BOTCHAN
you return to Tokyo, and taking out this ten, I have still forty yen left,–quite safe.”
I should say women are very particular on many things.
When I was meditating with the letter flapping in my hand on the porch, the old lady opened the sliding partition and brought in my supper.
“Still poring over the letter? Must be a very long one, I imagine,” she said.
“Yes, this is an important letter, so I’m reading it with the wind blowing it about,” I replied–the reply which was nonsense even for myself,–and I sat down for supper. I looked in the dish on the tray, and saw the same old sweet potatoes again to-night. This new boarding house was more polite and considerate and refined than the Ikagins, but the grub was too poor stuff and that was one drawback. It was sweet potato yesterday, so it was the day before yesterday, and here it is again to-night. True, I declared myself very fond of sweet potatoes, but if I am fed with
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