The front of the store was screened from the street by dark blue cotton
curtains behind which was a roofed platform carpeted with matting. Here
sat a group of clerks, each with his _soroban_ or adding machine at his
side. Little Japanese boys, their shoulders loaded with bales of rich
materials, staggered about, and through the open doors of the fire-proof
warehouse they caught glimpses of costly stuffs stored away. An
obsequious clerk who spoke excellent English came forward and presently,
when their eyes became accustomed to the busy, brilliantly colored scene,
they began to examine silk materials on their own account. Miss Campbell
made each of her charges a present of _crêpe de chine_ and still was not
very much out of pocket. As they were about to leave, they were followed
by a chorus of shouts.

"What in the world is the matter?" demanded Miss Campbell uneasily. "Has
the place caught fire, or didn't we give the right amount of change?"

"No, madam," answered the polite English-speaking clerk, who had
accompanied her to the sidewalk. "They are saying farewell. In English
it would mean, 'Thanks for your continued favors.'"

"Don't mention it," said Miss Campbell. "We'll come again."

The clerk smiled and bowed formally and once more they whirled away in
their 'rikshas. They visited many shops in Tokyo that morning. It was
like a fascinating bazaar and it seemed impossible to tear themselves
away, although Komatsu kept always close to their elbows and several
times observed:

"Muchly more time. Come again."