Billy was to stay outside, and, if I could find the faintest reason for so doing, I was to call him in.  This was his suggestion.

I found Uncle scintillating with good humor and hospitality.  Evidently his plans were going smoothly; but not once did he refer to them.  I asked for Sada.  Uncle smiled sweetly and said she was not in.  Ananias died for less!  He was quite capable of locking her up in some very quiet spot.  I was externally indifferent and internally dismayed.  I showed him my print.  At once he was the eager, interested artist and he went into a long history of the picture.

Though I looked at him and knew he was talking, his words conveyed no meaning.  I was faint with despair.  It was my last chance.  I could have wagered Uncle’s best picture that Billy was tearing up gravel outside.  I had been in the house an hour, and had accomplished nothing.  Surely if I stayed long enough something had to happen.

Suddenly out of my hopelessness came a blessed thought.  Uncle had. once promised to show me a priceless original of Hokusai.  I asked if I might see it then.  He was so elated that without calling a servant to do it for him he disappeared into a deep cupboard to find his treasure.

For a moment, helpless and desperate, I was swayed with a mad impulse to lock him up in the cupboard; but there was no lock.

It was so deadly still it hurt.  Then, coming from the outside, I heard a low whistle with an unmistakable American twist to it, followed by a soft scraping sound.  My heart missed two beats.  I did not know what was happening; nor was I sure that Sada was within the house; but something told me that my cue was to keep Uncle busy.  I obeyed with a heavy accent.  When he appeared with his print, I began to talk.  I recklessly repeated pages of text-books, whether they fitted or not; I fired technical terms at him till he was dizzy with mental gymnastics.

He smoothed out his precious picture.  I fell upon it.  I raved over the straight-front mountains and the marceled waves in that foolish old woodcut as I had never gushed over any piece of paper before, and I hope I never will again.  Not once did he relinquish his hold of that faded deformity in art, and neither did I.

Surely I surprised myself with the new joys I constantly found in the pigeon-toed ladies and slant-eyed warriors.  Uncle needed absorption, concentration and occupation.  Mine was the privilege to give him what he required.

No further sound from the garden and the silence drilled holes into my nerves.  I was so fearful that the man would see my trembling excitement, I soon made my adieux.

Uncle seemed a little surprised and graciously mentioned that tea was being prepared for me.  I never wanted tea less and solitude more.  I said I must take the night train for Hiroshima.  It was a sudden decision; but to stay would be useless.