ABSTRACT
OKASHI KINTARO was gazing into his saké cup reflectively. It was a cup with pictures on it — two views of the same subject; the front presentation on the inside of the cup, and the other on the bottom—a cup such as you have sometimes when cooling on the dry bed of Kamogawa in Kiyoto if you happen to be on good terms with those who serve you, but which you never leave with your other curios for Custom House inspection on reaching home.
