Japanese baby something more valuable than money could buy--a baby with
a shaven head and aimless legs. It crawls to the thing in the polished
brown box, is picked up just as it is ready to eat live coals, and is
set down behind a thwart, where it drums upon a bucket, addressing the
firebox from afar. Half-a-dozen cherry blossoms slide off a bough, and
waver down to the water close to the Japanese doll, who in another
minute will be overside in pursuit of these miracles. The father-fisher
has it by the pink hind leg, and this time it is tucked away, all but
the top-knot, out of sight among umber nets and sepia cordage. Being an
Oriental it makes no protest, and the boat scuds out to join the little
fleet in the offing.

Then two sailors of a man-of-war come along the sea face, lean over the
canal below the garden, spit, and roll away. The sailor in port is the
only superior man. To him all matters rare and curious are either 'them
things' or 'them other things.' He does not hurry himself, he does not
seek Adjectives other than those which custom puts into his mouth for
all occasions; but the beauty of life penetrates his being insensibly
till he gets drunk, falls foul of the local policeman, smites him into
the nearest canal, and disposes of the question of treaty revision with
a hiccup. All the same, Jack says that he has a grievance against the
policeman, who is paid a dollar for every strayed seaman he brings up to
the Consular Courts for overstaying his leave, and so forth. Jack says
that the little fellows deliberately hinder him from getting back to his
ship, and then with devilish art and craft of wrestling tricks--'there
are about a hundred of 'em, and they can throw you with every qualified
one'--carry him to justice. Now when Jack is softened with drink he does
not tell lies. This is his grievance, and he says that them blanketed
consuls ought to know. 'They plays into each other's hands, and stops
you at the Hatoba'--the policemen do. The visitor who is neither a