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they will have standing room only, and won't know what to do with their money.

      V

      THE UMPIRE WHO GOT A JOB

      More and more I am convinced of the cleverness of the Japanese after a voyage across the Pacific in one of their magnificent ocean liners – a 22,000-ton ship, built at their yards at Nagasaki, Japan – built, owned, and operated by the Japanese. The officers are Americans, with the exception of the chief engineer, who is Japanese. The crew is Japanese. Dining room waiters, Chinese and Japanese; and room boys are Japanese.

      The cuisine more thoroughly conforms to American tastes than that found on any other ocean liners I am acquainted with, and nothing left to be desired in quality, variety, and way of serving. All the appointments of the ship for luxurious and comfortable travel are as nearly perfect as anything can be, with absolute cleanliness emphasized at every point – a trip through the culinary department prior to sitting down to a meal adding zest to one's appetite – and that's some test. The management does everything possible for the passenger's enjoyment. Nearly every evening a moving picture entertainment is given on one of the spacious decks. The ship carries films to the Orient as an item of freight, and has the use of them en route.

      A seventeen days' voyage from San Francisco to Yokohama is not long enough to exhaust the supply if an hour's exhibition were to be given every evening. The event of the voyage is the theatricals given by the ship's crew, the common sailors, who do the work of running the ship. I was not surprised to see Japanese sailors in an exhibition of ship games for the passengers' entertainment one forenoon, carrying them off creditably – games indulged in by sailors the world around: the tug-of-war, chair race, potato race, cock-fighting, etc.; but to see them put on an elaborate theatrical for an evening's entertainment filled me with wonder and admiration.

      The first act on the program was a "Union Dance." In this all leading nations were represented. And next was "The Lion Dance." They say the Japanese are imitative. I would like to know which nation they imitated in producing that beast! It was an animal about fifteen feet long. It had a bushy tail that stood in the air three feet and waved continuously. Along its back was a series of short, stubby wings; and its head! Fearfully and wonderfully made was that head, which was mounted on a serpentine neck. The genius who created that head must have searched the earth, sea, and air for inspiration in his work.

      And it danced!

      Oh, that beast danced!

      The power that moved the thing was two sailors inside, but how under the heavens they kept that tail waving, those wings working, and the eyes, ears, and tremendous jaws of that combination of earth, air, and sea monster all going at one and the same time, the while it danced, and reared, and crawled, and writhed, and gamboled, and all but flew – I would like to know how they did it. If anyone will tell me which nation they imitated to put that number on, I'll make a trip to that country – I want to see those folks. I've seen something on this order, large animals, elephants, bears, cows, etc., impersonated with man power inside, in New York, London, and Paris. They were good, too. A lot of fun. Amuse the children. But here was something good enough to – to – well, I won't say to scare a locomotive off the track, but I'll bet it would make it shy.

      The next number was "Wrestling and Fencing." A half dozen pairs of contestants. Japanese wrestling is always good and needs no comment, but the actor who announced the bouts, and the umpire who started them and announced decisions, would have made a whole evening's entertainment in themselves. Adverse comments on some of that umpire's decisions, by certain Japanese passengers, brought him to the front of the stage with a little preachment. It all being in Japanese, of course I couldn't understand what he said, but there seemed to be fire and tow and ginger in that umpire's words; indeed, everything that he did savored of fire and tow and ginger.

      I asked a Japanese passenger who sat next to me and who was not one of the dissenters: "What did the umpire say?" Turned into English the umpire said: "Go chase yourselves, you lobsters who are finding fault with my decisions. I'm umpiring these bouts, and my decisions go, see?" And they saw. Believe me, that umpire could make anyone see.

      The commander of the ship told me that that umpire finally made him "see."

      He (the umpire) is 62 years old. He asked the commander for a job, and failing to get it, he rode as a stowaway on the ship across the Pacific. He made the trip three times in that way, until finally he wore the commander out, and got his job. He is a good sailor, a star actor, and somewhat of a privileged character. I could see from the way the commander told me the story of how he got his job that he considered the umpire a good sort.

      But the climax of surprises – of common sailors holding for over two hours a most critical audience, and delighting them to the last drop of the curtain – was "Cushingura," one of Japan's classical dramas. It took a dozen or so actors to produce it. The crew, from money raised by delighted auditors, had provided splendid and appropriate costumes to dress the parts.

      That play was presented magnificently.

      It smacked nowhere of amateur theatricals. It moved off from the opening to the closing act without a hitch. So vivid and admirable was the acting, although spoken in Japanese, even those of us who could not understand the words were charmed, delighted.

      Last night a royal shogun, dressed in regal robes, treading the boards with tremendously dramatic effect; today, washing down the decks or polishing up the brass trimmings of the ship, that Japanese sailor man is an object for contemplation.

      But again: "Land ho." Japan is sighted, and all interest centers at the ship's rail as we steam towards Yokohama.

      VI

      THE JAPS' FIVE-STORY SKYSCRAPER AND A BASEMENT

      I believe I ended my last letter by ho-ing the land, and hanging a shipload of passengers over the rail, sailing into Yokohama harbor.

      When a shipload of passengers get off at Yokohama, there is joy among the rikisha boys, and the passengers who are getting their first ride in a rikisha have an experience they will never forget. The first ride in a jinrikisha in Japan is an experience to lay away among one's choice collection of experiences.

      A first ride in a rikisha has been fully described by myself and published, and to go into it in these letters would be to plagiarize myself: so, on to Tokio, the capital and largest city in Japan – the same old tremendous town, only more so – Greater Tokio has three million souls today. Compared to one of our great cities Tokio has the appearance of an overgrown village.

      Many wide thoroughfares and narrow streets lined with low one- and two-story buildings – a clean city, covering a tremendous area.

      You occasionally see a three-story building and they have one "skyscraper" that towers up into the air five stories – a landmark.

      The Mitsukoshi, Japan's one great department store, is now housed in a modest three-story building, but they are building a new store.

      The general factotum of the store who can speak English showed me a drawing of the new store. I exclaimed with admiration: "And she is going to be five stories high, isn't she?" "Yes," he said, proudly, "and a basement."

      The government buildings are not so imposing as in many other of the world's capitals, and there is no single business center. The business of the city is widely scattered. Rapid transit in Tokio is in a state of transition. The trolley has come, but not sufficiently strong to be adequate for the traffic, but enough to discourage the rikisha boys – the rikisha boy has run his legs off in Tokio. He is still here, but in decreasing numbers, and what there is left of him is the beginning of the end, so far as Tokio is concerned.

      He is an expensive proposition. He wants ten cents to take one any distance at all, and that is equivalent to a ten-cent car ride at home; and to take one any considerable distance is twenty-five cents.

      They have the taxicab, but someone else had it during my three days' stay. They have automobiles, but not to such an extent that one has to do much dodging. In an hour's ride across the city I counted six – and it was a fine day for automobile riding, too.

      To get around in Tokio is a problem. Like Washington, it is a city of magnificent

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