_"Plebeians!_" he snarled as he jerked together the curtains of his
berth and turned his face to the wall.
IX
DRAGGING ANCHOR
Of course, after what had happened, nothing could induce Percival to
join the Weston party in Japan. He left a note of formal regret, and
hastened ashore on the first launch in the morning. His one desire was
to avoid those detestable young Americans, whose diabolical laughter had
rung in his ears all night. The wounds received by vanity are never
serious, but they are very hard to heal, and as Percival stopped ashore
in this strange land he felt that he was the most unhappy of mortals.
"Call a hansom," he demanded impatiently of Judson, who stood grinning
at the queer sights on the hatoba.
"There ain't none, sir."
"Of course; I forgot. But how are we to get to the hotel?"
"Carn't say, sir, unless we go in a couple of them perambulators."
Percival took an instant dislike to a country that forced him to ride
in a ridiculous vehicle, pulled by a small bare-legged brown man in a
mushroom hat. All the way to the hotel he was unhappy in the conviction
that he was making a spectacle of himself.
The rooms which he had engaged in advance were not satisfactory, and it
was not until he had inspected all the suites that were unoccupied that
he decided upon one that commanded a view of the bay. Once established
therein, he despatched Judson for his mail and for any English papers
that might be found, then took up his position by a front window and
sternly watched the bund.
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