Mr. Moto Is So Sorry Read Free Page A

engine and the whirr of the ventilator fans. He was sure that he never consciously heard a sound, yet he knew that he was not alone—he knew before he turned.
    â€œGood evening,” a voice said. “It is such a very lovely evening.”
    â€œOh,” Calvin said, “good evening.” A man had moved beside him with soft, almost noiseless steps; it was his acquaintance of the early evening, the fragile Japanese gentleman, Mr. I. A. Moto.
    â€œHa ha,” said Mr. Moto with a forced laugh. It seemed to Calvin that the Japanese were always trying to laugh. “I find it hard to sleep on boats and trains. Ha ha, I am always wide awake.”
    â€œYes,” Calvin said politely, “I find it hard myself. I was thinking and I could not sleep.”
    â€œOh,” said Mr. Moto, “you were thinking?”
    â€œYes,” said Calvin.
    â€œOh,” said Mr. Moto, “you were thinking of New York?”
    Mr. Moto’s face was only a blur in the dark.
    â€œHow did you know I came from New York?” Calvin asked.
    There was a sibilant hiss of politely indrawn breath from the blur of Mr. Moto’s face.
    â€œExcuse me, please,” said Mr. Moto. “You have the New York voice. The young American lady on board comes from the Middle West. I like to think that I can always tell. New York is such a very lovely city. You like Tokyo? We are trying so hard to be like New York.”
    â€œI wonder why you do?” Calvin asked.
    â€œPerhaps,” said Mr. Moto, “we all admire your country so much, how it has reached out from such a little country and become so great.”
    â€œYou’re reaching out too, aren’t you?” Calvin asked.
    â€œOh yes,” said Mr. Moto. “We must live. We are such a little people.”
    â€œYou’ve done a lot,” said Calvin.
    â€œIt is so kind of you to say so,” Mr. Moto said. “I hope so much you like Japan. We make so very many interesting things—so many small things which are so easy to carry. Our workmen are so very, very careful. Perhaps you have bought some small articles?”
    The question was a part of that whole aimless conversation, which was so like his other conversations with other Japanese,—the exploits of Japan, the antiquity of Japanese culture, and Japan’s peculiar mission in the Orient,—but something told Calvin that Mr. Moto was waiting, attentively waiting, for the answer to that trivial question.
    â€œWhy yes,” said Calvin. “I’ve bought some small things, nothing much.”
    â€œI am so glad,” said Mr. Moto. “Perhaps you have seen our silver work with the inlay of gunmetal cut right through the silver? It is so very nice. Perhaps you have bought a cigarette case of that work?”
    â€œNo,” said Calvin, “I haven’t.”
    â€œYou do not smoke, perhaps,” said Mr. Moto. “Those cases are so nice. There is an inlaid pattern of small birds flying through grasses. I am so very fond of it. Perhaps you have seen the pattern on silver? So very many little birds.”
    There was no doubt any longer that the talk was leading somewhere. Calvin understood that Mr. Moto was waiting patiently, not for an answer as much as for some change of voice. He knew he was not wrong when Mr. Moto spoke again.
    â€œYou have not seen the cases with the inlays of the little birds?”
    â€œNo,” said Calvin.
    â€œHa ha,” said Mr. Moto. “Excuse me, please. It is so very interesting that you, are going to Mongolia. Ghuru Nor is very beautiful. Have you heard of the prince who lives there?”
    â€œNo,” said Calvin. “Is there a prince?”
    â€œOh yes,” said Mr. Moto brightly. “The men who are not priests wear pigtails. Such a very backward country. The prince’s name is Wu Fang. That is his Chinese name, of course.”
    â€œDoes he wear a pigtail too?” Calvin