I was coming back from Seoul, Korea, to Tokio,
Japan, when I suddenly ran into our old friend "All gentlemen must be
silent!" This time he was drunk again, and sitting in a Japanese dining
car with the same Kimono on that he had worn the first time we saw him.
He saw me enter the car.

I tried to avoid him, but he was not to let this opportunity for
international courtesy go by unnoticed and unimproved. So, much to my
delight and surprise, he arose, and made a low bow.

I bowed back. He made another bow until his nose almost touched the car.
I made a return bow. He made a third one. I followed suit. He made a
fourth. I made a fourth, although I was beginning to feel dizzy and my
insides were beginning to complain.

I wondered when the thing would stop. I thought of a hundred fat men I
had seen on a Gymnasium floor trying to do the same thing and touch the
floor with their hands. I knew that there was a limit to my endurance in
a test of this kind. He bowed five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten times,
and I bowed back. I could see things whirling around me.

"Blame it, why doesn't he stop some time!" I said to myself.

I was desperate. Then suddenly I looked at him and he looked at me and
he said, with great dignity, "All gentlemen must be silent!" and sat
down, with his friends and his wines.

I don't know whether he realized how funny it was or not. I don't know
whether he even knew what he was saying in his drunken condition, but I
do know that when I got out of that car into the vestibule I had the
laugh of my life. A Japanese woman came by, smiled at me and I am sure
said to herself:

"Ah, these Americans they are all crazy!"

* * * * *

The last Flash-light of Fun is a picture from the Philippines.

I have spoken in the chapter on "Flash-lights of Faith" of the trip to
the Negrito tribe, but in that chapter I did not speak of the desperate
adventure of the trip back down the jungle trail to civilization after
the experience with the old man.

For the second time on that memorable day I dropped in my tracks with a
sunstroke. My legs refused to move. My muscles were congested with waste
matter and evidently my brain was also. When I returned to consciousness
I saw lying beside me Mr. Huddleston, an old missionary who had been in
the Philippines for many years. Across from, him was a naked Negrito who
was acting as our guide.

I looked up in a tree above us and saw what I tho