has been fashioned. here you can see but a bit of italy. you would never know that tokyo is right beyond."
"i'm so glad you like it. that is my great interest, the gardens," she was quite radiant. "and beyond that, below the terrace, we have a typical japanese garden, just like real, old japan. you must see it some time. i'm often quite lonesome, you know. some day, when you are not too busy, you must come and have tea with me, and i will show you all the gardens."
she went on, telling of the plans for an artificial waterfall, run by an invisible electric pump, which she was having constructed; about the chrysanthemums which she was nurturing carefully for exhibition at the great november show at hibiya. he enjoyed her, just like that, with her natural, ingenuous concern with beauty of flowers, the congruous interest of a gentlewoman of japan. and as she went on, with bright eyes and soft voice, and the picture flashed into his mind of the women, hard-voiced, stridently storming at the gate, the conviction came to him that should this occur while he was here, were they to come this moment, he would do what he could to keep this dainty, pure, flower-like little woman away, removed from the grim realities which must not be suffered to enter disturbingly into the serenity of her existence.
"well, you didn't kick the baroness while we weren't looking, did you?" chaffed karsten, as they were on their way home.
"oh, shut up, karsten," it irritated gratingly. "i know well enough when i've made a fool of myself. you needn't rub it in." they went on a while in silence. "still, you know, karsten, i can't help feeling that i might have made better use of my opportunity to do something for those poor devils out in fukagawa. i feel sure that had i been able to be more convincing, to make them feel as i felt when i was there, as i feel now, as a matter of fact, i might have contrived to do something to help. these people, the oharas, are decent enough, kind enough, would surely give gladly from their wealth. here they spend on a picture more than a hundred of what those poor devils earn in a year. it isn't right. of course, it's because they don't know; but they should know, at least ohara should. it's an obligation of wealth; only he doesn't think of it."
"but he does, in a fashion, at least," karsten interrupted him. "he was talking to me about it, out there in the hall. he wants to do something; he would like to give, but he doesn't know how to go about it. he tells me that he has spoken to his directors, but they tell him that he must not interfere with business, that his ill-advised attempts would do more harm than good, and the constant attempts at blackmail to which he is exposed, like the rest of the millionaires, do not particularly encourage him to inject himself into the whirl of business. and, you know, if i were in his place, i think i should do exactly as he does, spend my time collecting pictures, building gardens, adding to the beauty of the city, with shooting and golf as side issues. i should be content, as he is, to leave my business in the hands of those who have far better[pg 247] qualifications to conduct it, technical training and all that. anyway, ohara has the satisfaction of knowing that his concerns are leading the way for improvement. you know, some of them are spoken of as 'model' factories."
kent did not answer, only shrugged his shoulders. yes, "model factories"!
