Go Association, and Sunada of the Nichinichi Shim bun to go with us. For
lunch we had sukiyaki in a rustic cottage on the hotel grounds. We stayed
until evening. I was well acquainted with the place, having gone there by
myself and with a group of dancers as well as at the invitation of Okura
Kishichirō, the founder of the Okura enterprises. The dispute continued
after our return from Kawana. Even bystanders like myself felt constrained
to mediate. The match was finally resumed on November 25.
The Master had a large oval brazier of paulownia beside him and an
oblong brazier behind him, on which he kept water boiling. At the urging of
Otaké, he wrapped himself in a muffler, and as further protection against
the cold he had on a sort of over-cloak, which seemed to be of blanket cloth
with a knitted lining. In his room he was never without it. He had a slight
fever this morning, he said.
“And what is your normal temperature, sir?” asked Otaké as he sat down
at the board.
“It runs between ninety-six and ninety-seven,” said the Master quietly, as
if savoring the words. “It never goes as high as ninety-seven.”
On another occasion, asked his height, he said: “I was just under five feet
when I had my draft examination. Then I grew a half inch and was over
five feet. You lose height as you get older, and now it’s exactly five feet.”
“He has a body like an undernourished child,” said the doctor when the
Master fell ill at Hakoné. “There’s no flesh at all on his calves. You wonder
how he manages to carry himself. I can’t prescribe medicine in ordinary
doses. I have to give him what a thirteen- or fourteen-year-old might take.”
