I do not know how many of the large and small curio shops of the city we visited that afternoon.  At another time, I should have enjoyed the visits immensely, for anyone seeking articles of beauty will find the antique shops of Fifth and Fourth Avenues and the side streets well worth visiting.

We came, at length, to one, a small, quaint, dusty rookery, down in a basement, entered almost directly from the street.  It bore over the door a little gilt sign which read simply, “Sato’s.”

As we entered, I could not help being impressed by the wealth of articles in beautiful cloisonne enamel, in mother-of-pearl, lacquer, and champleve.  There were beautiful little koros, or incense burners, vases, and teapots.  There were enamels incrusted, translucent, and painted, works of the famous Namikawa, of Kyoto, and Namikawa, of Tokyo.  Satsuma vases, splendid and rare examples of the potter’s art, crowded gorgeously embroidered screens depicting all sorts of brilliant scenes, among others the sacred Fujiyama rising in the stately distance.  Sato himself greeted us with a ready smile and bow.

“I am just looking for a few things to add to my den,” explained Kennedy, adding, “nothing in particular, but merely whatever happens to strike my fancy.”

“Surely, then, you have come to the right shop,” greeted Sato.  “If there is anything that interests you, I shall be glad to show it.”

“Thank you,” replied Craig.  “Don’t let me trouble you with your other customers.  I will call on you if I see anything.”

For several minutes, Craig and I busied ourselves looking about, and we did not have to feign interest, either.

“Often things are not as represented,” he whispered to me, after a while, “but a connoiseur can tell spurious goods.  These are the real thing, mostly.”

“Not one in fifty can tell the difference,” put in the voice of Sato, at his elbow.

“Well, you see I happen to know,” Craig replied, not the least disconcerted.  “You can’t always be too sure.”

A laugh and a shrug was Sato’s answer.  “It’s well all are not so keen,” he said, with a frank acknowledgment that he was not above sharp practices.

I glanced now and then at the expressionless face of the curio dealer.  Was it merely the natural blankness of his countenance that impressed me, or was there, in fact, something deep and dark hidden in it, something of “East is East and West is West” which I did not and could not understand?  Craig was admiring the bronzes.  He had paused before one, a square metal fire-screen of odd design, with the title on a card, “Japan Gazing at the World.”

It represented Japan as an eagle, with beak and talons of burnished gold, resting on a rocky island about which great waves dashed.  The bird had an air of dignity and conscious pride in its strength, as it looked out at the world, a globe revolving in space.

“Do you suppose there is anything significant in that?” I asked, pointing to the continent of North America, also in gold and prominently in view.