inchie," etc. I talked on and on, expounding and arranging, until it
must have been nearly three o'clock in the morning. Japanese people are
in the habit of going to bed very early, and soon my little ally became
obviously sleepy, although he was far too polite to admit it. Only when
midnight struck did he beg that he might be allowed to smoke a pipe, in
order, as he said, "to keep himself awake." I gave him permission, and
he immediately jumped into the fireplace, crouching right down in the
fender, close up against the red-hot coals, and smoked his miniature
pipe there. I talked on, and he listened, really interested in
everything I said, and gazing at me with his little beady eyes, bright
with interest, yet blinking so rapidly that there was almost a mist over
them. Then, for the first time, I noticed that the little soul was
tired, and, feeling that it would be cruel to keep him up any longer, I
bade him good-night and shut the door.

For almost an hour after he had gone, I sat on dreaming and brooding.
Then I was suddenly aroused by hearing a fumbling noise outside my room,
as though some one were tapping at the hall door. I went out to see who
the intruder might be, and there I found my little Japanese friend,
practically asleep, but running his fingers all over the bolted door,
trying to measure it, and murmuring, "one inchie, two inchie, three
inchie." From that moment I christened him "Inchie," and now all over
Japan at the present time this little man is known as Mr. Inchie.

After that night Inchie became my constant companion and friend.
Wherever I went he came. Whether it was to theatres, neighbouring towns,
metal-workers or fan-workers, Inchie always accompanied me, until in the
end it became a daily habit for him to drift about with me in the
sunshine, neglecting his business entirely. For Inchie was an artist
first and a merchant after. We visited the temples, where Inchie taught
me to appreciate the difference between a degenerate Buddha and a
perfect Buddha, a difference so subtle as to be quite indistinguishable
to the alien. Gradually, bit by bit, as I grew to know him better, this
little merchant's true nature revealed itself to me. I began to see the
man apart from the merchant, and he proved himself to be a great artist.
Here in England we should call him a distinguished genius, and
undoubtedly there are scores of equally brilliant men in Japan.

I have indeed no reason to believe that there are