er the floor, but each one
smothered with work. "Look here," said my friend very generously: "it
was I that introduced Kiyosai to you, and it was I that suggested his
painting these doors; therefore it is only fair that I should relieve
you of them and find you a new set, which I will willingly do." But the
owner of the panels, shrewdly guessing that my friend had not made this
magnanimous offer without some good reason, changed his mind and said
that he could on no account receive so costly a gift. He kept them, and
wisely too, for these four panels are now universally considered as
some of Kiyosai's greatest masterpieces.

[Illustration: REFLECTIONS]

Strange to say, Kiyosai, when painting his finest work, is nearly always
drunk, and his weakness is often taken a mean advantage of by the people
around him. I remember once attending a party given by a Legation person
who had invited a dozen or so of Japan's finest artists--among them the
great Kiyosai, the master--to paint pictures on the floor for the
edification of the assembled guests--a rather vulgar proceeding. Kiyosai
resented this indignity with all the force of his passionate nature, but
out of kindness allowed himself to be over-persuaded by his host. They
made him drink and keep on drinking to build up his enthusiasm; but,
boiling over with rage and indignation, he kept on putting off his time
until the whole twelve artists had finished the sketches, although,
fearing that the effect of the drink would wear off, the guests begged
him to start at once. At last Kiyosai's time came. The silk lay prepared
on the floor, with the ink and brushes ready for him to begin. Mad with
rage and hating his unsympathetic audience, Kiyosai stood, or rather
knelt, before his silk, fiercely grasping the brush, holding it
downwards with all his fingers round it and thumb turned outwards. He
looked like a god as he knelt there, gripping his brush and staring at
the silk--he was seeing his picture. He executed a flight of crows, a
masterpiece--Kiyosai knew it was a masterpiece--and, proudly drawing
himself up to his full height, quivering in every limb, he threw down
his brush, skidded the silk along the floor towards the spectators,
and, saying "That is Kiyosai," left the house in disgust. The dignity of
the little man cowed his spectators. Every one unconsciously felt the
magnetism of the man, and realised that a master had been among them.

PLACING

CHAPTER IV