“You didn’t like me as a Jap, and you’ve been thinking terrible things about me.  Look at me, and tell me what you have been thinking.”

“Little Yum Yum talks great nonsense sometimes.  As a matter of fact, I was thinking of going on to Tokyo to-morrow.  I think we’ve seen about all there is to be seen here, don’t you?”

“Geoffrey, you want to see Reggie Forsyth.  You’re getting bored and homesick already.”

“No, I’m not.  I think it is a ripping country; in fact, I want to see more of it.  What I am wondering is whether we should take Tanaka.”

* * * * *

This made Asako laugh.  Any mention of Tanaka’s name acted as a talisman of mirth.  Tanaka was the Japanese guide who had fixed himself on to their company remora-like, with a fine flair for docile and profitable travelers.

He was a very small man, small even for a Japanese, but plump withal.  His back view looked like that of a little boy, an illusion accentuated by the shortness of his coat and his small straw boater with its colored ribbon.  Even when he turned the illusion was not quite dispelled; for his was a round, ruddy, chubby face with dimples, a face with big cheeks ripe for smacking, and little sunken pig-like eyes.

He had stalked the Barringtons during their first excursion on foot through the ancient city, knowing that sooner or later they would lose their way.  When the opportunity offered itself and he saw them gazing vaguely round at cross-roads, he bore down upon them, raising his hat and saying: 

“Can I assist you, sir?”

“Yes; would you kindly tell me the way to the Miyako Hotel?” asked Geoffrey.

“I am myself en route,” answered Tanaka.  “Indeed we meet very a propos.”

On the way he had discoursed about all there was to be seen in Kyoto.  Only, visitors must know their way about, or must have the service of an experienced guide who was au fait and who knew the “open sesames.”  He pronounced this phrase “open sessums,” and it was not until late that night that its meaning dawned upon Geoffrey.

Tanaka had a rich collection of foreign and idiomatic phrases, which he must have learned by heart from a book and with which he adorned his conversation.

On his own initiative he had appeared next morning to conduct the two visitors to the Emperor’s palace, which he gave them to understand was open for that day only, and as a special privilege due to Tanaka’s influence.  While expatiating on the wonders to be seen, he brushed Geoffrey’s clothes and arranged them with the care of a trained valet.  In the evening, when they returned to the hotel and Asako complained of pains in her shoulder, Tanaka showed himself to be an adept at massage.

Next morning he was again at his post; and Geoffrey realized that another member had been added to his household.  He acted as their cicerone or “siseroan,” as he pronounced it, to temple treasuries and old palace gardens, to curio-shops and to little native eating-houses.  The Barringtons submitted, not because they liked Tanaka, but because they were good-natured, and rather lost in this new country.  Besides, Tanaka clung like a leech and was useful in many ways.