“I see you don’t know your own country,” Helen replied banteringly. “In California they have the flower battles when the roses are in full bloom, and they crown a king and queen, while in New Orleans they have the winter carnival. Both ideas are very similar to the flower fêtes in Japan, only here there is no necessity to crown a king.” They stopped before a number of large plants which appeared covered with flowers; the stalk of each had been secured to a stick stuck in the ground to support its burden of blossoms. “There is the highest chrysanthemum cultivation,” Helen said, indicating the bush; “you may count sometimes one thousand flowers on a single plant.” The lads looked disappointedly at the tiny blossoms. “They don’t look like the chrysanthemums we know,” Phil said. “They are so small. Ours are big and massive.” “So were these before the Japanese began the cultivation,” the girl returned. “They consider our flowers crude and ugly. The highest art is accomplished when one small plant is grown to give many hundred blossoms.” Phil strived to appear interested in the cultivation of Japan’s national flower, but his thoughts were mostly upon the identity of the man in the next compartment on the train from Tokyo. He was on the point of inquiring from Helen Tillotson the name of the driver of the machine she had come in, but he decided that it would be more seemly if she first said something about the accident. The lad had not long to wait, for as they turned about Sydney left them and he found himself alone with the girl. “You were splendid this afternoon,” she said enthusiastically. “I was so glad to see Mr. Impey taken to task for his reckless driving.” “I had no idea you were in the machine,” Phil returned, highly pleased at her friendliness. “I hope you weren’t annoyed at being held there before such a crowd. I saw it happen and my anger got the better of me. I really didn’t intend to be theatrical,” he added, blushing fiercely. “You weren’t a bit,” Helen hastened to assure him, “but I was so incensed at Mr. Impey’s retort to the anxious sailor, who was only giving him some well-meant advice, that I have refused to ride back with the Kingsleys in his car.” “The sailor was not hurt,” Phil said thoughtfully, “and I hope I haven’t made one of your friends my enemy. He is here, I suppose?” he asked, his pulse beating quicker as he remembered the similarity in voice to the man on the train. “Yes, we shall see him before long,” she replied. “He goes everywhere, and knows every one in Tokyo worth knowing.” They had come to a crossway in the path; the conversation had died out from lack of a topic. Phil contemplated the regular profile of the girl beside him. “We will turn here,” she said, indicating the path to the left, “and go to the refreshment tent. That’s where we shall find all our friends.” “I am in no hurry to return,” he exclaimed, stopping suddenly.