"Now," he thought, after a hearty meal, "I must consider what I am
about. All I can do now is to sell this dress for another still more
Japanesey. I must think of some means of quitting this Country of the
Sun as quickly as possible, and I shall not have a very pleasant
recollection of it."

He accordingly went to look at the steamers about to sail to America,
for he intended to offer himself as a cook or steward, in exchange for
his passage and food. Once at San Francisco he would manage to get on.
The important thing was to cross the ocean. He was not the man to
think about a thing very long, so he went at once to the docks; but
his project, which had appeared so simple in idea, was not so easy to
execute. What need was there for a cook or steward on board an
American mail-boat? And how could they trust him in his present
costume? What reference or recommendation could he offer?

As he was turning these questions over in his mind his gaze fell upon
a placard, which a circus clown was carrying through the streets. The
notice was in English, and read as follows:

THE
HONOURABLE WILLIAM BATULCAR'S TROUPE
OF
JAPANESE ACROBATS.

POSITIVELY THE LAST REPRESENTATIONS, PRIOR TO THEIR
DEPARTURE FOR AMERICA,

OF THE

LONG - NOSES - LONG - NOSES.

_Under the Special Patronage of the God Tingou._

GREAT ATTRACTION!

"The United States of America!" exclaimed Passe-partout; "that suits
me all round."

He followed the "sandwich-man," and was soon in the Japanese quarter
once again. In about a quarter of an hour they stopped before a large
hut, adorned with flags, upon which a troupe of jugglers were
depicted, without any attempt at perspective.

This was the establishment of the Honourable Mr. Batulcar, a sort of
Barnum, a director of a troupe of acrobats and jugglers, who were
giving their last representations, prior to their departure to the
United States. Passe-partout entered and asked for the proprietor. Mr.
Batulcar appeared in person.

"What do you want?" he said to Passe-partout, whom he took for a native.

"Do you need a servant, sir?" asked Passe-partout.

"A servant!" echoed the Barnum, as he stroked his beard; "I have two,
obedient and faithful, who have never left me, and serve me for
nothing but nourishment; and here they are," he added, as he extended
his brawny arms, on which the great veins stood out like whipcord.

"So I can be of no use to you, then?"