“I’ll never go back to Japan, I think. The dictionary for Jap girls comprises no such word as ‘No.’ But you must remember, Uncle, I have the capital ‘No’ in my head. I am a revolutionist,” I proclaimed. Then I thought much of my dear Oscar. 24th—My worthy labourer upon Gibbon’s work sat before the table for some hours. I stood behind him and dropped the fluid from a bottle on his head. “Cold! What are you doing, my little romp?” He looked up in a fright. “No harm, Uncle! It is only a remedy. Your hair is growing so thin. Do you know it? I think it a shame to appear in Greater New York with a bald gentleman.” I bought the bottle this morning. 25th—A bamboo table in my room reminded me of a take bush in the neighbouring churchyard of my Tokio home. (I cannot sound Meriken jin’s curiosity in prizing such a cheap thing. The bamboo was painted. The cross nails glared from everywhere. I never saw such a Jap work in Nippon.) Dear take, O bamboo bush! How I used to laugh, breaking the dreams of sparrows by wriggling the bush! I was so ungoverned. If I could be a grammar school girl again! I secured a reader at a bookstall. My mind was made up to present myself in the Lincoln night school and mingle with the girls in “SEE THE BOY AND THE DOG!” What fun! I went to see the stooping principal. His tarnished frock-coat—I fancied he was an old bachelor, as one button was off—was just the thing for such a _rôle_. I seemed to him a regular nenne of thirteen. He was heartily pleased with my greediness for learning English. Poor soul! He ushered me into the class for which I had brought the book. It was the hour for composition. “Ocean,” the subject. When I was seated, the girl next me winked charmingly. She threw me a note within a minute, to which I promptly replied, “Morning Glory.” My note was answered “Miss Madge, 340 Mission Street.” I wrote her, “May I call on you to-morrow?” for which she wrote, “As you please.” I was placed on the dangerous verge of clapping Byron’s poem into my “Ocean.” I manufactured one dozen of spelling errors. “You should belong to some higher class. Take this slip to the principal!” the teacher said. “You have an imagination.” She wiped her spectacles slowly. I left the room remarking, “Because I am a Japanese.” I slipped away from the school altogether. “One experience is plenty,” I declared. 26th—I went to Mission Street to call on Madge. From both sides of the street peeped the famous Jewish noses. The second-hand clothing shops parade. How droll to see those noses shrivelling like a lobster! Madge’s father owns a despicable restaurant with only four eating tables. Mamma cooks, while she sits on the counter. When I appeared, she shot out, greeting me: “Hello, Morning Glory!” “Awfully glad to see you! I have come to help you, haven’t I?” I was ready to strip off my jacket and wind myself in her apron. Her papa was dumbfounded by my sudden action.