s cheaply as here.

As we near our hotel we tell the interpreter, whose "honourable name" we
have learned is Yosoji,--everything belonging to other people is
"honourable" here,--that we would like to see the palace where the
Emperor lives; so he gives an order to the rickshaw man, and we set out
once more.

On the way we see many open spaces and pass through a park, but when we
get to the palace we find that no one is allowed to go in, and we can
only drive round by the walls and moat. The Mikado, or Emperor, is
worshipped by most of his people; he is in the position of a god, and it
is no mere expression of speech to say that every schoolboy would be
proud and glad to die for him. There is no country in the world whose
people are more passionately devoted to their fatherland than the Japs.
The idea of prominent Japanese going about in foreign countries trying
to belittle their own, or undermine her power in the countries she has
won by the sword, is unthinkable.

Later in the afternoon, coming out again from our hotel, we find Yosoji
waiting for us, and we tell him we want to walk about on foot to look at
some of the shops. He protests, and we can see he thinks us almost out
of our minds to suggest going on foot. He pleads earnestly that
rickshaws are very cheap. We have to explain that it is not the money we
are thinking of, but that we really prefer to go on foot. He doesn't
believe it--he can't, because no Japanese would prefer to go on foot
when he could ride. So we take no further notice of him and just walk
away, leaving him to follow humbly and despairingly. We have not taken
many steps when a whole flight of rickshaw men swoop across the road and
are on our heels, crying out, "Rickshaw, rickshaw, shaw, shaw, r'sha,"
like our old friends the pests of Egypt. We pretend not to hear, and
walk on with what dignity we can, but they follow persistently, almost
trampling on our heels, and reiterating their cries all the time. They
can only imagine we must be deaf and blind. The crowd grows greater, the
street is getting blocked. We pass a Japanese policeman in a stiff and
badly made uniform, and are seized with sudden hope that he will send
the offenders flying, but he does nothing of the sort; he fumbles in
his pocket, brings out a little text-book Of English, and laboriously
reads out, "Please secure me a good rickshaw," and looks at us
triumphantly as if he had solved the difficulty!

I have no moral courage; I