into California. Something inside my interior stumack seem to speak
of my dead ancestors. And look! Each stylish person of that cruise
begin concealing their happiness by laying down on it. Groans. Yet Hon.
Liddbeater continue to make happy cheek and smiling lip resembling Hon.
Edw. Foy seeming comic.
At lastly he motion Hon. Salt Gentleman to choke his engine.
“This are the exact patch of waves where Thos Cod came to chew their
cud,” he explaned. “Therefore, Hon. Capt. stop boat. Togo, while all
other fishermans lay dying, you shall cut baits attractive to fish.”
“If convenient, Mr. Sir,” I bereft, “I should prefer to join the other
groans.”
“Continue to fish-hook or I discharge you!” he dib.
“If you would discharge me back to shore I would bless you in
Japanese,” I gargle. Yet he horribly threw me clams, unhappy mammals
which I must amputate with dull knife while spearing them with
disgustly hooks.
Hon. Liddbeater lit pipe of very enraged smell. Groans by all.
“Nothing like pipe-smoke while fishing!” he say for smiles.
“I notice,” is feebly voice from me.
Pretty soon Hon. Boss make electric movement with wet string. He bite
pipe more cruelly while halling in one enraged cod who mock him with
angry mouth.
“A beautiful fish!” he yellup joyly. “All see it!”
All those sicknesses report “Um” with unhappy nose.
“Are he not beautiful fish?” he ask it to me.
“Perhapsly when younger,” I disengage while holding my head on.
Of suddenly Hon. Mrs. Liddbeater arise upwards from pillows like a
fried snake.
“For sake of your children,” repeat her, “I ask you to cease making
clams and people and Japs and fish miserable for selfish joy of your
depravity. Put us somewheres where we can run away.”
“Fishing cannot be accomplished by running away,” he deploy with
Samurai expression. “I never depart off until I have caught 14.”
“O!!” yellup Eclaire looping beside Stanhope and looking less engaged
than usual. “Drowning would be painless after this.”
“If you drowned I could save you,” dictate Stanhope looking very pale
Yale.
“Any shipwreck would be welcome,” mone Oliver greenishly.
“Will nothing stop off your mulish fishing?” require Hon. Mrs. waking
up from her death.
“Unless the boat sinks I shall stay remaining here until I catch 14,”
he growell.
That ocean now look entirely double to me and I could feel my courage
rolling around inside my lung.
“If the boat sink I be much obliged!” gaggle all together like
chorus-girls in hospital.
“I know how!” I holla with suddenness of intelligence. “By preparing to
swim you shall snub those 14 codfish!”
Thusly exclamming, I lept uply & grabb hammer where it layed sleeping
beside lunch. With nimble ankles peculiar to heroes I jump to bung-plug
in central middle of that boat. Whacks! Uply sprung plug quite
corkishly and next came huj sprout of salt Atlantic approaching inside
like giganterous fountain.
“Brainless species of mice!” reproach Hon. Mr. while attempting to
brush out ocean with heel. Yet already Hon. Boat resemble bath-tub
where all set in lake. Alarming wakefulness from seasickness was next
to arrive and—before I could acknowledge—each person make flop-splash
to water including me who was there amidst swimming while Hon. Boat
turn over on his nose and float up-down.
I save Hon. Mrs. Liddbeater, lady of large tonnage but considerable
floatage. Hon. Oliver save Hon. Bluebell. Hon. Liddbeater save himself.
Hon. Eclair save Hon. Stanhope. Hon. Captain save Hon. Bottle. So
everybody were quite comfortable, thank you, hooking their nails to
stumack of that boat. But where was room for me? I continue onwards
splashing doggishly.
“Why should it?” I holla with water-spouts. “I save you from sick-death
and yet you will not support me on your floater.”
“Get off of!” snagger Hon. Mrs. giving me crude push with heel while I
attemp to sclutch.
“Did I not stop fish-catch?” I bubble frogfully.
“We can be sifficiently miserable without you!” narrate Hon. Oliver
while making water-polo across my head.
“You are discharged!” howell Hon. Liddbeater. “Report to my office in
New York for your payment.”
I hear this ingratitude with extreme compression of soul. How difficult
it are to be useful when not required to do so! Therefore I would snub
them with my immediate departure.
Thinking thusly I struck offward in gen. direction of New York and when
lastly seen I feel very free, although expecting to be drowned.
Hoping you are the same,
Yours truly,
HASHIMURA TOGO.
IX
Togo Meets Hon. Clothes Line
_To Editor Good Housekeeper, who help make civilization with soap._
Dear Mr.:—Another place where I am no longer at is Rahway, N. J.,
working for Mrs. H. Griddle, cultured lady.
I tell you why I am removed.
This Mrs. Griddle to who I came determined to do Gen. Housework, have
got considerable musical ambition inside her voice. She do all her
housework at the piano. For continual hours each day she set there
making soprano, compelling her voice to do following gymnasium:
AH
yi yi
yi yi
Hi ah!!!
More of this is to be continued. She say vocal culture require great
endurance. She contain more of this noble quality than I can.
Washday arrive up to Griddle home by each Monday a.m. when Hon. Maggie
Kelley approach to laundry prepared to drown all clothing in suds.
This lady, who contains 6 feet complete muscle, is a scrubber of great
talents. She say she was deprived of her husband several years of
yore, because he beat her frequently. I should like to observe that
athleetick gentleman.
A wash lady is something I prefer not to be, above all professions.
But last Monday it was arranged for me.
“Togo,” dictate Mrs. H. Griddle, stopping her soprano sifficiently to
speak, “you will kindly give ade to Hon. Maggie today in clothes wash
ceremony.”
“O thank you not to do so!” I declare with pathos.
“Why so?” she snagger with Mary Garden expression.
“This Hon. Maggie treat me without chivalry. How could I be assistant
scrub beside her haughty actions?” I resolve.
“Either do so or deprive yourself of this job,” she holla, departing
off in high Key of C.
I find Hon. Maggie lady in laundry preparing to suds. Redness appear
from her hair and arms while she look to me with cross expression
peculiar to a eagle watching an angly-worm. Then she lift wash-boiler
from stove showing energy like Sandow juggling automobiles.
“Jap,” she reproach.
“Yes, Sir!” I pronounce.
“Was you sent here to look beautiful or to be helpful?” she ask out.
“Not sure—Mrs. Boss did not instruct me which to be,” I report.
“I will instruct you!” she growell like a lady menagerie. “Become busy
as soonly as possible. You will find a clothes-ringer annexed to yonder
tub. Attach yourself to the handle and ring the cloths earnestly until
I tell you quit.”
She point to one slight machinery resembling a hand organ with pianola
rolls. I wind this instrument continuously. Nothing evolve.
“O Mrs. Madam, I cannot hear the bell!” I suggest.
“Which bell please?” she otter.
“You tell me to ring the clothes, not so?” I ask it.
“I despise you for your yellow mind!” she dib. “Clothes does not ring
when you ring them!”
I could not assimilate the way she said it. She lift several drowned
clothes from the tub and show me with considerable muscle how to squash
them through those rollers. Clothes, however wet, can be sent through
that machinery and emerge forth with great dignity like flat snakes.
I turn crank handle continuously while Hon. Maggie make poke-in with
wettish clothing. I enjoy great pain in my wrist and elbows, and when
I commence to quit, this laundered female say “Faster” with bull dog
expression.
Pretty soonly I lay down my hands and stop. Her mad eyebrows snub me.
“Hon. Mrs. Wash,” I renig, “why should you be more cross and peeved
than other persons?”
“Togo,” she say so, “my duties require it. Cleaning things is a job
full of tragedy and other grouch. It would be unnatural to laugh while
washing. Clothes is pleasanter to wear, but unpleasant to scrub. It
is similar with everything. Dishes is joyful to eat from, but nobody
admire them when hour of dishpan arrive. Nobody love Monday, because it
is sacred to splash and suds, yet if Monday was abolished by Congress,
there would be no beautiful society on Saturday night.”
“Can’t some variety of soap be invented with more poetry in it?” I
require.
“It could,” she dib, “but it would probably be useless to take the dirt
out.”
Hon. Mag fill tub with artistic color from blue bottle.
“While you are idle you can do something!” she holla suddenly like a
steam whistle.
“How could I do something when idle?” this inquiry from me.
“You see that baskett of clothes?” She point forth to one baskett full
of complete whiteness like a bushel of damp ghosts.
“I observe what is.”
“Take them immediately for hang-out!” she otter with gloom.
“What should I hang them out from?” I require.
“Maybe you are not acquainted with clothesline!” she say sarcastly
while she led me forth to back yard where she introduce me to
this useful rope. “If I knew I was to come to this place to be
washing-instructor, I should demand teacher’s salary,” she pronounce
glubly.
“That would be nice job for deserving widows,” I say for politeness.
Yet she seem less ladylike.
“To hang clothes,” she instruct, “you must first lift them one at
a time from the baskett, grasping them by both ears—thusly.” She
show how. “You shake him twice, snap—snap!” She demonstrate this
with considerable clothes-shake. “Then you buckle him to line with
a clothespin on each ear.” She fill her mouth with clothespins, and
then she lift one tablecloth by his ears, shake him brutally with her
pugilistic hands, and nail him to clothes-line like she said so.
“You got sifficient strength enough to do this?” she require snapply.
“Maybe-so, yes,” I report.
“If not, I give you the prize!” she say, eloping to house without
telling me which prize she meant.
I put all my intellectual mind on this clothes-hang job. It seem to be
light, agreeable job for Japanese Schoolboy—simply to lift a clothes
by his ears and glue him to rope with clothespins. But suddenly I was
reminded. That Clothes-line was 7½ feet in highness, while I stood
merely 5 feet in lowness. How should I get up there without flying
machinery?
I observed a step-ladder sleeping quietly by kitchen window. It
was a very diseased-looking furniture with lameness in one leg and
several ribs fractured by too much exercise in open air, yet it was a
step-ladder. I removed this piece of stairway to underneath clothesline
where I put him. Then I poked six (6) clothespins in my mouth like
wooden cigars. Then I took one pillow case from baskett, shook him
rudely by his ears and ascended upwards. Hon. Ladder wubble on his sore
leg, yet I enjoy no fear, because I am a brave Japanese. With gestures
of extreme courage I pin Hon. Pillow Case to that stretched string
where he clung with beautiful purity peculiar to washing.
I began to love this clothes-hang performance. It seemed so nice and
healthful to do housework outdoors amidst backyard scenery and gentle
summer breeze. It was very superior pleasure for me, making up and down
hops on that ladder with agility resembling birds.
So I continued onwards near my duty. With extreme earnestness I
suspended following clothing where they hung lynched upon line:
1 tablecloths (slightly dragged on ground, yet quite pale).
9 towels (one of them dropped, but was nicely brushed afterwards).
3 sox.
4½ pillow-case.
While standing tip-top on that ladder I was enabled to observe Nature.
It are wonderful how tall a short Japanese feels while standing on a
ladder! I could distinctly see over fence into next yard where Hon.
Swede lady employed for cook by Mrs. J. C. Camel was making flirting
conversation with Hon. Ice Man. I also observe Hon. Cat obtaining
slight refreshment of cream-pitcher from window while that Swede was
too interested. I stood in joyful trance holding wet sheet while biting
clothes-pin like wooden sigars. It make such inexpensive enjoyment for
cool summer day to stand on ladder beholding other folk’s business!
In the midst of everything Hon. Swede Lady turn off suddenly and see
Hon. Cat. She made rude “Shoo!” with voice, and Hon. Cat were so
offended he fell from window in the midst of milk pitcher and extreme
breakage. With immediate quickness he made rabid scoot for fence with
tail enlarged like a comets. “I shall attach him for you!” I holla to
Mrs. Swedish—but soonly as I did so—O calamity!!
I lean too forward and Hon. Ladder stub his toe and broke lame leg
with loud scrash! Bereaved of my support I make wildly grabb for
atmosphere, Hon. Clothesline was where I struck, so I clasp him with
tense affection. And there I was, hanging among clothes, swinging my
legs with motion peculiar to wet stockings. Hon. Maggie Kelley observe
me in this dangled condition.
“Git downward!” she snuggest.
Before I could reproach back, Hon. Rope bursted and I was anticipated
to ground so forcibly that I sat there wondering what. Entire
clothes-line seemed to surround me with damp washing like a wounded
sail. Hon. Maggie making hysteria, seize bottle of wash blue in her
prize-fight hands and approach a.m. screaming war cries. With howell of
great intensity she threw that sky-colored liquid to my head, covering
my nose and eyebrows with splashes of brilliant art.
Next she rose to house and obtain broom. When I seen that female club,
I lost my connection with that home. I lep forwards. I fled off. I swum
over the fence with great skill and continued to elope elsewheres.
Farebye to that job!
When nextly seen I was 2 miles Westward setting among woods attempting
to rub wash-fluid from my forehead which was blue.
Hoping you are the same,
Yours truly,
HASHIMURA TOGO.
X
Togo Coaxes Down the Cost of Living
_To Editor Good Housekeeping Magazine who desire to make high-life
less costly._
Dear Mr.:—Please address all letters to Fineheimer Employment Bureau
where I am looking for it, as usual. Sorrow for me. Sometimes I think I
am like a shoot-gun, merely make to be fired.
When last seen I was employed at home of Mrs. Ethel McManus who reside
with her husband, Mr. Ethel McManus at Honeyville-on-the-Hudson. They
are a very matrimonial couple of people. They were married only a short
time of yore. Therefore they are living in midst of wedding presents
which they are trying to use as furniture. How superflous!
“Togo,” say this lady to me, “I hire you because we are too poor to
live without a servant.”
“How smart idea!” I report with chivalry.
“Yes,” she repartee. “I learn this wisdom from newspaper: ‘A good
servant will save Hon. Housekeeper $6 a week.’ Acting on this advice I
hire you for $5 a week, which make following arithmetic: $6-$5 = $1.
Therefore I have cleaned up $1 a week by transaction.”
“If you kep 20 servants at that rate you could save sufficient to keep
ottomobiles,” I pronounce joyfully.
“I have oftenly thought of that,” say this bridish lady. “But I think I
shall begin gradually on 1 servant and see how much I save.”
“I permit you to retain all you make off me,” I suggest for generosity.
“Your duties,” she utter, “is to keep high cost of living as low-down
as possible. I expect you to buy food for our home, and to purchase
it with such financial cuteness that everything will cost less than
formerly. When Hon. Beefsteak cost 28c per lb. I expect you to chide
him until he become more reasonable. Hon. Chicken must walk down from
his 37c perch if he wish to join us at our table. Potatus, string-bean,
butter and salad must also act less haughty in their prices if they
wish to associate with us on bill-of-fare. Could you manage this for
our household?”
“Japanese are great diplomatists,” I report. “I am willing to approach
the problem with intense stinginess.”
“The duties of a servant,” repeat Mrs. McManus with expression of
old-age peculiar to brides, “the duties of a servant is to come into
more affectionate contact with butcher, baker and icer. Thus tradesmen
might be coaxed into sharing with Housekeeper that profits which they
now selfishly keep in their business. You will arrange this.”
“I am willing to promise anything,” I collaborate.
“Each morning after dish-wash ceremony is over & Hon. Furnace is fed
for the day, you must promenade with basket to market where High Cost
of Living resides. It is useless for you to squander $2 here & there in
reckless provisions. I read in newspaper this morning how one delicious
and nourishing lunch for 3 persons might be bought for 50c, including
cost of gas to cook it with. I shall try it today. My Hon. Aunt Augusta
are expected here at noon. I require you to make miraculous meal for
her. Here is 50c. Take it and be economical.”
“I could not be extravagant under those circumstances,” I renig,
compressing the ½ dollar to my pocket.
“Be as hasty as possible,” she beseech when I depart.
“It should take no time to make 50c go a long ways,” I encourage.
“I shall saunter among markets making storekeepers jealous by my
independent behavior. Then I shall promenade homewards and commence to
cook.”
I do so and this is what I done.
I spent 5c trolley fare and arrive to shop of Hon. Fritz Schultz,
prominent butchery. I discover this wealthy meat-person standing
befront of his store making sweet whistles.
“O Hon. Mr. Sir,” I commence, “your soul feels very musical this
morning.”
“A butcher’s soul is like his sausage,” he confab, “full of strange
and wonderful surprises. Also I must feel slightly poetical because
Spring have arrived to my store.”
“Spring,” I snagger.
“Ah, yes,” he say off. “Beholt the signs of Spring in my window.”
I notice several. One say: “SPRING LAMB!—Marked Up to 42c.” Another
say, “SPRING CHICKEN—Formerly 18c. Reduced to 27c.”
“Why should meat behave so heavenly?” I reproach. “It is continually
soaring beyond.”
“The Trusts—they are greedy about making profits,” he say, arranging
his necktie, which was full of diamond pins. “The Trusts are to blame,
as usual. What can I sell you this morning? I shall be willing to part
from some delicious pork chops for twice that they are worth.”
“At such a price pork should taste like venison,” I suggested.
“Have you got any food for sale that is less ostentatious?” I acquit.
“Corn beef,” he report. “That homely dish can be obtained for 22c per
lb.”
“I shall take 1 lb. please,” I order.
“Umpossible!” he disorder. “My corn beef come only in 5 lb. patterns.”
My soul drop back, completely flabbed.
“Ain’t you got nothing that I can buy for 15c?” I gosp.
“How you insult me!” he gollup, wiping meat-axe with rage. So I depart
off before chop occur.
It was now 11:30 by clock-time and I had not yet obtained that 50c
lunch. I spent 5c more trolley fare arriving at Nusbaum’s Butchery.
This leave me 40c with which to do so with.
“What you got for 15c which is sifficient to retain 3 persons, mostly
ladies?” I ask from Hon. Nusbaum. He look to me with fatty eyebrows.
“I can give you 3 nice mutton bones for that price of money,” he report.
“Can food be made from mutton bones?” I ask it.
“If properly prepared,” he renig, “they are delicious. First they
should be boiled for 4 days in extract of beef, then stuffed with
chicken giblets, olives, muskrooms, raisons, and 12 fresh eggs chopped
finely. The cost of this dish are as follows:
Bones 15c
Chicken giblets 1.50
Muskrooms .75
Eggs .65
Raisons .20
————
Total Extravagance $3.25”
“You call this cheap dish?” I holla nervely.
“You would be surprised to see how cheap it tastes!” he suggest while I
walk away from that conversation.
I stand with my 40c remainder on sidewalk and wonder what next. Ah!
Vegetable lunch is most delicate for invalids and full of economy.
Therefore I shall go to place of Hon. Cyrus Goldthwaite, groceries and
vegetables. I arrive there by trolley, which cost 10c because I lost my
transfer. This subtract me down to 3c.
“What wish?” require Cyrus Goldthwaite, with spectacles.
“How much would 3 potatus cost?” I negotiate. I was sure those
vegetable would be nourishing, because Irish eats them and remains
quite warlike.
“They come in all sizes,” suggest Hon. Goldthwaite.
“Give them to me about ladies’ size,” I suggest, because I knew they
was for a ladies’ lunch.
Hon. Goldthwaite hand forth 3 gentle-looking potatus.
“23c” he require.
“O, Hon. Groceries!” I abject. “Ladies cannot live on potatus alone.
I got 30c with which to obtain lunch for 3. From this I must extract
5c for trolley home-trip. What bill-of-fare can I purchase for 25c
remainder?”
“Sardines,” he say, “are nourishing but they tastes lonesome without
crackers. These rare fishes costs 20c per box and sifficient crackers
to chaperone them would cost 7c. This would leave bonus of 3c for salt.
Or if you would think it more delicate you might obtain ½ lb. cheese
at 18c and 1 potatus at 7c.”
“I am completely puzzled by this arithmetic,” he said.
“Maybe I should telephone to Mrs. McManus and find what is,” I say so.
So I do so.
“Hullo!”
“Yes.”
“This is Togo.”
“O!” Chillbite voice.
“I wish to ask, please, what you would prefer as nourishment? Would 2
potatus and one box crackers seem more sifficient than ½ lb. cheese
and 1 potatus?”
“For which meal, please?” she snib.
“For lunch, please,” I expose.
“Togo!” holla blond voice from telephone, “as it is now 1:45 in P. M.
and my guest has already went elsewheres in search for food, I can see
no sensible ratio in your horseless remarks. How dare you show your
face a.m. telephone under such conditions?”
“Be more calm to me,” I besearch. “You sent me forth with 50c to save
money from food. I done so. If your guest went away without lunch, she
saved you that much. Which were very economical. When you substract 25c
from my traveling expenses you will still have 25c for profits on the
day. Thusly I save you from your luxuries.”
“You are talking a vacuum,” she strongle. “There is _one_ luxury you
shall save me from in future.”
“Which luxury is that, please?” I deploy.
“You!” she snagger abruptly. Bang-up for telephone.
Hon. Goldthwaite charge me 10c for that telephone. Which show that high
price of talking is also increasing rapidly upward.
With my remaining wealth I advance hopefully forward towards Fineheimer
Employment Bureau which I am always welcomed.
Hoping you are the same,
Yours truly,
HASHIMURA TOGO.
XI
Togo Becomes a Fire Hero
_To Editor Good Housekeeper Magazine who saves more homes than
insurance._
Hon. Dear Sir:—Another place where I am habitually absent can be found
at home of Hon. Mrs. & Mr. Susan J. Fogg, Turnverein, Conn. I was burnt
away from that place because of my heroism. I tell you how was:
This Mrs. Fogg lady reside with her husband and furniture in a
residence, which are covered with extremely wooden decorations, which
talented sculptors have cut out with saws. She say it is one Queen
Annie house. Perhaps so it is. Maybe this Annie were empress of Coney
Island to build such merry architecture.
Hon. Mrs. Boss are considerable proud of her house & what is inside.
She got an elaborate number of plush picture-frames containing photos
of Homer. Also she got cute jugs and pitchers walking over shelves &
tables resembling decorated bugs doing so. Her dining room are full of
cut-up glasswear to resemble swollen diamonds. Over mantel-peace are
portrait-face of Uncle Seth, famous hero, who was scared to death in
Battle of Bully Run.
“Home,” she say so to me on date she hired me for employment, “Home
should be full of objects to resemble soul of sweet lady what keep it.”
“What a romping soul you must have!” I exclam for chivalry, while
rubbing eyes to observe purply curtains and reddy carpets.
“My house is nearly all furnished with wedding presents, birthday
tributes and auction bargains of happy days,” she tell proudishly. “I
value them for dear associations.”
“Dear associations seldom match in color,” I narrate. She did not
assimilate those words I said it.
“For instancely,” she go onwards, “there is painted fire-shovel with
snow-scenery from Grandpa’s farm. I would not take considerable for
that shovel.”
“How much has you been offered?” I ask to know.
But she was thinking elsewheres.
“Togo,” she otter with serious eyebrows, “there is not one drop of fire
insurance on this house!”
My heart stand on end for this informations. “Then it would not pay to
burn it!” I gosp.