The Days of a Man Cigoo 



time — even on the street if so minded, at least in 

 hot Kyushyu. 



At night On a pile of padded quilts (Juton) one may rest well, 

 but must rise too early, as rooms are thrown wide 

 open betimes, the custom of the country being to 

 begin sliding back partitions as soon as it gets light. 

 Yet the native pays no attention and sleeps as long 

 as he pleases, the men using a bag of sawdust for 

 pillow, the women a narrow block of wood which 

 does not muss their meticulously dressed hair. A 

 characteristic night sound is the soft "tap, tap" of 

 tiny pipes on little tobacco stands, for the waking 

 guest commonly smokes a thimbleful of tobacco, and 

 then strikes his minute bowl softly to remove the 

 ashes. Morning toilettes are soon completed, every- 

 body having taken a hot bath the previous evening, 

 so that after a handful of cold water and a few 

 moments spent in adjusting his kimono, a Japanese 

 gentleman is ready for the day. 



The tea The hotel has no barroom; it is just what it an- 



nounces itself, a place to eat and sleep, the tea house 

 being the resort for pleasure. Intoxicated men we 

 very rarely noticed, though one day we did meet 

 on the road a "happy drunk," yelling and shouting 

 hoarsely. The few orientals of this type that came 

 our way belonged to the wealthier merchant class for 

 which tea houses exist. According to Abe, these 

 last are essentially immoral institutions, a sort of 

 half-decent Japanese equivalent of our American 

 dive. A little more of Western influence will bring 

 them into the same class. 



On Enoshima's "farther shore" we came upon the 

 finest tide pools I had ever seen, and made a rich 



C 20 J 



house 



