ained. "I will demonstrate
some Hookosai pictures," said little Inchie, in a tone of suppressed
excitement; and, stepping behind a screen as he spoke, reappeared almost
immediately with a handkerchief rolled round his head and his kimono
tucked up, posing in the attitude of one of the most celebrated of
Hookosai's pictures. Twenty or thirty pictures were represented, and in
each he was a different man merely by changing the muscles of his face.
Never have I seen such acting in my life; he was like a gallery of
Hookosai's pictures rolled into one, with all their queer exaggeration.

More Sake was drunk, and later in the evening Inchie became so excited
that, in order to work off his condition, he made the remarkable
proposal that he should show me a devil dance. When he emerged from
behind the screen, the geishas were frightened and drew back in alarm;
for he was no longer the gentle little monkey merchant, but a real
devil. As for the dancing, I never saw anything so superbly fine! It
almost took my breath away. He seemed almost superhuman, an ethereal
creature.

The evening ended up in the usual way. Next morning Inchie came round to
my hotel, sat down on a chair looking amazingly sheepish, and blinked
solemnly at me. "Well, what's up now, Inchie?" I inquired, seeing that
he had something to say. "Berry number one bad night last night, Sir,"
moaned Inchie with a shake of his head. "I no want you to tell people I
do the devil dance last night. They no understand and berry much talk.
Please, I beg you not tell!" And poor little Inchie went about for days
with a drooping head, looking the picture of misery. But in my opinion,
he had no reason to be ashamed of his conduct; he had shown himself to
be a versatile genius. He had acted as I never before have seen a man
act; he had also danced as I have never seen a man dance; and he had
drunk as I have never seen a man drink without becoming badly affected.
Nevertheless, this was the man who had allowed himself, and was allowing
himself, to be sworn at, bullied, and even kicked by the common sorts
and by the vulgar globe-trotters.

The day following the night of the never-to-be-forgotten dinner, Inchie
and I went, as we had intended, to Osaka to choose a fine and
sufficiently well-seasoned piece of wood for this famous and
all-important wood-carving, the eye of the peacock. I think we must have
visited every timber-yard in Osaka in search of a fitting plank, and it
was too