It is true that I ate two dishes and paid seven sen. Troublesome kids! I
declare. I expected with certainty that there would be something at the
second hour, and there it was; "The dango in the tenderloin taste fine."
Stupid wretches!

No sooner I thought, the dango incident closed than the red towel became
the topic for widespread gossip. Inquiry as to the story revealed it to
be something unusually absurd. Since, my arrival here, I had made it a
part of my routine to take in the hot springs bath every day. While
there was nothing in this town which compared favorably with Tokyo, the
hot springs were worthy of praise. So long as I was in the town, I
decided that I would have a dip every day, and went there walking,
partly for physical exercise, before my supper. And whenever I went
there I used to carry a large-size European towel dangling from my hand.
Added to somewhat reddish color the towel had acquired by its having
been soaked in the hot-springs, the red color on its border, which was
not fast enough, streaked about so that the towel now looked as if it
were dyed red. This towel hung down from my hand on both ways whether
afoot or riding in the train. For this reason, the students nicknamed me
Red Towel. Honest, it is exasperating to live in a little town.

There is some more. The bath house I patronized was a newly built
three-story house, and for the patrons of the first class the house
provided a bath-robe, in addition to an attendant, and the cost was only
eight sen. On top of that, a maid would serve tea in a regular polite
fashion. I always paid the first class. Then those gossipy spotters
started saying that for one who made only forty yen a month to take a
first class bath every day was extravagant. Why the devil should they
care? It was none of their business.