“Haven’t you a fork?” he asked when the chop-sticks were proffered him.

“Forku?” repeated one of the three maidens who knelt before him; then she joined the other two in a giggling chorus.

There had been moments in the Honorable Percival’s life when his dignity trembled on its pedestal, but never had it swayed so perilously as when he tried to use chop-sticks for the first time under the fire of those six mischievous black eyes.  It was only by maintaining his haughtiest manner that he remained master of the situation.

When bedtime came, a new difficulty arose.  Sanno’s prophecy that “foreign bedstead probably is not” proved true.  A neat pile of quilts in the middle of the floor was offered as a substitute, and Percival, after a long argument, stretched himself on the soft heap and courted oblivion.  But the Fates were against him.  As if his thoughts were not sufficient to torment him, hundreds of mosquitos swarmed up from the stream below, and assailed him so viciously that at midnight he rose and called loudly for Sanno.

With Sanno came the household, all eager to know what new excitement the foreign gentleman was creating.  When the trouble was explained, elaborate preparations were set on foot to remedy it.  After much discussion, hooks were driven into the corners of the ceiling, and a huge net cage, the size of the room, suspended therefrom.

During this performance Percival suffered great embarrassment, owing to the fact that the pink silk underwear in which he was arrayed was an object of the liveliest interest to the ladies.

When at last he was left alone, he fell into a troubled sleep.  He dreamed that the world was peopled solely by mosquitos, and he knew them all, Captain Boynton, Andy Black, Sanno, the Lady Hortense, and even Bobby herself.  One by one they came and nipped him while he lay helpless, clad only in a pink suit of silken underwear.

XI

THE GYMKHANA

The experiences of his first twenty-four hours in Japan were repeated with variations three times before Percival reached Kobe.  His mad desire to overtake Bobby had carried him from Kioto to Nara, where he went to the wrong hotel and missed the Weston party by fifteen minutes.  From Nara he made a night journey to Ozaka, during which the small engine broke down in the middle of a rice-field, proving a sorry substitute for the wings of love.

It was with a sigh of relief that he at last boarded the Saluria and sank into his steamer-chair.  At least there was one satisfaction, no one but Judson knew of his futile search, and Judson was too well trained to discuss his master’s affairs.  How good it was to be on board once more!  He felt an almost sentimental attachment for the steamer which three weeks ago had fallen so short of what an ocean-liner ought to be.  Then the Saluria was only an old Atlantic transport transferred to the Pacific to do passenger service, but now she was a veritable ship of romance, freighted with memories and dreams.