The front of the store was screened from the street by dark blue cotton curtains behind which was a roofed platform carpeted with matting.  Here sat a group of clerks, each with his soroban or adding machine at his side.  Little Japanese boys, their shoulders loaded with bales of rich materials, staggered about, and through the open doors of the fire-proof warehouse they caught glimpses of costly stuffs stored away.  An obsequious clerk who spoke excellent English came forward and presently, when their eyes became accustomed to the busy, brilliantly colored scene, they began to examine silk materials on their own account.  Miss Campbell made each of her charges a present of crêpe de chine and still was not very much out of pocket.  As they were about to leave, they were followed by a chorus of shouts.

“What in the world is the matter?” demanded Miss Campbell uneasily.  “Has the place caught fire, or didn’t we give the right amount of change?”

“No, madam,” answered the polite English-speaking clerk, who had accompanied her to the sidewalk.  “They are saying farewell.  In English it would mean, ‘Thanks for your continued favors.’”

“Don’t mention it,” said Miss Campbell.  “We’ll come again.”

The clerk smiled and bowed formally and once more they whirled away in their ’rikshas.  They visited many shops in Tokyo that morning.  It was like a fascinating bazaar and it seemed impossible to tear themselves away, although Komatsu kept always close to their elbows and several times observed: 

“Muchly more time.  Come again.”

At last, just as an ominous mass of black clouds had spread itself over the heavens, against which the brilliant colors of the signs and the people’s clothes stood out in bold relief, they started for home.  But on the outskirts of the city great drops of rain pelted them in the face, the advance scouts of a tremendous downpour.

“Oh, Komatsu, we will ruin our clothes,” cried Miss Campbell in alarm.  “You must take us somewhere until the rain is over.”

They were passing the high walls of a garden, the gate of which stood open.  Without an instant’s hesitation Komatsu turned in and the three ’rikshas raced up a broad walk toward a Japanese house at the end.  Several smiling hospitable persons whom they took to be servants ran out with large umbrellas made of oiled paper and protected the five ladies, who hurried unceremoniously into the house just as the heavens opened and the rain came down in bucketfuls.

Three Japanese ladies, seated on the floor drinking tea, rose quickly and made low formal bows.  The five refugees from the storm returned the bows with some bewilderment.

“I do hope you will pardon this intrusion,” Miss Campbell found herself saying.  “The storm was so sudden and terrible, we fled to the nearest house.”

One of the little Japanese ladies bowed.  She was evidently the mistress of the house, but she spoke no English.