en peas,
cold and cooked--the number according to the proficiency of the player.
Inchie's plate was loaded; the guests and geishas had a fair amount; but
I had only three, and the aim was to pick them up one by one and put
them into our mouths, the competitor whose plate was empty first being
declared the winner. We started, and I was so intent on the manipulation
of my three green peas that I was only conscious of a whirl of hands,
never having noticed that the rest had finished their pile before I had
picked up my second pea. I never undertook such a task before, nor ever
will again. The discouragement of it was final. My first pea, after no
little exertion and much sleight of hand, I had raised to my lips on the
points of the chopsticks, when just at the critical moment it abruptly
left its moorings, went like a shot from a catapult across the room, and
settled itself on the lap of one of the geishas, who was thereby
promptly put out of the contest. I do not know what happened to the
second pea, much less of the fate of the third; all I remember is that I
came in a very bad last in the chopstick competition.

[Illustration: A SWEET-STUFF STALL]

What with the Sake, the competition, and the dinner, Inchie became more
and more brilliant, until at last an idea sparkled out that was worthy
of his distinction. I was to have a piece of wood-carving in my London
house that should be as it were the eye of the peacock--the first ever
made in Japan! We should go to Osaka together, he remarked, the very
next day, choose a great piece of wood 8 or 9 feet in length, 3 feet
broad, and about 6 inches through, and have it carved in the most
beautiful and magnificent chrysanthemum pattern ever seen--for the hall
was of chrysanthemums. His eyes sparkled as he said, "You are going to
have berry number one house; must have one big number one piece
chrysanthemum carving--better than any other carving, better than temple
carving." The Sake passed round, the geishas danced, and Inchie talked,
while with every cup he grew brighter and brighter, and his eyes
sparkled like jewels. I was beginning to see the real Inchie. Was this
really the little man, the laughing-stock of the hotel, bullied and
sworn at by every one? He talked of Hookosai, who, he asserted, was not
the great master that he is universally considered to be in Europe.
Hookosai was too realistic; many other artists were far finer. Yet
another cup of Sake was passed round and dr