The master fetches his brush and inkstone, places them in the center of the room, and summons the wife. "We need to draft our complaint, detailing all that was taken. State the missing items, one by one. Go on now, what's missing?" the master addresses the wife as though cross-examining her.
"Enough already. You think you can grill it out of me, just like that?" The wife, wrapped in a narrow sash, plunks herself down on the floor.
"What's the idea, dressing yourself like some washed-up, post-town hussy? Where's your obi?"
"If you're offended, then buy me a new one. Post-town hussy or whatever, I can't wear what I don't have."
"He even made off with your obi? Rotten scoundrel. Well then, let's list that first. What sort of obi was it?"
"What sort of obi? How many do you think I own? Black satin with a silk crepe lining."
"One obi of black satin with silk crepe lining -- approximate value?"
"Six yen or so, I'd say."
"Brazen extravagance. Don't spend more than a yen and a half on the next one."
"Try finding an obi at that price. That's why they call you cold-hearted. You happily outfit yourself, then dress your wife in rags."
"At any rate, what's next?"
"A silk-cloth haori. It was given to me by Aunt Kōno. Today's silk-cloth doesn't compare to it."
"Let's dispense with the commentary. How much?"
"Who do you think you are, dressing yourself in a fifteen-yen haori?"
"It wasn't your money, so you've no business complaining."
"One pair of black socks."
"Those were yours. Twenty-seven sen."