"Thank God, that's over," said Butterfield. "If there's anything much more deadly than the banquets of the Nippon-Columbia Society, I don't want to see it."

They had come down from the banquet hall in the Imperial Hotel, a group of correspondents, Kittrick, Kent, Butterfield and Templeton, with Roberts, just arrived from New York to gather material for a series of magazine articles; Sands, an engineer who had something to do with the new subway, and one or two others. At one end of Peacock Alley they found a table where they might observe the crowd, the men coming down here to meet the women who had dined below in the main dining room, Japanese and foreigners mingling, concentrating in little groups about the guests of honor, an eminent engineer from America, a Cabinet member from Washington, and a couple of Congressmen of whom no one in Tokyo had heard until they arrived in Japan, unofficially, of course, it was given out, but as "Ambassadors of Friendship," as the newspapers called them.

Butterfield was still grouching. "Here I've been to dozens of these affairs, and I wonder if I'll ever come away from one without a bad taste in my mouth. It makes me sick, all this fulsomeness. Take to-night, Barry talking as if the Japanese were the only engineers in the world, as if they had invented the steam engine, electricity, telephones, radio and all that. Here Japan is suffering so badly from swelled head that the best service one may do her is to tell her the truth, for her own good, and still whenever we have distinguished visitors here, they always insist on making asses of themselves. Barry is a pleasant enough, kindly old ass, but, heavens, the only way I could stand his speech to-night was by watching Matthews. He has in one way or another been behind half the things that Barry was lauding our Japanese friends for. Did you see his face? It was the only fun I got out of it all, seeing Matthews' face getting redder and redder. I thought he'd have a fit. But all the rest of it honestly gets my goat; the main table, with old Count Ibara sitting through the speeches waiting for the time when he'll have a chance to spring his eternal story about his college days with President Wilson. I can stand on my head and write a complete report of these meetings as they were ten years ago, as they will be ten years from now; old Baron Nishida leads off with "Perry's Black Ships" and everlasting love for America. Eminent American stands up and talks of Bushido—I have lived here ten years, and I've yet to hear Bushido mentioned by a Japanese; it's as dead as the rules of knighthood with us—more Eminent Americans tell the Japanese how wonderful they are. Why the devil is it that when an American comes here, he must almost invariably make a fool of himself? Of course, the trouble is often that they are generally mediocrities who become all puffed up at the attentions they get here; and then we do send out such asses. Do you remember the Congressional Party some years ago? The men acted like clodhoppers, and their women were worse. That's where the Japanese are wiser than we are. When they let any one represent them, officially or semi-officially, abroad, they hand-pick them, send only the best they have, and our people at home get a wonderful idea of the advanced stage of Japan. That's how half the good spirit towards Japan was built up at the Washington Conference; they sent their best men in the entourage of the delegation, who chummed with our newspapermen and writers; the best kind of advertising.

"But we let loose third-rate Congressmen, ebullient business men, who let Japanese hospitality get to their heads and proceed to slobber all over the landscape. I wouldn't mind if it were not for the fact that just as we in America judge the Japanese people from the Japanese who make a splash there, thus the Japanese judge us Americans from the kind of specimens who come over here and spill their foolishness as these fellows did to-night. We Americans ought to have a censorship here to prevent visiting notables from making speeches which have not been carefully edited."

"But what do you come here for then, if you dislike it so?" It was Roberts, the magazine man. "Why do you belong to the Society at all if you think it does no good?"

"But I don't say that. I admit it does good. Anything does that brings Americans and Japanese together in a friendly way. But what I object to is the effervescence of our visitors. I think it is proper that we should be courteous, cordial, friendly towards the Japanese, but what's the use of telling them that we think they love us, when we know darned well they don't. That old chap at the left of Barry tried some time ago in the Privy Council to have the Japan American suppressed for no reason except that it had translated some embarrassing editorials from a Japanese paper. The business premises of Americans are ransacked by the police and accusations are constantly being made that 'a certain nation' is cramming this country with spies; some of our most prominent engineering firms are having their business seriously interfered with because of constant 'spy' charges. They have no use for us, and they have no use for England. They think we euchred them at the Washington Conference. They feel that when we called off on militarism, we did away with the one chance which Japan had to be a great nation. They have no use for us big nations who, they feel, are constantly interfering with the development of the policies they would like to pursue in Asia. Mind you, I believe in being friendly—it's indefensible to stir up needless trouble between America and Japan—but I don't believe in slopping over, and I think it is right to let them know that we know jolly well how they feel about us. The funny thing is, Roberts, and every man who has lived here any time will tell you the same, that just as sentiment in America towards Japan has become more and more friendly since the Washington Conference, in the same ratio Japanese sentiment is becoming unfriendly towards America. It may be largely the doings of the militarists. Possibly they're the ones who are egging the police on with these eternal spy scares. It may be part of their plans to counteract the general agitation for army reduction; to justify an army, there must be a potential enemy, and America is the most obvious one. So put it down to the militarists, if you like. They're the official goat, anyway."

"Yes, that's the popular game to-day, cussing the militarists," cut in Kent. "Still, you know, I can see their point of view even if, God knows, I condemn their methods. Look here, there's no use denying that just one thing made Japan great, her army and navy. Take them away, and the other Powers would put her in the class of, say, Spain. Now we have decreed that hereafter we will measure nations by industrial and commercial greatness, and the Japanese see that they're being left way behind. The militarists see that Japan can remain great only in the same way as she became great, by the sword. Now, it's probably sure enough that they have given up the old idea of an offensive outside of Asia; but what I think they are working up to is establishing a line of defense to the eastward, and once that's complete, they will be ready to do as they please in Asia; probably they feel that we won't easily be led into war against them, anyway.

"And it seems plain that they must go into the continent of Asia. That's where they must get raw materials for their industries which they haven't at home. That's the only place to which we'll let them emigrate——"

"Oh, hell, don't spring that worn-out theory of Japan's overflowing," interrupted Templeton. "As Japan industrializes, she'll take care of her population; and there's still room in Japan for lots of additional people. Premier Hara himself told me once that there was room for millions in Hokkaido alone."

"Sure," Kent flashed back. "Just as there's lots of room in America for the Americans. We don't have to emigrate, and still we would resent it, wouldn't we, if we were told that we couldn't go where we pleased. Here Japan sees her friends, America and Great Britain, possessing enormous tracts that lie idle for want of settlers—take Australia, for instance, where they are yelling for immigrants, and still they won't let the Japanese in—and while the Japanese would like to go there, and would develop these lands highly, as we all know, we tell them no, stay home in icy Hokkaido. You talk about worn-out theories, Templeton; what about that old stuff about Japanese driving out the whites wherever they enter. How is a nation of less than sixty millions going to swarm all over America and Australia and the rest of the earth. They may breed like rabbits, but they would have to breed like herrings to do that. And, anyway, even if we must keep them from immigrating into America in masses—as we ought to keep out the hordes of low class Latins and Slavs, people a sight lower than the Japanese, whom we have let overrun our country—we might be less offensive about it. We all know that what makes Japan sore is not the fact that she can't send her surplus over to America; the Japanese Government wants them to go west, not east, in fact; but it's the insult to her race pride, the circumstance that a Doctor Takamine, a Doctor Kitisato, people who rank among the best brains in the world, can't become American citizens, should they wish to do so; but under our laws we can give citizenship to Kaffirs and Hottentots, anything that's black and comes out of Africa.

"You're looking into conditions in the Far East, Roberts. Take a look at that angle of the question. We, the Anglo-Saxons, insist on holding the Oriental down. We say that's not because we think he's lower than we are, but what are mere words? We're judged by our actions. Now, you notice how the Japanese papers every now and then break out with Pan-Asia propaganda, calling for a combination of the peoples of China, of India, of all Asia, to stand together against the White, under Japan's 'hegemony,' as they put it. If you'd been here at the time Kemal Pasha was telling England to go to Hades, you would have noticed how the Japanese press applauded him; here, they boasted joyfully, was finally an Asiatic defying the Anglo-Saxon, the Christian, and getting away with it. We're bringing it upon ourselves. Japan has lost lots of chances in the past to become the leader of Asia, but she may become so yet; and that's what I think may be the militarist policy; either they aspire to hold Japan in readiness to lead the rest of Asia, or they may simply be preparing for the next time Europe and America are too busy elsewhere to watch Asia, and then take what they want in Manchuria and Mongolia. When you look upon all these things in the light that the Japanese militarist looks upon them, you can, at least, understand what he's driving at. I'm not a jingo. War between Japan and America would be the most silly, the most damnable thing you can think of; but I don't think we are using the best methods to avoid it. Instead of going so strong on the brotherhood stuff, hands across the seas and empty words, we should try to understand Japan a little better. As it is, I'm sure that the nation at large, the Government as represented by the Foreign Office, for instance, wants only friendship; but you must remember that the General Staff is still running things to a large extent, and is there any one of you who doesn't think they do not expect war with us sometime, sooner or later?"

"Suppose they do," Sands, the engineer, leaned forward. "What hope can they have of success? The next war will be fought in the air, they say, and there Japan is helpless. We run regular air-mail services from the Atlantic to the Pacific. The Japanese have not as yet been able to stage a mail flight between Tokyo and Osaka, a few hundred miles, without having participants dropping to earth. The Japanese have no machine sense; they can run an engine when it's running smoothly, but they're at sea in an emergency. That's why they're always tumbling down with their airplanes. And modern war depends on industrial organization, ability to work up and maintain tremendous outputs of material. Japan simply hasn't the ability to do that. She'd be beaten on that point alone."

"You may be right, Sands," Kittrick took up the argument. "But it is not a question of war just now or for some years to come, thank God. The next point of difference, I take it, will be the racial equality question that has been smoldering ever since the Paris Conference. And that's just where the world has been treating Japan wrong, granting national equality, but not racial. It should be just the opposite. I'm willing to grant any moment that racially the Japanese is as good as we are and a sight better than lots of the white scum we admit to citizenship, but nationally, no, sir; as long as Japan is run as she is at present, with militarists capable of and quite willing to break the nation's international pledges, no matter how sincere the diplomats may or may not be in making them, just so long do I object to national equality. The individual Japanese may be quite as good intrinsically as we are, but the present system is not bringing out his capabilities, and to contend that Japan is as great a nation as America or England is plain rot."

"So you would want to admit Japanese to American citizenship?" asked Roberts.

"Only after they had assimilated American training and ideals; but that is just the point; as they are here in Japan I don't think they're fit for citizenship of any country, any more than are the low-class Europeans we import; but I contend that they are just as capable of assimilation as are any other nationals. There's a bird here in Tokyo who used to be in charge of the school system in Hawaii where forty per cent. of the school children are Japanese, and he tells me that these kiddies, under American training, are becoming as capable, as honest and as loyal Americans as are any children under the flag, white, black or brown. The American-trained Japanese is as efficient as we are; the Japanese-trained Japanese is ineffective; it takes four or five of them to do the work that a white man can do. It all shows that the fault lies with the government here, the whole system. There's nothing the matter with the Japanese; he's the same, mentally and morally as the rest of us, with a few virtues such as cleanliness and industry thrown in, but you have to take him away from the atmosphere here, of incapacity, deceit, graft, the spirit that is exemplified by their proverb: 'Uso wa Nihon no takara.'"

"What's that, what's that?" Roberts had been taking it all in anxiously.

"Oh, it's simply a proverb to the effect that lies, deceit, craft, whatever you may choose to call it, is the treasure of Japan. It's a fine sentiment for a proverb, isn't it? Still it's fairly typical of the situation. In fact, I think that that point, the fact that Japan regards falsehood, deceit, in a light far more lenient than we do, accounts more than anything else for the feeling of racial difference between us. The average Japanese does not greatly mind being caught in a lie; it conveys no distinct sense of shame to him; it's simply a difference in ethical viewpoint, just as the Japanese look with abhorrence on some of our ethical shortcomings, our comparatively scant respect for old age, and all that—but it's the variant in Japanese character which we find it the hardest to understand."

"You claim then that all Japanese are liars, to put it tersely?" insisted Roberts.

"Not by a long sight. I know Japanese whose word is as good to me as that of any white man. Of some of the big men and big firms you might even say that their word is better than their bond; they'd rather be generous than merely just, and the Japanese is far from being a piker. There are lots of absolutely truthful Japanese just as there are lots of whites who are thorough-going liars. But you might say that whereas with the white man we take it for granted that he tells the truth until we find out that he's a liar, with the Japanese one's inclined to take it for granted that he's a liar until one learns the contrary. It may be a blunt way of putting it, but it's the best I can do; and I think that once the Japanese come to adopt our ethical point of view in this respect, the same as they have adopted so many material things from us, the greatest bar between the races will be removed.

"I should like to see it removed. I like the Japanese, and even if I do realize that they don't like us, I can't greatly blame them. I feel that we must appear arrogant to them, even when we are trying to produce the feeling of quality—possibly even more so then—and so many whites, especially among our own newcomers here, are beastly trying. When I see our drummers and flappers, just off the ships, sitting in trains, pointing at and commenting about Japanese men and women, careless of the fact or not knowing that many of these people speak foreign languages, I feel resentment myself, and I can understand what the Japanese must feel. They have their faults and their scandals, but are they worse on the whole than are ours? They treat us better here than we treat them in America. I rave and rant at them as much as do the rest of you; and yet, when it comes right down to the point, I like them, and I wish them well, at least the people, the great masses, the real nation, and I am sorry when I see the country shooting down-grade, power going, wealth, industry, commerce, all going, I feel it is a great pity. I want to see some great man come and lead them out of this wilderness, some one like the great Meiji—but, where is he?"

"But what about the Prince Regent, then?" Roberts was using his opportunity for copy. "He——"

Kittrick leaned forward to him, outstretched arm upsetting the liquor glass before him. "So sorry, old man. Here, boy-san, quick, wipe up this mess and get another glass for Mr. Roberts." He waited until the boy had left them. "Really, Roberts, it seemed a rude thing to do, but you simply must not talk about the Imperial House in front of these boys, who like as not are in the pay of the Foreign Office or the police. Possibly what you were going to say might have been all right, but I was afraid to take the chance. Remember this is in many respects the Land of the Free far more than our own United States. We can drink what we please and have far more personal liberty in thousands of ways. You can even cuss the government quite freely as long as you don't preach Communism, or Sovietism, or that kind of rot; but, when it comes to mention of the Imperial House, they stand for no nonsense. It's the law of the land. It's safest to keep quiet."

The crowd in Peacock Alley was passing away, up the stairways to the ballroom. The rest of the men followed; Kittrick and Roberts were alone for the moment. "But just tell me this," the magazine man was noted for his insistence. "What do you, from what you hear, think about it? What are the chances, in your opinion, of the Prince Regent becoming a second Meiji?"

"My dear man, I have no more idea about it than if I lived in Lima. The pitifully few points we do know are hopeful. When he returned from England, the police, according to the old rule, forbade cheering; but the crowd cheered, anyway, for the first time in history, and it was quite plain that the Prince Regent liked it. Then, a little later, when the crowd at Kyoto broke through the cordons and came closer than had been ordained, he remained with it longer than the set time. The mayor resigned, "took the responsibility" as they call it; but the point is that the Prince Regent was immensely pleased.

"That's about all I know that's of significance. Pitifully meager, isn't it? But the fact is that we know less of what is really going on inside Tokyo palace walls than we do about the holy of holies in Lhassa. What are the influences surrounding the ruler of Japan, modern or reactionary, sixteenth century or twentieth century? It is possible that the entire future of Japan, of the Far East, depends on just that one thing—and yet we don't know a blessed thing about it, I, the rest of the correspondents, any one, in fact. No one knows, except the infinitely narrow and secretive circle of the highest officials. The Prince Regent is seen at official functions, he sees foreigners, entirely formally, quite occasionally, but outside of the scant official announcements which give no real information at all, the world knows nothing. When you think of our present-day news facilities, cables, wireless, and the rest, it seems impossible, incredible, that we shouldn't know a little, have some slight idea; but it remains, to my mind at least, the biggest and the most fascinating mystery in the world. If any country ever stood at the crossroads, if any country ever needed a great man to lead it, that's Japan to-day. Will the Prince Regent be a second Meiji?" He threw his hands wide. "Go and find out, and you'll have one of the biggest stories of the year."

Kent came over to them. "I say, aren't you chaps coming upstairs?" They went up together, to the ballroom where dancing had already begun, and stood near the entrance watching the dancers.

"An odd scene, isn't it, this combination of East and West," commented Roberts. "They actually do seem graceful with their wonderful, fanciful kimonos. Look at this girl just passing us. Can they really dance?"

"Can a duck swim? That young lady is Miss Kimiko Suzuki, a special friend of Kent's." Kittrick turned towards Kent. "Roberts is just admiring your friend, Miss Kimiko——" But Kent was not listening. He had noticed Sylvia coming towards them and stepped forward to meet her. "I was hoping to see you here. You know, I haven't seen you since that night at Ikegami."

"I am just on my way to find some cool place." He followed her as she went towards the stairway. "There's such a crush in here, and I am rather tired, anyway."

They found a nook, balcony-like, discreetly tucked away in the labyrinth of porticoes and passages, overhanging a court with a long stone-set pool, whose jet-black, surface, lacquer-like, gave back glimmering reflection of the stars. A few commonplaces; then they fell silent. He reflected how odd it was that with this girl he obtained complete satisfaction, the delicious feeling of absolute content, superlative well-being, by merely being in her presence. Strains of a waltz air came down to them, softened, etherealized by distance, intertwined with the sound from a fountain plashing into the pool, monotonous, hypnotic. She was leaning forward, cheek pillowed on one hand, the other lying on the balustrade. He took it between his, held it, without definite forethought, intention; somehow, it seemed just the natural thing to do—and apparently it seemed so to her, too; she let it rest there; merely looked at him softly, dreamily, hardly even questioning. He knew that he would make love to her, would ask her to marry him; ideas, words began to stir about, moving as if in a jumble in his mind, trying to form themselves into phrases; but they refused to shape themselves into tangible, definite sentences, and he felt as if they were hardly necessary. They were in the perfect accord, attunement, that rendered words superfluous. Of course, he must say them some time, later in the evening, in a few minutes, perhaps, but now, just now, he wished merely to sit like this, enjoying the sense of their coming together, fusion, love, brought about perfectly, disdainful of the crude medium of words.

But a mumble of voices could be heard among the pillars behind them. A group passed, unseen, chattering, below. Hurried footsteps rang along the tiles. He roused himself. "Sylvia——"

The footsteps had come right up to them. "Here, Kent." It was Karsten; of all men one would have thought that he at least would have had more tact. But he rushed right up to them heedlessly, blunderingly. "Kent, I've been hunting high and low for you. Kikuchi is waiting for you in his auto at the side entrance to take you to the cable office. Big news. Beat it. Don't bother about your hat or stick. I don't know what it is, but it's big news. For God's sake, hurry," he was propelling him down the hallway now. "I'll look after Miss Elliott for you in the meanwhile; only move."

As he peered into the automobile standing at the side entrance, hands seized him and dragged him in. "Kyubashi post-office, quick." It was Kikuchi's voice giving directions to the chauffeur. "Kent, old man, I'm giving you the beat of the year. Mito, the Premier, was assassinated less than half an hour ago. I happened to be at my father's house when they notified him. The cable office closes in fifteen minutes. The news isn't out yet. You have a chance to beat the world. You did me a favor with Kimiko-san, though probably you may not have realized it. I'm trying to pay you back now."

"Mito, assassinated!" By the gods, the biggest story out of Japan since the stabbing of Premier Hara. "But what are the details, Kikuchi? For God's sake, tell me all you know."

"Nothing much is known yet, though it seems more sinister than the Hara case. Mito was shot at the entrance of his official residence. A volley, not a single shot, was fired through the board fence opposite. They had made loopholes in it. They claim that there must have been half a dozen of them, at least. No, no one has been caught. Yes, he's dead as a doornail. That's all I know. Well, here we are. I'll wait for you. Be quick."

His hand almost shook as he drafted his message, sending it at urgent rates, by both wireless and cable to America, and by cable to the London office, for luck. As he filed his stuff, he noted with satisfaction that the clerks were getting ready to leave. His would be the last message to get through that night. He had beaten the world.

He reËntered the hotel with the feeling of a conqueror, that he must succeed in whatever he undertook. He would see Sylvia again presently, just as soon as he had had a look in the ballroom, at the other correspondents, to make sure that they were still in ignorance. He sauntered up to Kittrick. He and Templeton were chatting idly. He joined them. So far the news was not out. But as they stood there, he noticed Butterfield in eager conversation with some Japanese. Now he glanced about, left the hall hurriedly. Now the Japanese was talking to Carew, editor of the Japan American, and Carew also suddenly became active, febrile, as if he had received an electric shock.

"Hallo, Carew, what's the rush?" Kent caught him as he was hastening past them. The editor glanced at his wrist-watch. "Past cable time, I see. I might as well tell you. The Premier was assassinated less than an hour ago. No, I have no details. I've got to hurry over to the shop. I'm going to look after this make-up myself."

Safe, by George! Still he said nothing to the others. They would find out soon enough that he had beaten them. But he wanted to bring his triumph to her, Sylvia, a conqueror with the spoils of victory. But on his way through Peacock Alley he met Karsten alone.

"Sorry, old man; I did the best I could to hold the lady, but I must be getting old, losing my grip, or what? Anyway, she did not seem to take to me as a substitute for you at all, acted sort of dumb, moonstruck—you acted in a sort of a dazed way, too, for that matter," he whistled provokingly. "What do you intend to do now, anyway; the night's still young."

"If you don't mind, I think I'll go home. Did you hear what the news was, about the assassination of Mito? Well, I scored a clean beat, as you may know. I want to get home and gloat comfortably, to enjoy my thoughts of my luck."

"Oh, what absolute liars newspapermen are." Karsten placed an arm affectionately about his shoulders. "I can't let you insult my intelligence by letting you think that I believe that. Kent, looking at you, I have wondered whether when, in my sinful past, I have been in love, I have looked so damned silly as that? It's wonderful; and whether you deny it or not, I'm going to open a bottle of Cliquot with you when we come home."