In the Clutch of the War-God | Page 2

city.
The girl arose and crept nervously into the dining-room. She turned on the electric light; everything seemed in order. She hurried over to Goyu's room, and knocked. There was no answer. Then slowly opening the door, she peered in--the room was empty and disordered. Plainly the occupant had bundled together his few belongings and flown.
Ethel stole back through the silent house and tremblingly took down the telephone receiver. In vain she called the numbers of the few American families of the city. Last on the list was the American Consulate, and this time she received the curt information that the consul had left the city by aeroplane "with the other foreigners." The phrase struck terror into her heart. If the European population had flown in such haste as to overlook her, clearly there was danger. A great fear grew upon her. Afraid to remain where she was, she tried to think of ways of escape. She could not steer an aeroplane even if she were able to obtain one. Otaru was far from the common ways of international traffic and the ships lying at anchor in the harbor were freighters, Japanese owned and Japanese manned.
Ethel looked at her watch--it was nine-twenty. She tiptoed to her room.
An hour later she was in the street dressed in a tailored suit of American make and carrying in her hand-bag a few trinkets and valuables she had found in the house. Passing hurriedly through quiet avenues, she was soon in the open country. The road she followed was familiar to her, as she had traveled it many times by auto.
For hours she walked rapidly on. Her unpracticed muscles grew tired and her feet jammed forward in high-heeled shoes were blistered and sore. But fear lent courage and as the first rays of the morning sun peeked over the hill-tops, the refugee reached the outskirts of the city of Sapporo.
Ethel made straightway for the residence of Professor Oshima, the Soil Chemist of the Imperial Agricultural College of Hokiado--a Japanese gentleman who had been educated and who had married abroad, and a close friend of her father's. As she reached the door of the Professor's bungalow, she pushed the bell, and sank exhausted upon the stoop.
Some time afterward she half-dreamed and half realized that she found herself neatly tucked between white silk sheets and lying on a floor mattress of a Japanese sleeping-porch. A gentle breeze fanned her face through the lattice work and low slanting sunbeams sifting in between the shutters fell in rounded blotches upon the opposite straw matting wall. For a time she lay musing and again fell asleep.
When she next awakened, the room was dimly lighted by a little glowing electric bulb and Madame Oshima was sitting near her. Her hostess greeted her cordially and offered her water and some fresh fruit.
Madame Oshima was fully posted upon the riots and confirmed Ethel's fears as to the fate of her father.
[Illustration: "But have I lost my figure?" inquired the lithe Madame Oshima.]
"You will be safe here for the present," her hostess assured her. "Professor Oshima has been called to Tokio; when he returns we will see what can be done concerning your embarking for America."
Madame Oshima was of French descent but had fully adopted Japanese customs and ways of thinking.
As soon as Ethel was up and about, her hostess suggested that she exchange her American-made clothing for the Japanese costume of the time. But Ethel was inclined to rebel.
"Why," she protested, "if I discarded my corsets I would lose my figure."
"But have I lost my figure?" inquired the lithe Madame Oshima, striking an attitude.
To this Ethel did not reply, but continued, "And I would look like a man," for among the Japanese people tight-belted waists and flopping skirts had long since been replaced by the kimo, a single-piece garment worn by both sexes and which fitted the entire body with comfortable snugness.
"And is a man so ill-looking?" asked her companion, smiling.
"Why, no, of course not, only he's different. Why, I couldn't wear a kimo--people would see--my limbs," stammered the properly-bred American girl.
"Why, no, they couldn't," replied Madame Oshima. "Not if you keep your kimo on."
"But they would see my figure."
"Well, I thought you just said that was what you were afraid they wouldn't see."
"But I don't mean that way--they--they could see the shape of my--my legs," said Ethel, blushing crimson.
"Are you ashamed that your body has such vulgar parts?" returned the older woman.
"No, of course not," said Ethel, choking back her embarrassment. "But it's wicked for a girl to let men know such things."
"Oh, they all know it," replied Madame Oshima, "they learn it in school."
At this the highly strung Ethel burst into sobs.
"There, there now," said her companion, regretting that she had spoken sarcastically. "I forget that I once had such ideas