Home of Hon. Samule Scott, East Orange, N. J., is one of the nicest
homes from which I ever was discharged from. When I first went there to
work that family contained following list of persons:
Mrs Scott
Mr ”
Miss ” (retired).
This Miss Scott were young lady of 20 years complete beauty. O such
smiling hair & blond eyes! How well her complexion matched her costume!
Before her marriage her name was Gladys, but I are not sure what she
is called now, as each American girl must change her name when she get
married. This is very confusing custom to Japanese boy. I was working
for that Scott family when that Hon. Gladys obtained matrimony. I
never seen an American wedding before. Now I realise why so many people
in these U. S. object to being married more than once.
Hon. Scott, who has been a father to Gladys all her life, arrived up to
me last Tuesday P. M. and say fidgetfully,
“Togo,” he say, “there will be a wedding in this house next Satday &
I wish you would be as stylish as possible in passing food. You must
appear fashionable in every way, because it are customary on such
occasions to look more wealthy than you are.”
“Are you going to be married again, Hon. Sir?” I ask with chivalry.
“Not if I could avoid it!” he say peevly. “It is my daughter Gladys who
I shall give away.”
“To who will you donate this charming lady?” I ask out.
“Hon. Charlie Sweetberry will be the blushing bridebroom,” he
pronounce. “You remember Charlie who arrive here more & more frequently
bearing flowers?”
“Distinctually,” I report. “He came with rose-bud tokens so frequently
I thought that he was a florist.”
“We intend to make this wedding so joyful that we are all quite
miserable preparing for it,” he describe. “The event will be shot off
at high noon.”
“Are noon on a wedding day any higher than any other noon?” I require
for information.
“If you paid the bills you would think so!” he explode glubly & walk in
an offward direction.
Mr Editor, you would be surprised to see how much burden that wedding
was to Hon. Express Co. who brought the packages! For several entire
days bundles arrove in large quantities of freight. Street in front
of that house was headquarters for delivery wagons. Messengers came
continually bringing Merry Christmas parcels enwrapped in paper. Hon.
Samule Scott, assisted by me & family, would spend long-time each day
disenwrapping those parcels and gossiping about what came. Excitement.
Out would drop some golden fork or swollen pitcher marked “Happy
Returns.”
“Why should these be labelled ‘Happy Returns’?” I negotiate.
“Because,” pronounce Hon. Samule with depressed eyebrows, “they are all
returns of wedding presents we sent other folks.”