This morning he exclaimed: “Americans have no courtesy for strangers, except meaning money.” And he finished his speech with his boisterous “Ha, ha, ha!” A pale impatient lady, like a trembling winter leaf, sitting at the table next to us, shrugged her shoulders and muttered, “Oh, my!” I hoped I could invent any scheme to make him hasten to his post—Kara or Tenjiku, whatever place it be. He is good-natured like a rubber stamp. But I am sorry to say that he does not fit Amerikey. I was relieved when he announced that his departure would occur to-morrow. My dignity was saved. I cut a square piece of paper. I pencilled on it as follows: To the Japanese Legation. The City of Mexico. Handle Carefully, Easily Broken. I put it on the large palm of the minister. I warned him that he should never forget to pin it on his breast. “Mean little thing you are!” he said. And his great happy “Ha, ha, ha!” followed as usual. Bye-bye! * * * * * The negroes are horrid. I scanned them on the first chance of my life. What is the standard of beauty of their tribe, I am eager to be informed! I searched for “coon” in my dictionary. The explanation was unsatisfactory. The ever-so-kind Americans don’t consider them, I am certain, as “animals allied to the bear.” Tell me what it means. 24th—Spittoon! The American spittoon is famous, Uncle says. From every corner in this nine-story hotel—think of its eight hundred and fifty-one rooms!—you are met by the greeting of the spittoon. How many thousand are there? It must be a tremendous task to keep them clean as they are. I wonder why the proprietor doesn’t give the city the benefit of some of them. San Francisco ought to place spittoons along the sidewalk. The ladies wear such a long gaudy skirt. And it is quite a fashion of modern gents, it appears, to spit on the pavements. This Palace Hotel is a palace. You drop into the toilet room, for instance. You cannot help exclaiming: “Iya, haya, Japan is three centuries behind!” Everything presents to you a silent lecture of scientific modernism. Whenever I am bothered too much by my uncle I lock myself up in the toilet room. There I feel the whole world is mine. I can take off my shoes. I can play acrobat if I prefer. Nobody can spy me. It is the place where you can pray or cry all you desire without one interruption. My room is great, equipped with every new invention. Numbers of electric globes dazzle with kingly light above my head. If I enter my room at dusk, I push a button of electricity. What a satisfaction I earn seeing every light appear to my honourable service! I look upon my finger wondering how such an Oriental little thing can make itself potent like the mighty thumb of Mr. Edison. 25th—What a novel sensation I felt in writing “San Francisco, U.S.A.,” at the head of my tablet!