to be embarrassed. He cried out, “Kink-o!”
“Yes, master,” answered the lad from near the end of the bed where he had been standing.
“Bring me the hone!”
The hone was brought. Yoshisaburo roused himself again, and raising one knee, in the manner of all good razor-sharpeners, he began to slowly grind the razor. The clock slowly struck 10 o’clock.
O-Ume-san began to realize that any more advice on her part was in vain, so she sat looking anxiously at her husband. He went on sharpening the razor for a little while, and then worked it smoothly on the leather strop. It seemed to him that the stillness of the room began to quiver with the chafing sound of his razor. In whetting it, his shaky hands were stretched out before him, and the strop was swinging to and fro as if it would snap. It flew outwards, and twined round and round the razor.
“My God! Look out!” cried his frightened wife, and she gazed in alarm at her husband’s face. His brows quivered nervously.
Yoshisaburo unwound the strop, and threw it down. He then stood up, razor in hand, and tried to make his way towards the shop in his night attire.
“Good gracious! You should not do that…” O-Ume-san cried, as she tried to stop her husband. She was weeping softly, but her efforts to prevent him were in vain. Yoshisaburo reached the shop without uttering a single word, and his wife followed him.
In the shop there was no customer. Kin-ko was
