A Russian doctor, wearing mufti, but displaying a couple of orders of the old Russian régime, tries me in German, then Italian. We get on quite well for a time, when he breaks into English--“My son--four years Yokohama in school--she talks very good English--one, two, three, four years. I study English two months.” I congratulate him on his ability in English after such a short period of study. Japanese captains come smiling, to inform me that they do not speak English, whereupon they proceed to do so with amazing facility. It is the Japanese custom to deprecate their own accomplishments. I am urged to drink a glass of vodka with a Cossack officer, and at the same time a Japanese officer asserts that he will be overjoyed if I will drink with him a thimble full of saki. Another Japanese comes with a bottle of brandy and holds out a glass for me, and on the other side of the table a Japanese holds up a bottle of French wine and informs me joyously that it is “White Wine,” and that I must have some with him. While this is going on a Japanese soldier, egged on by the Buddhist priest, is pouring me a glass of Sapporo beer because I have mentioned the fact that I was once in Sapporo, Japan. I now have a half circle of filled glasses before me, and in order to avoid drinking them all at once, profess great interest in a dish on the table which appears to be filled with raw shark, the skin still on the pieces. The Vancouver priest tells me it does not taste good, and makes a grimace, but he says I must eat it, for it is Japanese custom. I do so, while all my friends who have poured out liquors for me, wait patiently for me to consume the contents of the various glasses. I have visions of myself carried back to my hotel on a board, and wonder how diplomats ever attain long lives. The Russian doctor catches my eye across the table once more. He goes around the flank in great excitement, grasps the arm with which I am feeding myself raw shark, and informs me in stentorian tones: “My son--four years Yokohama--she speaks very good English. I study two months.” I swallow the shark and congratulate him. My eye roves. It cannot evade the semi-circle of friendly eyes which wait like wolves ready to attack, in case I do not drink from the glasses before me. I take a sip from each glass, bowing deeply each time I pretend to drink. I feel that while I may not be a brilliant success as a diplomat, I have unsuspected possibilities as an acrobat. I discovered muscles in my back which I never knew before that I had--and they were getting tired. Everybody bows in triumph as I sip from the last glass, and I am sure that the mixture of liquors I have absorbed has poisoned me--if it has not, the shark will!