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 sick with shame. That picture would never have been allowed in any respectable house in Japan, for it was the photograph of a well-known courtesan of Tokyo taken at the door of her professional home. “Oh, why do Japanese sell those things?” I shudderingly asked myself; but immediately came the puzzling response, “Why do Americans want to buy?”

One day I went into the city with a friend to do some shopping. We were on a street car when my attention was attracted by a little girl sitting opposite us who was eating something. Children in Japan do not eat on the street or in a public place, and I did not know then that it is not the custom in America as it is with us never to eat except at a table.

My friend and I were busy talking, so for a while I did not notice the child, but when I chanced to glance at her again, I was surprised to see that she was still eating. Two or three times afterward I looked at her, and finally I turned to my friend.

“I wonder what that child is eating,” I said.

“She is not eating anything,” my friend replied. “She is chewing gum.”

Again I looked at the child. She was sitting, drooped and weary, her loose hands lying in her lap, and her feet spread around her bundle in a very awkward and difficult position. As I watched her tired face, suddenly I remembered something that had happened on the train on my trip across the continent.

“Is she sick?” I asked,

“No, I think not. Why do you ask?”

“I think I took that medicine on the train,” I replied.

“Oh, no!” my friend said, laughing. “Chewing gum is not medicine. It’s a sort of wax, just to chew.”

“Why does she do it?” I asked.

“Oh, most children of her class chew gum, more or less.