Upon Shibusawa’s arrival at the mansion he separated from his father and, going to his own apartments, lay down to rest. The relaxation, due to a change of solicitude, overcame his feverish anxiety and soon put him fast asleep. When he arose, late in the afternoon, he set about his duties as if no serious problem had ever entered his life, and when he met Ikamon, his first caller, he proved himself the master of his own situation.

The news of Shibusawa’s return had soon spread, though it created little interest beyond the circle of his immediate family. There was a time when such an occurrence would have been heralded as an important event, but now the lord daimyo no longer held the sway he once did. True, there was no falling off in his power, and indirectly no slackening of his influence; still that influence had come to be exercised largely through the medium of Ikamon, and Maido’s wealth and position were more and more accounted as the latter’s strength.

Going away from home at so early an age and remaining away for so long a time, Shibusawa had never become well known at Tokyo, and almost ceased to be taken into account in reckoning the family’s political or social status. Though Maido’s neglect, occasioned largely by grief for his absent son, had enabled Ikamon to gradually appropriate to his own use the family’s place and wealth, it was not so intended; and nobody knew better than the wily son-in-law himself that default rather than purpose permitted him to enjoy the almost unlimited use of another’s fortune. When Shibusawa returned, Ikamon therefore hastened to cultivate with the son that same friendly intercourse which he had always enjoyed with the father. In consequence he extended to his relative a hearty greeting, which to his surprise met with a generous response.

This readiness to take the hand of fellowship did not arise from any lack of understanding, nor could its motive be in the least questioned. Shibusawa desired to cultivate a better acquaintance with his father’s associates and contemporaries as well as to meet and revive old friendships. Persistency rapidly bore its fruit, for not alone his rank, but his superior education and polish gave him place, while his quiet, unobtrusive manner brought him into respect with all the more progressive of the shogun’s court.

In matters of state Maido had gradually released his hold, and now that he had grown old and less inclined to assume the responsibility he began to long for the freedom of the country. The son, as best he could, assumed those duties which of necessity must sooner or later have devolved entirely upon him, and together they planned so well that by autumn they were enabled to determine upon returning for an indefinite period to their home province, Kanazawa.

“Your long continued and able service,” said Ikamon with enthusiasm, when advised of their plans, “demands some recognition at the hands of those who can ill afford to lose your presence at court. And to me, sir, it is the greatest pleasure of my life to offer some entertainment to my friends and to your friends and to be permitted the privilege. Come, my good Maido, you shall not say no, and Shibusawa, I venture, will not.”

“My son-in-law, my Ikamon, your good protestations overwhelm me. I certainly do not deserve such kindly notice. I cannot make you a ready answer—Shibusawa, will you be so good as to speak for me?”

“Yes, father,” said the son, politely bowing. “If his highness, the prime minister, so desires, I feel that it is a great privilege to acknowledge the honour.”

“And Ikamon shall make the occasion worthy the guests,” said the designing official, enthusiastic over the prospects.

Now Maido and his family could not make so important a move without first obtaining the consent of the shogun, and as this rested primarily with the prime minister, Shibusawa may have had good reason for so quickly acceding to the doing of what he knew to be tainted with something more than mere friendship. They earnestly desired the privilege of absenting themselves from the capital, not alone that Maido might enjoy the freedom of his former life and the intercourse with his people, but that Shibusawa might begin his active career at home, where he could better become acquainted, and familiarise himself with the needs and resources of the prefecture. Maido, now in his declining years, also craved the liberty of his child’s companionship freed from the cares of court life, especially that there were no pressing duties at the capital. He therefore set forth his reasons and requests in a letter, forthwith despatched to the department.

The answer soon came back at the hands of Ikamon himself, who, as a mark of extreme deference, took along for the first time his respected wife, Yasuko, a courtesy which so pleased Maido that he never forgot the incident. Indeed, they were received with so much cordiality that the set call was soon turned into an informal affair, and the little party did not break up until a late hour. After refreshments had been served they sat pleasantly chatting, the two elders about matters interesting to them, thus leaving Yasuko and Shibusawa to indulge themselves as they liked.

It was Shibusawa’s first real opportunity to hear the neighbourhood gossip, and while not at all a busybody he took advantage of the occasion to learn some of the doings affecting him most. But Yasuko was little given to gadding about, and in consequence not as conversant with the neighbourhood affairs as some others. Indeed, she had never heard of such a person as Kinsan,—nor did Shibusawa suspect that she had ever had an opportunity or reason to hear of one in her caste,—therefore, however much desired, though not expected, he gained no information in that direction.

“I do wish you would try to see Nehachibana before you go away to Kanazawa. I fear it may be a long time, Shibusawa, before you shall again have a chance.” said Yasuko, earnestly, while they were alone and out of hearing distance of the rest of those present.

“I should very much like to,” answered he, interestedly; “but I am so prejudiced against that husband of hers, Tetsutaisho, that I almost dread to go.”

“But she is so disconsolate! And, poor thing, she is jealous, and yet so wrapped up in him. I wonder she does not do some dreadful thing.”

“I presume I shall have to go there or not see her at all.”

“She seldom goes away from the house, and when she does her mother-in-law goes foremost, you can be sure of that.”

“Well, I shall manage in some way before I go, though probably it will not be until later. I shall have to encounter the husband first.”

“Oh, do, Shibusawa; I shall be so glad, and I know it will cheer her up. You remember that she was always so fond of you, and you may be able to encourage her. Please do not fail.”

“Very well; I promise you.”

Presently Ikamon came toward them, and the conversation was changed to something less personal. Then after a few pleasantries the callers began to make ready to take leave.

“I dare say,” said Ikamon, adroitly, as they were about to leave the house, “Yasuko has enjoyed this evening; her brother is seldom absent from her mind, and did I not share the same good trait I certainly should be a little jealous. Yes, sir; we think of you and your good father often, and we regret to see you going so far away from us. Yet we hope that the country will not hold you long, and that you will soon be returning to the capital, where you are so exceedingly welcome, and so illy spared.”

While it pleased Shibusawa to see such good cheer and hear praise bestowed upon his father, the encomium did not in any manner carry him away nor cause him to suspect the giver; he merely passed it by as a personal trait, without any regard to the real source of its apparent emanation. Secretly he had long ago determined that he and his family, or any other, would be courted just so long as they made themselves worth the while. He appreciated Ikamon’s kindness in suggesting the entertainment, and, regardless of the motive or consequences, proposed to enjoy such benefits as were of right his portion, so long as no moral or material right was infringed upon.

After consulting Maido’s convenience as to the time of the entertainment, Ikamon and his wife withdrew amid hearty salutations and started toward their home. The sky was clear and the moon up as they sped along in the cool of night, listening to the patter of the carriers’ feet, or looking out upon the world of beauty around them. Theirs was a happy contrast with those less fortunate, for—even in feudal Japan—this mighty statesman once delved into mother earth for meagre sustenance. There, too, the lowly rose to power and fame, and, as the great minister leaned back under the golden canopy and sniffed the balmy air floating in at the open sides, he marvelled at his own success and swelled with pride at his extraordinary rise.

“It is the power of logic that sends men on their destined way. The sway of chance or the hand of justice has little to do with the mysteries of man’s universe; it is the certainty of the thing that counts for much. The success makes right, and Ikamon knows no wrong,” said he to himself as they came close to their gilded mansion and a hundred tired backs welcomed the small relief.

Ikamon arose and stepped out of the tasselled chair, and stood waiting to assist Yasuko. Ready and willing maids had already spread the leopard skin, and as she thrust forward her dainty, white stockinged feet, two gold-lacquered shoes were placed for them. Her husband extended his hand, and she arose, gracefully walking toward the house where is known “the golden crow” and “the jewelled hare,” the law’s luxury and man’s inheritance.

The prime minister drew from his girdle a string of “cash” which he scattered, and a horde of thankful underlings scrambled for the bounty. He too entered the privileged house, and soon after, taking his proper leave, retired to his own chamber, where he planned and schemed the grandest geisha party that his age had known.