Transcriber’s Notes.
The nature of the book requires many oddities of word, spelling,
and punctuation. This makes it impossible to unequivocally identify
possible errors therefore no corrections or changes have been made.
HASHIMURA TOGO
[Illustration:
_“You are not permitted to amuse cousins while working,” she snib.
“However, Nogi may remain if he help pass salad to Daughters of
Samantha.”_]
HASHIMURA
TOGO
DOMESTIC SCIENTIST
by
WALLACE IRWIN
ILLUSTRATED BY STROTHMANN
HEARST’S INTERNATIONAL LIBRARY CO.
NEW YORK
Copyright, 1914, by
HEARST’S INTERNATIONAL LIBRARY CO., INC.
_All rights reserved, including the translation into foreign
languages, including the Scandinavian_
Contents
CHAPTER PAGE
INTRODUCEMENT 7
I TOGO’S THURSDAYS OUT 11
II TOGO’S MOVING DAY 19
III TOGO RUNS A FURNACE 26
IV TOGO AND THE “WEAK-ENDERS” 33
V TOGO SWATS THE FLY 41
VI TOGO SAILS FOR BARGAINS 49
VII TOGO IN BACHELOR’S HALL 57
VIII TOGO AT THE SEASHORE 65
IX TOGO MEETS HON. CLOTHES LINE 73
X TOGO COAXES DOWN THE COST OF
LIVING 81
XI TOGO BECOMES A FIRE HERO 89
XII TOGO MAKES DISCOVERIES 97
XIII TOGO’S THANKSGIVING 105
XIV TOGO SEEKS TEA AND FINDS TANGO 113
XV ARE TURKEY-WALTZING A DANCE
OR A CONVULSION? 121
XVI WHEN WILL LADY-FASHIONS GET
ASHAMED OF THEMSELVES? 126
XVII THE DRAMA OF SEX 131
XVIII GRAND OPERA IN ENGLISH 136
XIX A LESSON IN EUGENICS 141
XX TOGO’S CHRISTMAS DAY IN THE
MORNING 147
XXI THE HEAD OF THE HOUSE 154
Illustrations
“You are not permitted to amuse cousins
while working,” she snib. “However,
Nogi may remain if he help pass salad to
Daughters of Samantha.” _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
By this warfare I broke considerable flies
and other dishes 44
When I fetch forth raw steak and apple
pie all require, “What the matter with
Togo?” 60
“Have he not been constantly on ice for
2 yrs? Nothing could be fresher than
that,” depose Hon. Butcher 106
Introducement to Mrs. Public
Dear Sir:—In reading this intellectual volume of words I hopes that
Mrs. Public & Husband will realize what I am stabbing at. Science in
kitchen, rugs, vacuum cleaners, babies etc is what I wish teach all
homes. Can this be accomplish? Answer is, Yes!! For housekeeping can
get to be a Science just like warfare and pulling teeth.
And in each of those letters scrambled together in this Book I show you
how like a Scientist I behave; for Scientists learns big wisdom, does
they not, by manufacturing wicked smells, explosions and unhappiness. I
also learn knowledge of housekeepery that way, and if occasional folks
expire dead from eating what I cook, they should not get irritable.
Science has its victims as well as warfare.
Hon. Shakspeare, or some other great bookmaker, say, “We learn by our
mistakes.” If such is case, then I have learned nearly everything that
can be assimilated about Gen. Housework. I have followed considerable
branches of this kitchen intelligence throughout U.S. America wherever
I could find carfare. Therefore I have swept all this wreckage together
in my brain and publicate them in this Book, which is sort of letter of
recommendation to show how much I can accomplish when least required.
Frequent Professors has asked that Question: Why Do Servint Girls Be
Servints? I have dishcovered following reasons for it:
1—To accumulate $4 weekly until wealthy.
2—To drink gin secretly in refined homes.
3—To learn politeness from being snubbed by Ladies.
4—To quit noisily.
Still more frequent Professors require: Why is Reason for High Costly
Living? Answer is, Servints. If you ask any Lady in places from which I
have quit you will soonly find out. One lady called me most expensive
Servint in America because I cost her $1302.33 for breakery of crockery
in one week of labor. I were considerable proud of that record which
are seldom equalled, even by Swedish.
What are purpose of this Book? To teach Ladies be more kind while
abusing their help. With very apologetic thumbs I acknowledge that
Hired Girls is not perfected like other modern machinery. Too many
waitresses wait too long before obeying anybody. Too many nurses spoils
the children. Too many cooks spoils the broth. Etc. Yet what could you
expect for $6 weekly? Not much. And you usually do not get it. This
are very labentable state of affairs, and I am peculiar among Servint
Girls because I never do less than expected of me. I usually do more.
For instancely, if Hon. Boss Lady expect me to break ½ her dishes,
I break all. If she expect me to burn up the roast, I burn down the
house. Success in any line can be manufactured from such industry.
House-ladies should continuously remember that Servints are only human.
Sometimes slightly less. Nor should persons feel peev of temperament
because Cooks only stay shortly when they call. Folks does not expec
Doctors and Undertakers to stay longtime when they come to houses. No!!
They got too much busy duties elsewheres to linger considerable with
one customer, however much they enjoy it. Suchly it is with Cooks. They
give so much time they can to each victim & pass onwards. Then why
should they be followed with brickbatts & regrets when they depart for
station? There is no answer to this question.
During my promenades from jobs to jobs I have visited considerable
kitchens. Some folks have promised to treat me like one of the family;
this sound deliciously sweet until I see how that family behaves with
itself. From such places I escape nearly lifeless. In my profession
I resemble burglars—continually entering houses without welcome and
seldom quitting without taking something with me. Sometimes I take
valuable experience, sometimes injury of eye which are considerable
precious for teach my soul how to set in his place and act low down.
Hoping you are the same
Yours truly
HASHIMURA TOGO
HASHIMURA TOGO
I
Togo’s Thursdays Out
_To Editor Good Housekeeper Magazine who should be found in every
employment bureau_
Dearest Sir:—While working in servant-girlish employment of Gen.
Housework I have endured considerable cruelties with great durability.
But when ladies insists to pour kindness upon me, then the worm twists
from such brutality. For thus reason I am now entirely disjointed from
job of working at home of Hon. Mrs. Heneretta Hoke & Husband, Nutt
Center, N.J. I tell you this historical event.
When I employ this Mrs. Hoke to be boss, she say with Jane Addams
expression, “Hon. Abe Lincoln freed niggero slaves sometime of yore;
therefore Japanese servant must also be considered human.”
“I do not expect such sweethearted treatment,” I say for slight
tear-drop.
“I am going to commence my beginning by being generous to you,” she
encroach. “You may take Thursday afternoons out.”
“How far out can I take them?” are question for me.
“Plenty far,” she renounce, “but not so distant he will not get back in
time for breakfast Fryday morning. I give you this Thursday p.m. from
great philanthropy of soul, so you will be able to work harder when you
get back.”
“What amusements are proper for servant on this bright holidate?” I ask
to know.
“Sometimes one way, sometimes different,” she pronounce. “Walking,
setting down, quarreling, flirtating, seeing emotion-picture show,
obtaining drunkenness, getting married or arrested—all are good ways
for servant on Thursday.”
I thank her from the stomack of my soul and fill my brain with
joy-thoughts about that nice date of afternoon I should spend. It
were Monday when she say this. Each day afterwards my gladness become
pretty plenty when I think what light amusement it should be. I fill my
mentality with plans for frivolity. Maybe I should go to hear Rev. Dr.
Soyanada lecture on Mr. Ibsen. Or perhapsly I might walk in Unnatural
History Museum admiring skeletons. These light joys seem pretty
happy—but O!—of suddenly I think something better. I should write my
cousin Nogi for meet me in G. A. R. Cemetery where we could learn
American language by reading biographies on monuments.
Thursday morning arrive up. Such beauty of day! Air was clear like
alcohol, making blueness of sky which removed blueness from heart.
I never observed better day for servants to see cemeteries. At 11 I
eloped to room for make slight brush to shoes & derby.
Lunch time arrive.
“Togo,” report Hon. Mrs. Hoke, poking unprepared head into kitchen,
“you will be unexpectedly detained at home this afternoon; so sorry.
I shall give bridge-gamble for 48 friends this and 6 additional must
remain for dinner-eat.”
Door-slam was her next reply.
Mr. Editor, have you ever been retained in kitchen, manufacturing
lemonade-drunk for ladies while Nature stand outside whistling for
you? Amidst such sorrows your fingers shuffle their feet and your soul
refuses. I attempt to bake cake while enjoying these pains; but you
cannot make cake arise when your heart contains no yeast.
All through brightness of afternoon bridge-gamble continue while I poke
forth chocolate. At lateness of 11.22 p.m. 6 additional persons depart
off from dinner-eat. I go bed without congratulation.
Next morning Hon. Mrs. report to kitchen with shameface.
“So careless, I forgot Thursday!” she guggle.
“Could you not forget Monday or Wednesday next time?” I acknowledge.
“When Thursday comes again, remind me it is here,” she snuggest while
tucking her hairs.
So I again enslave myself with fidelity for 6½ complete days. This
Thursday, I think so, me & Nogi should see that delicious cemetery
while brightness of weather was there. Once more I write Nogi, “Come
meet me at kitchen, so we sure find each other.” He reply back, “Will
do.”
Next Thursday come up. More sunshininess of thermometer I never saw. On
such days birds gets headaches from too much song. So I was prepare to
elope away for slight vacation. By early date of breakfast I encroach
up to Mrs. Boss and reply with butler voice, “Thursday have arrive!”
“So glad you remind me—so he has!” she gosp. “If you had not speak I
would forgot—Daughters of Samantha Stitching Society meet here this
p.m. You must assist with salad-eat for 41.”
“Are this not my outside day?” I repeat for slight peev of tone.
“Be less impertinent in your impudence,” she snagger while walking.
I remain where was that afternoon. Yet my soul became so sogged he
nearly dropped out. At 2 p.m. while I was chopping up detestable
chicken for salad-feed, my Cousin Nogi make smiling knock-knock to
kitchen door.
“When shall you get out?” he require with fashionable derby.
“I am hopelessly sentenced for life,” I reply spirally. “Set down in
chairs and enjoy my imprisonment.”
Ring-door occur so I must lay aside my apron and other sorrows while
opening knob for assorted fat ladies. When I go back to kitchen and
commence explaining indignation in Japanese to Cousin Nogi, then Mrs.
Hoke poke her features in door.
“Who that?” she require hashly, making points to Nogi.
“My affectionate cousin Nogi,” I corrode.
“You are not permitted to amuse cousins while working,” she snib.
“Howeverly, Nogi may remain if he help pass salad to Daughters of
Samantha.”
Loudly crash heard when Nogi was escaping through window.
Mr. Editor, Thursday Out are like any other form of love. If you never
had it you never miss it. I had 2 Thursdays removed from me and was
getting accustomed to do without.
When another Thursday arrive up all Nature look cross & aggravated.
Extreme cyclones begin blowing away Kansas; trees threw down, huj
landslides of snow fell from heaven while wet rain also was there to
make puddles amidst ice.
Hon. Mrs. Heneretta Hoke arrive in kitchen with her face filled up from
the sunshine which was not in sky.
“Togo,” she say so, making charity expression of mouth, “you have been
earnestly faithful Japanese in bake, stew, and dish-wash.”
“I confess it.” This from me.
“Therefore I shall reward it,” she sympathize while pointing to
outdoors where nature were feeling seasick while blowing down
hen-shed. “I give you your Thursday Out.”
“I bid you merry no thanks!” I say it. “If convenient, I shall take my
outing inside where there is less pneumonia.”
“O!” she defy with steam voice. “You dishobey my orders?”
“If convenient,” I snagger, “I prefer my picnic in my bedroom where
there is only one leak.”
“Shall not do!” she howell. “Your lung require fresh air Thursday.”
“My lung feel plenty fresh already,” I insure.
“O boneless Japanese!” she retork. “Why should I be continuously
thoughtful for your convenience? Why should I treat you gently like a
horse when you stand there and kick my kindness back in my face?”
Bang door. She popp away.
When dishes was entirely washed off I retire upwards to my room with my
mind full of vacation. This department where I slept was neat room for
Japanese, but too small for Swedes. What should I do with this enclosed
Thursday? Sleep, perhapsly, and enjoy a few nightmares by daylight?
This seem too inappropriate. What then should I?
I set on bed opposite bursted portrait of Hon. Geo. W. Washington while
watching drop-drip of rain falling into wash-bowl. Pretty soonly I
uprose and lock door.
How should I be amused? Then, of suddenly, I think it. Music! That are
considered most fashionable indoor exercise for jaded fatigue. So I
open up trunk and got out following implements:
1 Japanese banjo of whang-string variety.
5 complete cigars of Philippine factory.
1 music entitled “Jolly Widow Wedding March.”
1 umbrella of American nationality.
I tie umbrella to bed, so keep off drop-drip. I arrange myself under
this water-shed, light cigar in teeth, put banjo in knuckles, retain
music on knee. Then I commence beginning. Japanese banjos, Mr. Editor,
refuse to wear American tunes unless forced to do so; but by practical
continuation of pick-pick on strings I can become quite Mozart. I
spent 2½ hours at this musical sympathy, filling small room with
more sounds than it could contain and almost becoming tuneful, when—O
startle!—knock-knock rapped at door.
“Come inwards!” I holla.
“Can’t do, and be pretty quick about it!” glub basso voice of Hon. Mr.
Hoke, making rattles from locked knob. “Please unlock door so I can
drag you out.”
I oblige politely by unlatching that locker. Hon. Hoke rosh inwards and
stand sky-scraping over me like bulldogs scaring mice.
“Why you mean?” he thonder. “Why you so reptilian in depravity when
kind Mrs. Wife are so angel-handed? Are she not entirely generous?”
“She are quite Carnegie,” I pronounce humbly.
“Did she not give you my shoes last week?”
“She do. I am saving them to give to some tramp who like ventilated
soles,” I oblate.
“What are more ungrateful than ingratitude?” he hoop. “And now this
sweetish lady offer you Thursday which you refuse. Why so?”
I point out of window where weather was there shooting lightning into
churches while thunder cursed with entreme bellus.
“I do not like this Thursday,” I renig. “It is damaged.”
“You shall be included among the wreckage!” he nash while compelling me
downstair. And next I stood alonesome in the midst of Thursday which
was quite drowned.
Hoping you are the same,
Yours truly,
HASHIMURA TOGO.
II
Togo’s Moving Day
_To Editor Good Housekeeper Magazine, who are still there, I hopes,_
Dear Sir:—Kindly to please notice my detachment from employ of Hon.
Mrs. & Mr. Anna G. Sulkz, Cornstable, N. J. I shall tell you how
they carelussly came to remove their home without including me among
furniture.
One morning a.m. Hon. Mrs. arrive to kitchen and observe me singing
Japanese opera amid dish-pans.
“Togo,” she say it, “date of Maytime will soonly arrive up. May Day are
come when nervus prostration are enjoyed by all Homes which must travel
for their health.”
“I should like learn this education,” I say it.
“You shall,” she pronounce. “Kindly to begin at oncely. Firstly you may
rave through house tearing all pictures down and all carpets up. We
must move on Wednesday before our lease stops doing so.”
“I shall obey with faithful mania,” are promus from me.
So I do so to any extent. I seek forth with tack hammer and am so
earnest from labor that entire residence look quite cyclone. Too bad
important cow portrait hanging over piano were crushed by falling on
that mahogany music! Also sorry to observe so much jugs, china, and
ancestors bursted by striking me while I worked! But what you expect?
Home are like any other ship. It would not be wrecked if it would
remain motionless.
But Hon. Mrs. Sulkz would not agree to this wisdoms. When plaster cast
of Mr. Dante, famous inferno, fell over and stroked me on forehead with
his sharp nose, Hon. Mrs. make loudy ouch.
“Awful!” she yellup. “Why must everything break what strikes you?”
“I am grieved.” This from me. “If that poet gentleman had less soft
head it would not explode when striking mine.”
“It were an artistic bust,” she narrate while weeping.
“I notice this,” I reprobate while sweeping up small plaster fraxures
from that great poetry.—And so onwards.
When Hon. Sulkz, important gentleman of Senator Penrose resemblance,
retire homewards that night, he look round with anxious thumbs.
“I wish women could vote,” he exaggerate, “because then they would get
less time for housekeeping and home would be left comfortable once in a
whiles.”
Hon. Mrs. make pepper answer to this reply, but I were too busy
dragging carpet downstairs by his ears.
At lastly morning of May date arrive. I awoke and called me early,
wishing to think Tennyson poem, but could not do because rain ensued
as usual and Italian-speaking shovels was digging gas-hole in street
amidst intense odor of smell.
I hear noise of considerable “Whoa!” befront of house. Look see! Three
swollen wagons resembling circus was there while 3 drivers, assisted by
enlarged Irish, spoke language to horses wearing overalls.
I rosh downwards to open door and all Moving Vanners rosh inwards
intending to make jiu-jitsu with furniture.
“O please!” collapse Hon. Mrs. while them 6 Vanners looked cruelty at
piano while unrolling their giant muscles. “O please be gentle with my
home!”
“Mrs. Lady,” say Hon. Boss Mover, making chawtobacco, “strong men
are always kindest.” With such dictation he embrace Hon. Piano with
terrible Turkish elbows and knock off several legs by removing
door-knob while brushing too close. Assisted by considerable Irish,
Hon. Piano make crash-bang music by stumbling into Van.
“How could you treat music so carelussly?” chock Hon. Mrs. ringing her
hands.
“One cannot be a Sandow and a Paderewski at same moment,” snuggest Hon.
Boss Vanner while performing slides with bed furniture.
Pretty soonly all that Home was ejected outward into street. Ancestors,
coal-scuttles, landscapes, dictionary, dust-pan, etc. all waltzed down
stairway on top of that great muscle. When Hon. Vanner drop bureau
which crack in 2 he say to Hon. Mrs. Sulkz, with chivalry expression,
“I call you to witness; this goods is damaged.” And so onwards.
Pretty soonly, when that Home were completely tied down in wagons, Hon.
Mrs. arise upwards from her nervus prostration and say so to me, “Togo,
can your brain do some intellect?”
“I shall be entirely brilliant, if brain is not,” I promus.
“Well, if so,” she snagger, “I wish you would ride on front wagon with
Chief Housebreaker and tell his brainless mind the number of new house
where it should go.”
“Where shall it be?” I inquest.
“Remember this number exactly—125 North Orange Street. Can your memory
assimilate it?”
“Doggishly!” I insure.
“Remember—125!!” she holla while Hon. Vanload chuckle off.
This job of bossing boss make me entirely enlarged in my sensations
which feel like German army. To think of! Small-down Japanese like me
setting there in frontwheel seat dictating orders to gigantic Irish!
This show how brains is more muscular than muscle.
Pretty soonly we arrive up to home entitled Number 125. O such
landscape of expensive house! Front lawn extending on all sides,
considerable pompus windows, goddesses in iron nightgowns standing near
fountains, and front door of considerable brass resembling Senators.
Joy inflamed my ears. How pleasure I feel to know that Hon. Mr. Sulkz
had increased his salary so much he could afford to move into house
like a library.
While thinking this intelligence I stood forth and command all those
enlarged Vanners like Napoleon moving into France. Firstly we go to
front door of new home for open him so furniture get in. How strange!
Hon. Key seem disabled to unlock it. Howeverly much we twist and
fubble, it make no impression on that brassy opening.
“You have got wrong key,” say Chief Mover. “But not be dishcouraged.
I was once a burglar. Therefore I can deceive that lock into opening
himself.”
With talented thumbs and several pocket-knife he stroggled & ranched
until—O suddenly!—Hon. Door click apart and there we stood in grandy
hall resembling theaters.
But what I see there? Surprise! That home we entered were entirely
filled with furniture of boastful appearance. Sofas, statues & gilty
upholstery stood everywhere looking natural.
“Last family have been too sluggish to move out in time,” glub Hon.
Vanner. “Shall we throw out this proud furniture and wedge ours in?”
“Not sure,” I renig dubfully. “So many sideboards & pianos might be too
heavy to throw very far. Perhapsly they are new instalment furniture
bought by Hon. Sulkz to fill up.”
“Gentlemen with so much duplicate tables should lead double lives,”
grubble Hon. Boss Teamer. “Shall we move inwards?”
“With immediate quickness!” I signify, making Admiral Dewey eyebrows.
So all Moving Vanners do so with immediate strength. Sooner than before
all that Sulkz home was walking into midst of grandeur which look quite
snobbish to see so many plain chair & table piled up in midst of that
Czar of Russia parlor. No room was for another piano, yet we pile him
next. Dining-room were too much crowd for second table, yet we set 2
on top of each other. Same thing must be did with beds, stoves, and
wash-tubs.
When all this jobs were completely finished, that house look like a
judge after Republican banquets—entirely grand, yet too filled to feel
comfortable.
However! When all those Vanners say “Gid-dap!” and drove away in Gen.
Direction of more beer, I sat alonesome in house. 4 hours I await idly
doing nothing. What had occurred to kill all Sulkz family that they
do not come to reside in this new palace? I was confused. Night time
approach up. I could hear ghosts creaking under piano, so I lit $10000
chandelier in dining-room and ate crackers while pretending I were King
of Portugeese expecting revolution.
Silence was interrupted by noise. What was? I heard many footprints
walking into house—and while it was too soon to hide, 2 realestaters, 6
police, Mrs. Sulkz, Mr. Sulkz, child & dog walk inwards.
“How you get in here?” howell Hon. Mrs. with voice.
“I move in,” I narrate calmly. “This are number you told.”
“It are right number but wrong house,” she snuggest. “I told you North
Orange Street. This are South Orange Street.”
“Would that make some importance?” I ask out.
“Mentality of a mice!” she aggravate. “Do you not know difference
between North and South?”
“There are no difference,” I explan with Abe Lincoln expression. “That
were settled by civil war.”
But before I could complete finishing my talk, more civil war elapsed
while Hon. Sulkz, police, real-estate, child & dog poke me through
mixed furniture while I eloped away like an old-fashioned egg escaping
from Dr. Ostler.
Hoping you are the same,
Yours truly,
HASHIMURA TOGO.
III
Togo Runs a Furnace
_To Editor Good Housekeeper Magazine who are cheaper than coal,
because he warms many homes, price 15c._
Dear Sir:—Most recent job of employment I was impeached from was home
of Mrs. and Mr. J. W. Humburg, Pondside, N.J. Perhapsly you can tell me
why, because I am disabled to understand the customary habits of some
households.
Just a few days of yore I apply there in extreme coldness of snow. This
Hon. Mrs. Humburg, dark hairs lady of muscular expression, approach to
kitchen and observe me.
“You are a cook?” she ask it.
“Yes are!” I say it.
“Then you will be expected to feed the furnace while doing so,” she
negotiate harshly.
“Must I be an engineer because I am a hired girl?” I requesh.
“I guess supposedly,” renig Hon. Mrs., while leading me to inferno of
down-cellar where I was introduced to Hon. Furnace. This iron animal,
Mr. Editor, lives like a very homely hermit in middle of low darkness.
He set there in nest of ashes, with tin snakes growing from his
forehead like zinc octopus. His teeth was full of blazes and he would
of made a nice idol for Japanese to worship when feeling old-fashioned.
I could not love his face which seem too hungry when open and too
satisfied when closed.
“We never permit him to go out in winter,” narrate Hon. Mrs.
“I shall watch see he do not escape,” I promus with Wm. Jerome eyebrows.
Annexed to Hon. Furnace were a slight clock with one finger going
around like taxicabs. “This are the steam gag,” explan Hon. Mrs. “He
are now pointing 23.”
“Do that tell age of Hon. Furnace?” I require educationally.
“No, not!” she snagger. “That indikate the number lbs. steam in
boiler. You must be careful about that. If Hon. Steam Gag jump above
25 lbs. that will mean Hon. Furnace have got too much steam on his
brain and might blow up with Harry Thaw noise. When Hon. Steam Gag get
too ambitious, Oh, cool Hon. Furnace with immediate quickness before
explode up!”
“A Samurai janitor fears no steam!” I reject proudishly, while folding
my elbows over coal shovel.
Mr. Editor, I did not stoke long in this situation of work, but I make
very pleasant impression of it. Although I enjoy thumb-scorch, ash-eye,
and janitorial pain of spine, yet I commence to love Hon. Furnace for
his characteristic. I begin to dishcover he are like Hon. Beethoven,
famus piano-player—he got red-hot soul inside his homely face. It were
pleasant to watch him eat $8 worth very hard coal and purr from sweet
digestion. It are nice to be healthy. He seem to contain no meanness.
When I close his mouth with shovel he forgive that impoliteness. He
love to have me comb his ashes with poker.
Pretty soonly, while doing this, I begin to feel like engineers running
_Lusitania_. I decorate my complexion with smudges and imagine how 1000
Newport passengers was on upstairs deck congratulating my intelligence.
While thinking thusly I poke more coal into inflamed mouth of Hon.
Furnace. Yet I keep my scientific eyesight on Hon. Steam Gag for see he
did not over-jump 25 lbs., thusly causing mania to explode.
This engineerish work seem so heroic that I grew quite peev about
merely house-maidenly work. Yet I was hired to do. So I perform them
with disgust.
While I was upstairs doing bed-make exercise, Hon. Mrs. incroach with
sharpness of face peculiar to swords.
“I am quite aquainted with Hon. Furnace,” I say for happy smiling.
“I notice it,” she degrade,“by the thumb-tracks you leave on
bed-spread.”
“If you would burn white coal, maybe I would match your delicate home
more nicely,” I snuggest.
She reply by not doing so.
Hon. Furnace seem more depressed that afternoon p. m., so I sit beside
him to shovel nourishment. Hon. Steam Gag say 14, which are very sick
temperature. Hon. Furnace look dull-eye like fish, and more I coaled
him the less he het. I feed him slight soap-box for light foods, and by
4:11 he smile more pleasanter and commence eating coal. At 5:12 Hon.
Steam Gag awoke up to taxicab work.
Thusly I left him and go to kitchen for make food for rest of family.
But my soul would not get into that kitchen work, Mr. Editor. It were
similar to a janitor attempting to be a chef. It might be done, but can
it? I almost nearly put shovelful of coal in apple-pie, I was thinking
so hard about what would tempt appetite of furnaces.
Howeverly, I finished fashionable foods for that Humburg family to eat,
to include considerable potatus and canned corn. Hon. Mrs. who went
to Trenton for slight shop-buy, arrive back at 6:34 attached to her
Husband. I observe that gentleman through door-hinge and notice his
dishagreeable Wall Street appearance. He look entirely bear-market.
First thing he do when approaching inside was to sneeze while walking
to Hon. Radiator and touching him with diamond fingers.
“Huh!” This from him. “Have you employed Hon. Doc Cook for janitor?”
“Why so?” This from Hon. Mrs.
“Because he makes North Poles wherever he goes,” snig Hon. Mr. I could
not assimilate this compliment which might be otherwise.
I brought in dinner-food on tray and set him to table. When Hon. Mr.
took chair he looked to me with serious eyesight.
“That are nice-looking niggero boy you employ,” he snuggest to Hon. Mrs.
“He are not niggero,” she devolve. “He got that complexion from being
attentive to furnace.”
“Oh,” he snagger. “If he would put more coal in Hon. Furnace and less
on that face, perhapsly I should feel less iced.”
I could not chide that denaturized man, yet I thought so.
After dinner-eat he approach to kitchen and say: “Togo,” he say with
doggish voice, “furnaces are made for heats. Otherwisely we would use
ice-boxes, which is just as handsome. Any cook who cannot feed my
furnace should be banished for cruelty.”
“I understand this knowledge,” I report chivalrously.
“Did you permit Hon. Furnace to go out?”
“Ah, no, not I did!” This I say. “I watch him entire day and give you
my truthful insurance he did not leave that cellar.”
“Tonight you must compel him to heat, no matter how desperado you act,”
he snarrel, departing off with bang-slam.
At hearing such adjectives, angry rages filled my hair with scorn. What
is so ungrateful as ingratitude? Nothing!! Had I not sat by sick-bed
of Hon. Furnace, feeding him what stumach would hold? Yes! And yet this
crude gentleman reproach my firemanship with coolness.
Nextly I become determined. I would compel that heater to a hotter
thermometer if I cooked my soul doing so, I declare!
So I ascend down to cellar. Hon. Furnace was still there doing the
same. I shook him with considerable peev, but he merely answered by
winking his dull coals. Hon. Steam Gag say 18 and act like he was
intending to faint away. I have read in novel-book about bravery of
engineer who save his ship by burning it up for steam. I shall do
similar!
I burst up kitchen table, which should burn nice because covered with
happy grease. Hon. Furnace love such foods and eat him with loudly
roar. Hon. Steam Gag jump forwards to 19. Afterwards I poke in oilcloth
which blaze resembling July 4 and smell more so. At this sight Hon.
Steam Gag leap onward to 21 and that cave where Furnace lived become
quite sun-stroke. And when I fetch forth excelsior-shave quenched with
kerosene, I never observed Hon. Furnace chew more satisfaction. Coal I
added in hodd—when—Oh, look!!
Hon. Steam Gag had arrived at 27 and was pointing his reckless finger
further up! This could not happen!!! I remember how Hon. Mrs. had
cautiously warned me that Hon. Furnace would get steamed brain and
explode from dementia if Hon. Gag surpass 25 lbs. Yet there he was
approaching 30 with mean taxi-click!
What should heroes do with such circumstances? I thought lightning. Too
much fire make too much steam, too much steam make blow-off. Therefore
fire must quit at oncely. With rapid coal-scuttle I make outrush to
kitchen sink where I fill him with water and make back-rush to cellar.
I open mouth of Hon. Furnace, and embracing my elbows, throw water with
awful strength. What did that cruel furnace reply then?
WHOOSH!!!***
Out-jump of steam, cooked coal & atmosphere suppress me backwards with
such rapidity that I hurricaned through 2 doors and 1 window, arriving
in outside snow-bank on the seat of my stumach.
“What deed have you done now?” scram Hon. Mrs. from topside porch.
“Your furnace just discharged me,” I flop back disgustly.
“I congratulate him,” she narrate. Then she make earnest close-down to
window, so there I sat surrounded by frost.
Hoping you are the same,
Yours truly,
HASHIMURA TOGO.
IV
Togo and the “ Weak-Enders”
_To Editor Good Housekeeper Magazine, who know how to make home
beautiful by staying there_,
Dear Mr:—There are a vacant place to be obtained for bright Japanese
Gen. Houseworker at home of Mrs. & Mr. Jeremia Spiggott, Flag Wave, Pa.
That vacancy are where I am not now working. It surprise me. This are
how it happen.
During breakfast-table last Fryday Hon. Mr, Spiggott look uply from
Pittsbug news-reading and say with voice, “Mrs. and Mr. Wm. H.
Axweilder shall be here tomorrow p.m. for slight weak-end visitation.”
“They are both entirely unwelcome, I am sure,” she snob.
“If we merely asked people we liked there would be no hospitality,” he
rake off. “We must enjoy Hon. Axweilder’s company because of his great
wealth. If we are sufficiently delightful to him maybe he will permit
me to cheat him in business. You will love his conversational talk. For
so dull a man he have a most penetrating mind.”
“He _must_ have to bore me so deep,” she snagger. “I like his wife less
than equally.”
So that day she enslave me for hard housework, so all shall be
delightful for this disgusting visit. All day I do considerable proud
bed-make with swollen quilts of mushy silk appearance. At lastly
tomorrow p.m. arrive when Hon. Mrs. approach, up to me and say with
commutor language:
“Togo,” she say it, “at toot of 2.22 train Mrs. & Mr. Axweilder will
arrive in custody of Hon. Husband. Kindly to hitch down Sarah, the
horse, to fashionable bug-wagon and elope to depot with coachman
expression.”
I go forthly to horse-garage where Hon. Sarah stood eating his oat.
So I hitched it and made immediate race-course to depot where I stood
proudly clutching harness with grand thumbs resembling Newport.
Toot-toot of 2.22! Three human personalities eloped forthly from
Pullmanly train. One were Hon. Spiggott appearing full of courteous
peev. Another was one enlarged gentleman of Republican expression.
Another were a very stretched lady whose nose contained great snobbery
amidst eyeglass.
“It are such pleasant change from our usual wealth to be trotting
behind mild horseback instead of whizzing as usual in expensive
ottomobiles,” she snuggest sweetishly as we jogg off.
“We prefer this style of locomobile because of its health,” growell
Hon. Spiggott. Yet he attemp to appear hospital.
At hallway of home Hon. Mrs. Spiggott were enwaiting with face
containing smiles. By the cordial of her behavior you would think
she was glad. “I am so hilarious to see you including your delicious
husband!” she holla with soprano. Kissing enjoyed.
“We shall have such unaccustomed pleasure in these simple
surroundings!” notate Mrs. Axweilder.
Mrs. Spiggott replied by looking iced with her eyes.
“I am glad you have came on such an amiable day for a golluf game!”
deplore Hon. Spiggott putting on sporty cap.
“Yes. It are going to rain,” say Hon. Axweilder with slump voice.
“That will make it seem more Scottish,” say Boss man cheerly.
“On what vacant lot have you room to play golluf in such a
neighborhood?” require Hon. Ax while they depart off looking dangerous
with clubs.
“This evening,” Mrs. Spiggott explain to Mrs. Axweilder, “we are
determined to give you dinner-party to include Mrs. & Mr. Washington
Whack, very charmed people next door.”
“Are they related to the Whacks of Tuxedo?” Mrs. Ax cut up.
“I are not acquainted with their geography,” glub Mrs. Boss.
“Unless from Tuxedo they cannot live,” describe other lady.
Mrs. Spiggott reply by thinking unpleasantly.
“Would you not enjoy slight driveway around neighborhood for observe
country and fresh air?” she require at lastly, as soonly as her voice
ceased freezing.
“I am always fascinated to see how the other ½ lives,” Mrs. Axweilder
shoot up.
So I again hitch down Sarah, the horse, and forthly we trotted.
While we elope past sweet gardens & landscapes that visitor continue
gawsping: “Quaint! How comfort people can be for small salaries!”
“Many persons surrounding here are top-high aristocrats!” snarrel Mrs.
Spiggott.
“Undoubtlessly!” snuggest Mrs. Ax. “My Uncle Henry lives in country
residence containing 800 rooms.”
“What are name of it—Sing Sing?” collapse Mrs. Madam with sweetly
smiling.
Mrs. Axweilder listen without hearing.
At lastly we arrive up to Cemetery View. Country Club for slight
tea-drunk. I await outside nursing Sarah, the horse, for considerable
hour. At lastly both Mrs. Ladies approach outward with accompaniment of
their husbands who smell quite highball. Both feminines look quite iced
as we go homeward.
At lastly was dinner-time. I ceased off being coachman and became
waitress, as usual.
“We only attemp small, cozy dinners in our excluded set,” explan Hon.
Mrs. while 6 persons took set-down to dinner.
“My dining-room contains 80 people, mostly nobility,” report Mrs.
Axweilder while eating soup.
Hon. Mr. Washington Whack, who set next by her, twist off his
shirt-button from excitements. While doing so he explain how his family
were similarly to Whacks of Tuxedo. Hon. Axweilder refuse to speak
while feeding his indigestion. Hon. Spiggott steam up his merriment and
tell college-bred tales about humor.
When all foods was finished all retreated to parlor room where
bridge-gamble was enjoyed till late night. At 1.62 oclock Mrs.
Axweilder call Mrs. Whack an Ace & Mrs. Whack reply peevly, “Renig!”
full of scorns. All make go-home agreeing how enjoyment that evening
was.
At 2.11 clocktime, while those Axweilders was glad go bed, Mrs. & Mr.
Spiggott set alonesome in parlor room where I could hear.
“Why do you bring those buffalo kittens to rage around this
neighborhood?” she ask it. “One day more and I shall poison their
foods.”
“They must get their fresh air somewheres,” he reprieve.
“Why should they spoil ours?” she snagger.
“I admit it,” he jar. “What could be more disgusting than Hon.
Axweilder?”
“Hon. Mrs. Axweilder,” say her. So they go bed thinking so.
Next morning were churchtime.
“We have engaged orchestra seats for you at church,” repose Mrs. Madam.
“It will be great treat.”
“What denomino church is it?” require Hon. Axweilder.
“Methodist,” say her.
“We never go Methodist,” say him. “We are Osteopaths.”
“Then you will be pleased to excuse us,” backfire Hon. Mrs. with
smiling glum. “We dare not neglect religion for those we love.”
So Hon. Spiggotts depart for church, walking together like chorus
girls. Hon. Axweilders remain in parlor room reading pictures in
comical supplement.
“Why you brought me to this disgustly place?” require she from him.
“I agree,” he snatch back. “We should have more fun going to hospital.”
When I hear this repartee I step forthly into room with helpmeet
expression.
“Sweethearted Weak-Enders,” I say so, “obtain your hats and baggages
with immediate quickness and I will snuggle you away from here before
they can catch you.”
“What you mean by what you say?” they require.
“I observe how you suffer. Therefore I help escape.” This I say.
“I should muchly admire to go,” he croach, “yet cannot because Hon.
Spiggotts would feel sad to lose us.”
“Your sudden depart off would grieve them even less,” I tell. “Last
night they included you among buffaloes and mentioned poison while
speaking of you.
“Oh!!” Both stand up on their stamping feet. They rosh upstairs for
bag. They rosh downstairs with it. I go to animal garage for hitch down
Sarah.
Pretty soonly church-bell chime forth while Mrs. & Mr. Spiggott return
backwards from there. They observe their weak-end gasts on porch.
“What—must you carry yourselves away before Monday?” require Mrs.
Spiggott for sorrow voice.
“Your poor but neat home is no place for zoological buffalos!” stroggle
Hon. Mr. Ax.
“And poisonous food might be expensive from high price of drugs for
economical persons,” grubble Hon. Mrs. Ax.
“Who told you this & that?” narrate those Spiggotts shockly.
“Togo did!” say others.
“So thanks!” she say so for sweetness resembling flirtatious snakes.
“Please continue your usefulness, Togo, by removing my happy company in
time to catch the time-table.”
Soonly I arrive up to porch-step accompanied by Sarah, the horse. When
those Weak-Enders and other baggage were loaded in, Hon. Mrs. Spiggott
spoke furthermore.
“Togo,” she pronounce, “when 1.11 train arrives up, hitch Sarah to the
depot and continue traveling by rail with my dearie friends who can
doubtlessly afford to hire you among their expensive servants.”
So I spanked up Sarah with expression of one seeking employment where
he is not needed.
Hoping you are the same,
Yours truly,
HASHIMURA TOGO.
V
Togo Swats the Fly
_To Editor Good Housekeeper Magazine, noble editor who make
fly-chasing delightful among national sports._
Dear Sir:—Last Wedsday midnight p.m. were historical date when I bade
sad kiss-a-by to employment from home of Mrs. K. W. Pumphrey, North
Bourbon, Ky. This were too bad accident from my helplessness.
When I enter this sweethearted home Hon. Mrs. Pumphrey say me, “Togo,”
she relate, “I am most particular about flies.”
“I am sure you must raise some delicious varieties of these live
stock,” I collapse for chivalry.
“O not to do!” she renig hashly. “I would sooner have a tiger in my
home than a fly.”
“A tiger might be more noisy,” I negotiate.
“A tiger merely contains six claws in his feet,” she snagger, “while a
fly got 10,000 scratchers each containing 10,000,000 germs. From this
you can estimate.”
I attemp to do so until fatigued.
“From national science report arranged by boss doctor of John
Hopsmith University I learn considerable valuable diseases which come
from flies. Asthma, miasma, phantasma, connection of the menbranes,
loss of memory, worms (hook, book & ring) hydrophobia, anglophobia,
colic, bibliography, and jaw-lock. All these are brought to homes from
footprints of this poisonous bird.”
“They should not be permitted to fly,” I abhor.
“It is not when they fly they are harmful. They do the damage when they
land,” she tell.
“In this they are similar to aeroplanes,” I snuggest.
“Perhapsly!” she combust. “At any rates, I give you instructions.
Whenever you see a fly, track him to his hole and shoe him at once.”
“Only horse-flies can be shoed,” I determinate.
She could not assimilate this reply I said.
“Whenever I see flies,” she say furthermore, “I shodder, not so much
for self & husband as for dearie Baby Alexander, who are endanger.”
“Expect me to fear nothing including flies,” I narrate cruelly like a
Samurai.
Mr. Editor, when housewifely lady got fears for something she got it
even when it are not there. I once did kitchen labor for one lady who
imagine tramps was somewhere all time. When grocer arrive with order
expression, she holla, “Tramp!” till he say otherwise. She yall,
“Tramp!” when welcoming book-agent peddleman come. One day gentleman
in very tired-looking clothes arrive up to door. She screech, “Tramp!”
and quench him with hose-water. “I am preacher,” he yellup. “I thought
you was tramp,” she oblige. “At my salary I should be,” he negotiate
while walking awayward.
Thusly it were with Hon. Mrs. Pumphrey about flies. Each morning she
examine fly-paper lovingly like mariners studying charts.
“How much flies we caught this a.m., Togo?” she ask it.
“Six,” I say it. “Five house and one butter.”
“Unloosen Hon. Butterfly,” she dement. “We should not punish nature’s
lovely insex becouse of sins of others.”
So I grabb that lovely insex and attemp remove him from his sticky
toes. But when I done so he turn meanly and bit me on thumb with hot
end of his poison tail.
“That butterfly are a wasp!” I lecture amid Japanese word curse.
“Wasps does little harm,” she say sweetishly.
“What little they does can be noticed immediately,” I snarrel.
And so onwards.
After 2½ days of continuous flymanship I become extremely skilful
in murder. My ears became very bright by listening for flies. At
distance of 66 ft. I could hear Hon. Fly walking up windows. Then was
time for me. My eyebrows containing gunpowder expression peculiar to
Bwana Tumbo, I hide behind curtain-shade with cruel hand containing
swat-stick. Hon. Fly approach, little imagining. Now and occasionally
he stop and rubb his mittens together so they will be more ready to
catch more diseases. Still I await. Of suddenly I arise uply, silently
like eels drinking milk. And then. Swatts!!!
By this warfare I broke considerable flies and other dishes.
Hon. Pumphrey, husband, come home saying scorn about flies.
“What are so fatalistic about this bug all of a suddenly?” he ask it.
“In childhood of youth I was affectionately acquainted with flies.
While enjoying cradle-ride of infancy, flies was allowed to buzz round
my head like angel whispers. And yet I live.”
“Man who talk like that never had any infancy,” snagger Hon. Mrs. with
peev.
“If folks in this neighborhood could pay less attention to screen door
and more to window-lock there would be less burglary,” he otter. “6
homes has been burglarized while everybody was busy snubbing flies.”
He remove one enlarged coltish revolver filled with bullets and lay him
doggishly on table.
“O!!!” This from Hon. Mrs.
“While you are executing flies I shall mutilate burglars,” he narrate
with militia voice. “And let us see who gets it first.”
“Kindly not to point him this way while doing so,” elocute Hon. Mrs.
Madam looking calm but nervus.
[Illustration: _By this warfare I broke considerable flies and other
dishes._]
Another weeks go by and I am very much embossed in my work. Once in
occasionally Hon. Fly come walking into home on deceptive wings, yet
I pursue. Sometime I make masher motion with broom & impale him flat
against wall. Other time I allure him gently with towl so he flop to
fly-paper where his feetsteps becomes glue.
Once Hon. Fly alight downward on Baby Alexander nose, shaking his cruel
feet, intending to leave 10,000 symptoms. Spank! I capitulate that
insex by stroking Hon. Baby on head with apron. Yet he cry without
thanks for my bravery.
At lastly that house were so scarce of flies you could not find him
without advertising. All day, while not sweeping other rugs, I search
back & forthly with cruel fly-spank. Yet never a buzz was there. Such
was accomplishment of my great science.
Night of Wedsday approach up. When dinner-eat was accomplished and
dish-wash ceremony done up, my Cousin Nogi arrive to kitchen for make
conversation from Japanese politics while eating cake, kindness of Mrs.
Pumphrey who didn’t know it. Lateness of hour arrive. When time of
11.63 p.m. come, Nogi make sleepy go-home while I emerge to my bedroom
expecting tomorrow, as usual.
I light gass. What was? Buzz! Ah, Hon. Fly, where was it? I turn
my eyesight behind window-curtain—and sure enough! There stood one
entirely enlarged buzzer washing his front thumbs.
With sneekret expression I borrow slipper from myself and stole forth.
Crouches. Of finally, when Hon. Fly seem to be looking at his nose, I
lep. Bangs! Yet he was too soon. He flew uply, aeroplaned circular for
moments, and then—when less expected—start to fly outward through door.
O!! This escape must not! Slightly down hallway were child-room where
Hon. Baby Alexander layed enjoying innocent nightmares. That fly must
not arrive there to sting him with medical diseases. If no hero was
there to save him who must? I must!
Therefore I rosh forwards with slippershoe in my Samurai thumbs.
With talented stroke of match I lit gass. O yes! There were Hon. Fly
snuggling in air right over eyebrow of that infantile. I make talented
swing to lash him with slipper, yet he were too collusive for me.
Ere I could brush him dead he make slippery-wing motion & flew to
window-curtain where he hide shyly like poets avoiding praise.
I should get him yet! I crouch downly, my slipper raised uply. But
while I do so—O look! Who there?
Standing distinctually in doorway of child-room I observe Hon. Mr.
Pumphrey standing like a cold ghost in pajamas. And in his righthand
finger he held that enlarged coltish revolver.
“What is?” he whasper ghastly.
“I chase one in here!” I gollup. “He are now coyly hiding behind
curtain of window.”
“Were he stealing my child?” gawsp him.
“Not yet but maybe,” I narrate.
“Wait while I shoot,” he narrate while making target movement.
“Ah not!” I holla. “Permit me to do so. I have killed several with
slippers.”