"Ladyship is _daimyo_," the round face answered; "Tanaka is faithful _samurai_. Tanaka gives life for Ladyship!" * * * * * It was the week before New Year. All along the Ginza, which is the main thoroughfare of Tokyo, along the avenue of slender willow trees which do their gallant utmost to break the monotony of the wide ramshackle street, were spread every evening the stock-in-trade of the _yomisé_, the night shops, which cater their most diverse wares for the aimless multitudes sauntering up and down the sidewalks. There are quack medicines and stylograph pens, clean wooden altar cabinets for the kitchen gods, and images of Daikoku and Ebisu; there are cheap underclothing and old hats, food of various kinds, boots and books and toys. But most fascinating of all are the antiquities. Strewn over a square six feet of ground are curios, most attractive to the unwary, especially by the deceptive light of kerosene lamps. One in a thousand perhaps may be a piece of real value; but almost every object has a character and a charm of its own. There are old gold screens, lacquer tables and cabinets, bronze vases, gilded Buddhas, fans, woodcuts, porcelains, _kakémono_ (hanging pictures), _makimono_ (illustrated scrolls), _inro_ (lacquer medicine boxes for the pocket), _netsuké_ (ivory or bone buttons, through which the cords of the tobacco pouch are slung), _tsuba_ (sword hilts of iron ornamented with delightful landscapes of gold and silver inlay). The Ginza at night-time is a paradise for the minor collector. "_Kore wa ikura_? (How much is this?)" asked Asako, picking up a tiny silver box, which could slip into a waistcoat pocket. Inside were enshrined three gentle Buddhas of old creamy ivory, perfectly carved to the minutest petal of the full-blown lotus upon which each reposed. "Indeed, it is the end of the year. We must sell all things cheaply," answered the merchant. "It is asked sixty _yen_ for true ancient artistic object." "Such a thing is not said," replied Asako, her Japanese becoming quite fluent with the return of her light-heartedness. "Perhaps a joke is being made. It would be possible to give ten _yen_." The old curio vender, with the face and spare figure of Julius Caesar, turned aside from such idle talk with a shrug of hopelessness. He affected to be more interested in lighting his slender pipe over the chimney of the lamp which hung suspended over his wares. "Ten _yen_! Please see!" said Asako, showing a banknote. The merchant shook his head and puffed. Asako turned away into the stream of passers-by. She had not gone, ten yards, however, before she felt a touch on her kimono sleeve. It was Julius Caesar with his curio. "Indeed, _okusan_, there must be reduction. Thirty _yen_; take it, please." He pressed the little box into Asako's hand. "Twenty _yen_," she bargained, holding out two notes. "It is loss! It is loss!" he murmured; but he shuffled back to his stall again, very well content.