Mrs. Wistaria brought a box of cigarettes that my uncle had ordered. The morning is unoccupied in such a retail shop. Nobody puffs much before lunch. She set herself in a tête-à-tête. The chastity of a wife may be measured by her solo on her husband. Woman’s greatest joy often lies in lamenting the faults of her teishu. Mrs. Wistaria spoke of her husband’s being ill. I was to accept any chance for squandering my feelings. I sympathised, repeating, “Komaru nei! How sad!” She said that she was going to leave the city for a week for the spring of San Jose, to take care of her infirm dear. “I fear I may lose my customers,” she flagged. Her husband was afflicted with rheumatism. I promised to call at her store. Japs never visit an invalid without a present. Champagne? It’s too ostentatious a drink. It’s like a highly rouged woman. The loving-eyed claret should be chosen. I sent half a dozen bottles to Mrs. Wistaria’s. A charity woman should be dressed in black and white. I went to Dupont street, however, in my grey dress. Her husband struggled to entertain me. His clumsy smile appeared all the time at the wrong cue. Poor Mr. What’s-his-name! Their business was an absurdly small affair. The whole stock hardly valued above one hundred dollars. I thought I could conduct it rightly. I was carried away by a sudden fancy. “Can’t you leave your store in my hands, while you are away? Say yes! No?” I pressed myself upon them eagerly. They were amazed. “High-born lady like you? Oh, no! Doshite, doshite! Think! Do you know this is the toughest part of the town?” Mrs. Wistaria tried to make me retreat. I couldn’t listen to her, my whole soul being absorbed in my new caprice. I thought it remarkably romantic. I left the store to bring uncle to talk the matter over. Mrs. Wistaria’s store was neighboured by every saloon. The fuddling sounds overflowed in song: “Hello ma baby, hello ma honey——” 11th—Now he is my beloved uncle. He assured me of his help in carrying out my freak. “You are fitting me for a slightly better rôle, I fancy,” he said, venturing to add even one or two of his good-natured giggles. “The secretaryship of a cigar-stand is a rather more hopeful occupation than carrying your wraps through the street.” Everything was arranged. Mrs. Wistaria and her husband set off for San Jose. I am a merchant-lady. The first thing I did was to put up a dignified sign with the following black letters: MORNING GLORY CIGAR STORE. I borrowed a picture from Mrs. Willis’ parlour, and placed it by the slot machine. It is the picture of a dear Injun sitting against a woodland fire with a respectable pipe, whose smoke sails up to the yellow moon. What resignation! What dream! What joy! It did suit beautifully for the cigar-stand.