McAroons, cakes, more chocolate, & whatever else.
Hon. Mrs. Calicutt and Cousin Florence ate this table of contents
without complaining voice. Ladies is often thusly--they do not desire
real food when they can be economical. But me & Mr. Calicutt begin to
feel very illegal when we look at them samditches which must be ate.
Frequently Mr. Calicutt telephone home that his board of directors had
appendicitis, therefore he must stay in town for dine. I forgive him
this deception.
Three weeks pass off. Then come fifth Wednesday when Mrs. Calicutt must
again be at home for friends.
“Togo,” she pronounce that morning, “I have invite 120 complete persons
and expect to enjoy quite a stampede this P. M. Please multiply your
former programme of samditches by twice.”
“I shall do so,” I deploy.
Yet my soul determined to do elsewise. Why must I again clutter that
household with sky-scraping piles of samditches which nobody came
to eat except Rev. Mr. Dill who had merely appetite for 13? No! If
Hon. Mrs. Calicutt was too foolish in her brain to keep from that
extravagance, then I should save her from it. I should merely make
13 samditches and 1 qrt. chocolate, sifficient for Hon. Dill. Yet I
should make my Boss Lady think I was preparing great quantities. This
deceptiveness require great heroism.
“Togo,” say her, coming to kitchen in early P. M., “Are bread &
devilish ham and letus and marionaise dressing and chocolate all ready
to be executed in vast quantities?”
“They are faithfully prepared,” I pronounce with talented dishonesty.
“120 guests often feel very edible, so do it plenty,” she acknowledge,
eloping away.
At 3 o’clock I manufacture 13 samditches and 1 qrt. chocolate. That was
all we could afford to give Mr. Dill.
“Where are refreshments, please?” requesh Mrs. Calicutt when 4 P. M.
was there.
“I keep them cooly concealed in dark place where staleness will not
arrive to them,” I report, looking sly like roosters. She too busy
preparing smilax buds to know how much money I saved her by not
manufacturing food for guests who wouldn’t come.
At 4:63 P. M. I notice something which make my eyes alarmed. With
tense puffing honk-music and wheel-rumble, 47 ottomobiles, buggies,
motorcycles, & go-carts arrive up to house all together like sheep.
They hitch up by front gate. Why was they came? O look see!! 118
complete persons of every imaginable age & sect got out and make
jing-jing to door bell.
One horble thought roshed to my ears. All them folks was coming
expecting to eat Rev. Dills’ 13 samditches and 1 qrt. chocolate! I
was blame for my economy. What must I do? My heart turned pale while
hysteria filled my elbows. Already I could hear glad-you-came sound by
Mrs. Calicutt while that hungry mobb make rosh through parlour room
amidst disagreeable laughter.
Swish-swish! It was Mrs. Calicutt’s silk footsteps coming.
“Togo,” she whisper with stage-voice, introducing her head at kitchen,
“where is immediate food for 120 persons?”
“Here, please,” I report with quaker knees, poking forth them 13
samditches on plate.
Shrieks by her. Deep breathing and 4 sobs. I withdraw myself away from
there before she should make a scenery. I slid myself from back door
softly like cats walking over ice-cycles.
I felt very sorry for Mrs. Calicutt losing me like that, but when I
reached trolley-road where I got on, I felt less pity. After all,
there was ½ fraction of corned beef and 1 qrt. milk in ice-box, so
them 120 At Homers needs not go entirely destitute from food. Maybe
they would enjoy that, if conversation was sifficiently fascinating.
For what-say famus Japanese philosopher, Oysta-san? He say, “In good
company crusts tastes rich, but in bore company ice-cream seems awful
poor.”
Hoping you are the same,
Yours truly,
HASHIMURA TOGO.