At this point Kangetsu comes in, greeting the master as he enters. Meitei immediately butts in. "Pardon, sir, but I've just been treated to the finest of prose, so fine as to vanquish the ghost of tochimenbō." His greeting alludes to the nonsense. "Is that right?" Kangetsu's response, in turn, is equally meaningless. The master alone refrains from indulgence. "That fellow Ochi Tōfū called the other day with your introduction." "Ah, he called, did he? That Ochi Kochi's exceedingly sincere, but a little eccentric. I hope he wasn't a nuisance. He insisted so that I introduce you ..." "I wouldn't say he was a nuisance ..." "When he called here, did he go on at all about his name?" "No, I don't recall that he did." "Really? He has this tendency, wherever he goes and whenever he meets someone new, to expound at length on his own name." "What about his name?" Meitei pounced on the chance to interject. "He takes issue with 'Kochi' being read in the Chinese style." "Well I'll be." Meitei takes a pinch of tobacco from an ornate leather pouch. "'My name isn't Ochi Tōfū, it's Ochi Kochi,' he invariably informs his listener." "Odd." Meitei inhales a great cloud into the depths of his lungs. "It's no doubt his literary zeal. 'Kochi' serves as a homonym for 'here and there,' and he also takes great pride in the rhyming of the two parts of his name. 'When they fail to read it as Kochi then all of my effort's for naught,' he's wont to complain." "Eccentric indeed." Meitei, with due fanfare, contracts his lungs and expells the great cloud through his nostils. In the process, some of the smoke goes astray and sticks in his throat. He clutches his pipe and chokes out several coughs. "He spoke the other day of a recital group. How he voiced the boatman and was laughed at by schoolgirls," the master remarks with a chuckle. "Yes, that was it," responds Meitei, tapping his pipe on his knee. Out of caution, I inch myself away from his side.