I don’t mind being covered with even red hair. Red hair is vivacity, fit for Summer’s shiny air. I remember that I trembled at sight of the red hair of an American woman at Tokio. Japanese regard it as the hair of the red demon in Jigoku. I sat before the looking-glass, with a pair of curling-tongs. I tried to manage them with surprising patience. I assure you God doesn’t vouchsafe me much patience. Such disobedient tools! They didn’t work at all. I threw them on the floor in indignation. [Illustration: Drawn by Genjiro Yeto “SUCH DISOBEDIENT TOOLS!” ] My wrists pained. I sat on the floor, stretching out my legs. My shoe-strings were loosed, but my hand did not hasten to them. I was exhausted with making my hair curl. I sent my uncle to fetch a hair-dresser. 28th—How old is she? I could never suggest the age of a Meriken woman. That Miss Ada was a beauty. It’s becoming clearer to me now why California puts so much pride in her own girls. Ada was a San Franciscan whom Mrs. Consul presented to me. What was her family name? Never mind! It is an extra to remember it for girls. We don’t use it. How envious I was of her long eyelashes lacing around the large eyes of brown hue! Brown was my preference for the velvet hanao of my wooden clogs. Long eyelashes are a grace, like the long skirt. I know that she is a clever young thing. She was learned in the art of raising and dropping her curtain of eyelashes. That is the art of being enchanting. I had said that nothing could beat the beauty of my black eyes. But I see there are other pretty eyes in this world. Everything doesn’t grow in Japan. Noses particularly. My sweet Ada’s nose was an inspiration, like the snow-capped peak of O Fuji San. It rose calmly—how symmetrically!—from between her eyebrows. I had thought that ’Merican nose was rugged, big of bone. I see an exception in Ada. She must be the pattern of Meriken beauty. I felt that I was so very homely. I stole a sly glance into the looking-glass, and convinced myself that I was a beauty also, but Oriental. We had different attractions. She may be Spring white sunshine, while I am yellow Autumn moonbeams. One is animation, and the other sweetness. I smiled. She smiled back promptly. We promised love in our little smile. She placed her hand on my shoulder. How her diamond ring flashed! She praised the satin skin of my face. She was very white, with a few sprinkles of freckles. Their scattering added briskness to the face in her case. (But doesn’t San Francisco produce too many freckles in woman?) The texture of Ada’s skin wasn’t fine. Her face was like a ripe peach with powdery hair. Is it true that dark skin is gaining popularity in American society? The Japanese type of beauty is coming to the front then, I am happy. I repaid her compliment, praising her elegant set of teeth. Ada is the free-born girl of modern Amerikey. She need never fear to open her mouth wide.