thankful for Hon. Turkey, however tough!”
Just while she say this—crashy!! Loud sound of approaching dog heard
from kitchen window, and Hon. Fido with waggish tail trott into
dining-room, carrying that enormalous bird in his careful teeth. He lay
that absent fowel reverently a.m. feets.
“Hon. Fido do not care for this enlarged chicken, so he bring him
back,” I report.
“Dinner are now spoilt!” decry Hon. Mrs.
“How could you speak it?” I research. “When turkey go, you say,
‘Dinner ruined!’ When he come back, you say, ‘Dinner spoilt!’ I am
impossible to understand about American customs.
“You have Thanksgive dinner so you can set around making bewails. So
foolish to do! Why you no choose this date for to kick out Misfortune?”
“I shall do so!” abrupt Hon. Goober, arising upwards. “First Misfortune
to kick will be in your direction.”
Next he rejected me through window by force of Swedish jiu-jitsu. Hon.
Fido arrive by next kick, and Hon. Turkey flew afterward, striking me
on hair so earnestly he left me quite brainless.
Hoping you are the same,
Yours truly,
HASHIMURA TOGO.
XIV
Togo Seeks Tea and Finds Tango
_To Editor Good Housekeeping Magazine who must realize the extreme
difficulty of keeping home dull,_
Dear Sir:—I have leaped so continuously from jobs to jobs since you
last heard from me that I am becoming a very talented bounder. The
nearly last place to which I was attached rejected me away because of
my extreme industry in sweeping carpets while company was there to
sneeze. Boss Lady at that place was kind but brutal, so she give me
following letter of recomment to quit with:
TO WHO THIS MAY SUPPLY:—
This introduces our Mr. Togo (retired). If you want to see what a
housemaid he is, try him. He is capable of anything. Please treat him
like I did.
MARY L. MONTFUSSER.
Next place where I took this note were home of Hon. Mrs. & Mr. Wm.
Vanderbitt Jones, residing in very swollen location located near Aspic
Falls, N. J. That neighborhood was so formula that it make me feel
quite English while approaching up to it. I was included into rear
entrance amid buttlers, where Hon. Mrs. Vanderbitt Jones, crystalized
lady of expensive beauty, arrive there and require, “You unstand how
serve tea?”
“Tea are favorite drunk of Japan,” I exaggerate pridefully. “It are
served there with ceremony——”
“It are served here with tango,” she snib stylishly. “Did you ever
learn how?”
“Never yet,” I nudge, “yet I can quickly learn to include that amid
cream & sugar.”
“How irritated!” she snib while making her fingers touch her
fashionable hairs. “Howeverly, since it is too late already, you must
remain staying.”
A English buttler without any H in his words took me to long room and
show me how pile up furniture and remove off all explosive glassware
from table.
“Why you make so much removal?” I ask to know.
“When tea-drink begin they commence dance,” he acknowledge.
“Tea never make persons dance in Japan,” I snagger.
“It are only commencing to have that effect in America,” he explain.
“But in 1914 it are fashionable to have it go to feet when swallowed.”
I were chewing this education with my brain when confused varieties of
Smart Setters arrive up with enlarged limousine hacks and make ha-ha
handshake including Vernon Castle expression.
I notice great absence of that stiff-souled dignity peculiar to
Japanese Ambassadors when thirsty for Oolong. Everybody acted like a
divorce and some ladies appeared considerable Geisha.
Hon. Mrs. Vanderbitt Jones stand by rugs, with flirting expression and
say, “Howdy, Freddy,” whenever Newport clothing arrive up. Musical
orchestra from behind palm-bushes commence play “O You Gabble Gabble
Glide” and nobody could prevent misbehavior of feet. Considerable
gentlemen then obtain seizure of considerable ladies and commence
circulating with stride away expression of knees.
“If this is tea where is it?” I require from my soul. No answer as yet.
My eyes equaled Sherlock’s in search of that beveridge which should
be there. I could not detect. No appearance of steepage, cup-saucer,
sammyvar, or other tools for making that hot sip. Yet somewheres
I could hear dice-box sound peculiar to small icebergs clattering
together. O yes! I saw. Coyly concealing behind palm-bushes I observe
considerable buttler shaking up tea in silver jigglers to include ice.
Pretty soonly lady & gentleman arrive up full of fatigues from so much
slouchy-slouchy dance-step.
“We will take slight tea,” they dement from Hon. Buttler.
“What variety, please?” he require servantly.
“Martini,” snuggest those couple. Hon. Buttler pour. More pairs of
persons emerge up. More shakes with ice. More gobbles. More dances.
Hon. Mrs. Vanderbitt Jones, formerly very clam-eye and Buckingham
in her appearance of silk clothing, abruptly seize one smallish
dance-gentleman and become more Geisha than all others collapsed
together.
“It are tango who put the tease into tea,” renounce one gentleman-boy
twirkling by with lady-girl.
“You are very Bernard Shaw today, Edgerley,” she report back with
eyes. “Of formerly it used to be deliciously difficult to compel men &
husbands to come to tea. Now you cannot keep them away with weapons.
Why is that swift change?”
“When the tea goes out the tango’s in,” he define, attempting to wear
wit under his moustache.
It was very hard science to describe this tango-waltz when I saw it,
Mr. Editor. It are similar to a minuet danced by eels. Angry elbows
seem to be slipping around everywheres while each ladies and gentlemen
seem to be walking sidewise without intending to go there. Such
chuckly movements of ducking away from music amid bounces! Such clutch
and jolt containing great poetry! I could not unstand how persons
could do this American jiu-jitsu without injurious breakage of their
personality. And yet no ambulance was called.
While I stood thusly composing thoughts, Hon. Buttler walk to me with
side-face moustache similar to Hon. Chauncey Depew when not joking.
“While you are doing nothing you should not stand idly around,” he dib.
“You wish me dance also?” I snuggest.
“I wish you to go to royal reception door downside and permit entrance
to all calling guests.” This he say with voice so expensive I feel
entirely bankrup.
So I go downside to reception door where I set long-time for lonesome
company by the knob. Occasionately that music play so flirtatious that
my feet misbehave. Pretty soonly came ring-ring to door. I admit.
In come lengthwise gentleman with Woodrow Wilson expression and
black-front necktie peculiar to clergy.
“What name, if any?” I ask to know. I made my voice show insults
peculiar to fashion.
“I am Rev. Mr. Scornaway, of St. Lucre parish,” he deliver. “I have
came to tea as usual on Wedsday.”
“This is no place for a clergy,” I dictate warnfully. “You can save
your reputation by taking it away with you.”
“What do you mean by your meaning?” he snagger. “Do not Mrs. Vanderbitt
Jones’s cards say Tea on Wedsday?”
“This are not the kind of Wedsday you think it is,” I abrupt.
“Poor benightied heathen!” he narrate. “Have I not been arriving here
for tea for the last twenty (20) years since date when Hon. Cyrus J.
Jones was President of National Distrust Co.? Have I not been here to
talk church-work with elderly ladies while setting down amidst famus
statesmen and talk on topics? Have I not met most greatest dignity in
America within this house?”
“You will not meet them now,” I clabber, “or if so they will be doing
something else.”
“Pleasantly permit me to pass inside,” he snarrel clergetically.
“O not to do!” I holla with Samurai knockles preventing his
forthstepping. “If I relate what horror that tea is now doing you will
not dare to go inside with your profession.”
“Tell me the entire!” he commit bravely.
“They are making tango!” I whasper with ears full of frights.
Hon. Rev. Mr. express great sternness in his jaws like a reformer
fighting Indians.
“Let me get at them!” he growell.
“O joyful!” I acknowledge. “Then you are determined to stop it?”
“No!!” he gargle. “I am determined to dance it!!!”
I collapse backwards to setty chair and permit him to advance to middle
of music. For 13 1-8 minutes I remained stationary attempting to fan
away my faint. Then considerable bashido filled my forehead and I leapt
to my footwear. Upstairs to dance-hall parlor I go. There, surrounded
by sidesteps, hand-clasps, whirligig promenades, eye-gaze, romp, Vienna
tunes and acrobats I observed Hon. Rev. Mr. circulating in clutch with
Mrs. Vanderbitt Jones. Determinely I advance to middle of and stand
befront them.
“Hon. Mrs. Madam, if conveniently—” I commence to be interrupted.
“What is?” she require, continuing to circulate.
I am obliged to make delicious dance-motions so I can keep up, yet I
pursue near her.
“If convenient I quit,” is reprove for me. I must now double three
loops and whirl my arms bias to remain next.
“Why you don’t quit without application to me?” she ask it while
2-stepping.
“I wish tell you my feelings before departure,” I reject while gliding
my feet onwards and twining my chest in stroggle to follow her closely.
“I shall not be a servant in such a fidgetty home. I shock! What is
becaming of America? Instead of sipping tea, as formerly, they dance
it. Instead of enjoying sociability with brain they do it with feet.
They act midnight at five o’clock. Preachers come to preach and stay
to prance. Therefore, I remove myself to some other jobs.”
“Jeems!” Hon. Mrs. holla to Hon. Buttler, yet still continue fantango
whirling, “here are Japanese schoolboy who should be discharged to
music. Tango him down back steps.”
Nextly I knew I were embraced by that tense Englishman without any H in
his voice. While music burst up into runaway tune, Hon. Buttler show
me tango so rapidly I did not know my ears from my knuckles. O such
musical scuttle-step, back-walk, elbow-jounce, and twist-vine movement
towards outside side of house! And there I suddenly arrived followed by
orchestra-sound including kick.
So I 1-step away with bursted gracefulness peculiar to lame duck.
Hoping you are the same,
Yours truly,
HASHIMURA TOGO.
XV
Are Turkey-Waltzing a Dance or a Convulsion?
_To Editor N. Y. Newsprint, who must have many subscribers because he
know that where there is Life there is Blood and where there is Blood
there is Circulation (free joke)_
Dear Mr.:—The Japanese Patriotic and Educational Suicide Club, of which
I are correspondent Secretary last night give a waltzing cotillion
and lemonade (25c for extra ladies who drunk it) at Rising Sun Banzai
Association Hall. Considerable fashion of yellow complexion was there
with Sadikichi’s Brass Orchestra to play it whenever we danced it.
Excitements.
Considerable Japanese schoolgirls was fetched there by that nationality
and I was deliciously shocked to see how American they looked. They
wore crippled skirts of considerable thinness and their shoulder blades
seemed absolutely destitute. I fetch Miss Ruby Fujimuto, Japanese lady
of aggrevated beauty, with me for escort. When she removed off her
opera-house cloak, I look at her with my expression all braided up.
“Ladies should be praised for their economy,” I corrode while observing
the cloth that was not there.
She curbed up with bridle expression.
“You no like the way my neck is cut?” she snagger, showing peevness by
her soprano.
“Your neck is not cut,” I narrate. “I know because I can see it all.”
She seem less engaged to me than formerly and eloped away to make
dance-step with J. Haro, Japanese photographer.
Hon. Sadakichi’s Brass Orchestra make music resembling roof gardens.
At that moment of time I could observe how everybody was dancing. They
seemed to be jouncing in couples, making crowd-up walk with occasional
slouchy-slouchy motion while their eyes said “How-do!” with Romeo
expression peculiar to Shakespeare.
“It are nice for youngly persons to be affectionate,” I commute. “But
when will dancing begin?”
“They are now Turkey-waltzing,” depose Arthur Kickahajama, missionary
boy, with Tuxedo eyebrows.
My cousin Nogi, who arrive there with Miss Alice Sago (divorced)
approach to me and wish I should Turkey-waltz with her because he was
lame from when she kicked him. I told him I was a Methodist heathen,
therefore my feet was too religious to dance.
“Turk-waltzing are denatured dancing,” arrange Miss Sago with alimony
smiles. “Come, Mr. Togo, I show you how do it!” So I went and stroggled.
Mr. Editor, while I made gymnastix with that charmed lady, I wished
send you several editorials. What are this Turkey-Waltz, I ask to
know? Were it invented by Turks at Adrianople while wrastling with the
Vulgarian army? Did Turkish soldiers think up that peculiarostous step
while rolling barrels of powder at Greece? Why should persons blame
Turks with this style of trotting if they never did it? Mohammedans has
got sifficient bad habits of their own without accusing them of some
more!
This Miss Sago shove me here & elsewhere with neglectful expression
peculiar to roustabouts. When music play “All Persons Are Doing
Something” she attemp to dissociate my spine by wig-wagging my elbows.
“Make your ankles more diagonal!” she declare with sweety schoolteacher
face. I wish to ask her marry me, but wondered what might happen if I
did. I make slight jiu jitsu to her wrist, but she got more stronger
grippe while I jounce alternately like tables in earthquakes.
“My feet are filled with clumsies,” I narrate baffably.
“That are very valuable in Turk-trotting,” she say for sweetly smiling.
“So is?” I holla. “I always sipposed folks must be graceful to make
dance step.”
“They ust to, but no more,” she expose. “All fashionable 400s today
when dancing considers it great elegance to appear like drunken sailors
wrestling with bears.”
I should have responded to her educational catalogue, but she was
showing me new jag-step where I could elevate my knees to music while
being choked.
“I will nextly show you how do the Jellyfish Crawl,” she pronounce with
Tipsichore expression.
“If I learned any more dances I should become a Geisha, which are less
proper,” I renig shyly while eloping away from her armful with talented
dodges.
When I was hiding behind palum trees where she could not see me I
watched considerable turkey-trottery, bunny-huggery, etc., with eyes
full of science. Dignified home-made Japanese was making roof-garden
loops with their legs in such a way their wife & children would feel
siprised. Arthur Kickahajama, missionary boy, were doing sidewise
catch-and-let-go dance with Miss Mamie Furaoki. After that actions I
could not see how he ever could look a Y. M. C. A. in the face again.
First they glid together with expression of happy crabs, then they made
a twillup, two cross-legs & 3 bounces. This was followed by clutches.
“They are dancing Tango,” pronounce Sydney Katsu, Jr., who was
floorwalking like a committee.
“What slum teaches persons dance like that?” I abject doggishly.
“Sometimes Bowery, sometimes Fifth Avenue,” he report for tone of
high-social.
“Do Fifth Avenue permit the Bowery to teach them depravity?” I require.
“Ah no!” ollicute Sydney. “Fifth Avenue are teaching the Bowery. Vices
are like other kinds of furniture. Rich folks uses them first and only
pass them on to poor folks when they are second hand. Thusly the slums
are seldom safe.”
“After Tango is finished what new dance will explode in the Smarty
Set?” are next question for me.
“Not sure,” Sydney say so with Harry Leer eyebrows. “Last week I hear
how some high-style Newporters had gone to Africa for try dancing with
some cannibles what knew some deliciously low down steps. But after the
first dance they had to quit because they was ashamed.”
“Who was ashamed—the Newporters?”
“No, the cannibles,” notate Sydney Katsu, Jr., looking like he was
prepared to be raided by police.
Hoping you are the same,
Yours truly,
HASHIMURA TOGO.
XVI
When Will Lady-Fashions Get Ashamed of Themselves?
_To Editor N. Y. Newsprint or whoever prints it_
Dear Sir:—Of lately I have been studying American style of fashions
for ladies, so I shall know your civilization from both ends. It are a
very hard science to chase and in doing so I annexed my acquaintance
to Miss Alice Furaoki, to who I shall become engaged when divorced.
This sweet-hearted Japanese schoolgirl dress so similar to American
actresses you cannot tell her from white lady, except when you look at
her.
Last Satday eve p.m., when I was accomplishing her down street for see
emotion-picture show, price 10c, I felt very Vanderbiltish to walk so
near to Newport dressmaking. My eye hooked itself to her clothing and
remained there till—O sudden!—I observe what was. I blushed entirely
yellow.
“Excuse, please, Hon. Miss Sweetheart,” I gollup. “Your dressmake has
axidentally forgot to sew up the ankle of your skirt so I observe
something deranged.”
“What derangement do you observe?” she require with Vassar eyebrows.
“Not sure,” I stotter. “It seems to resemble the biceps of your
hosiery.”
“That biceps is situated where it usually is,” she otter clamly like an
ice box.
“Should it be ashamed?” I ask shockly.
“It are style,” she decry, “and style are never ashamed. Togo, why
should you stand there gasping like Queen Victoria seeing Paris? This
garments I are wearing are called a gashed skirt and is now very
favorite at Newport, and Jewport, on Fifth & Sixth Avenues. Queen Mary
of London wore one (very slightly) while giving Ice Cream Social to
Knights of the Garter. In Paris it were even more so, as usual. Two
French countesses from Minneapolis appeared tired out in this costume
at Long Chumps race-course and everybody was so asphyxiated by charm
they forgot to lose their money.”
“Horses must feel very slow when racing against such style,” I report
nervely. “I am alarmed to think to where fashions will jump to nextly.”
“More will soonly explode from Vienna where a gentleman-dressmake have
invented a dress all of glass,” she narrate with smiling eyebrows. “It
will be worn in beautiful green shades.”
“Green shades are necessary to pull down sometimes when you are living
in glass clothing,” I say so for Elbert Hubbard smartness.
Miss Furaoki make no intellectual reply, so we arrive inside
emotion-picture show to see that noiseless opera. I think I shall marry
her sooner than ever.
Mr. Editor, Hon. Anthony Comestop and other celebrated purities is
continuously complaining because female ladies is becoming too much
seen in public places. Women is becoming too brave and their skirts too
shrinking. Hon. Comestop, who are not so strong as he were before he
took up modesty as a business, fainted 2½ times when he seen photos
of Lady Bluff-Gorgon’s latest style-simpony entitled “Spring Twilight”
and he have ordered entire U. S. Army to encamp at Custom House to stop
it when she send over Fall-style walking-suit called “September Morn.”
Considerable ministers, judges and boss policemen has been talking
like angry uncles to ladies because of the increasing decrease of
their clothing. I read in news-print last week how Hon. Judge Killjoy
of Salem, Mass., wish to burn all witches under 27 years of age for
bewitching gentlemen by the clothes they don’t wear. Last week he order
Hon. Police to grabb all ladies wearing dangerous skirts, but Hon.
Police were too lazy to arrest entire female population, so he brought
Village Belle into court, because she looked most so.
Hon. Judge observe that lady’s clingstone appearance and put on
eye-spectacles, because must see careful.
“Mrs. Madam,” he report legally like Hon. Taft, “I are not astonished
that there are such delicious quantities of Cubist artists in this
generation. They are the only artists which can paint modern ladydress
so it conceals them sifficiently.”
“Do you not like what I got on?” she require.
“I do not object to such smallish matters,” he negligee. “It is for the
absent that I mourn.”
“I are dressed in style,” she dib feminitely.
“You are dressed in very little else,” he legalize. “I should die of
shames if I should see my Wife promenading in street clad in such a
lack.”
“I do not blame you,” she snagger snubbishly. “I once saw your Wife in
bathing suit and can sympathize with you.”
Hon. Judge feel considable contempt of court for this remark, yet he
could not hang her, because her style had not killed anybody yet.
“Who is it buys the purchase of your wardrobe, such as is?” he ask to
know.
“My husband,” she pronounce.
“I shall arrest him for failure to provide,” he renig hashly. So he
lock up court in time to go codfish.
Mr. Editor, numberous reformers is making weep-voice because ladies is
coming out in worse & worse. Yet I are less alarmed. Styles is like
other forms of advertisement—they are made to create look-at, and when
this stop, they stop also. Ladyfashions is always worse than formerly,
yet never so bad as they was. If you think 1913 is hideolous, look at
1880; if you think that ugliferous, observe 1870. Before the Uncivil
War considerable preachers made considerable shock because ladies wore
their lingeries next to their shoes. In reign of Gen. Arthur gentlemen
enjoyed much sorrow because ladies wore their skirts in Psyche knots
behind their backs. And now they create peev because ladies does not
wear sifficiently enough anywheres.
At what periodical time of civilization have not mankind scolded
ladykind for something she took on or put off? You would think from
how they act that gentlemen must detest ladies for looking so homely.
Yet suicide, divorce & population increases annually, which show that
ladies can never dress too fashionable to be loved by someone.
Hoping you are the same,
Yours truly,
HASHIMURA TOGO.
XVII
The Drama of Sex
_To Editor N. Y. Newsprint who knows how to go too far without
arriving there._
Dearest Sir:—My Aunt Taki Kati, spinsterial suffragette from Kobe,
Japan, arrived here of recently and say she should like see all the
customs of America.
“What you wish see firstly?” I require for guide-bookish expression.
“Theater,” she say so.
“Had we not better begin with some other slum first?” I ask out. “There
are some delicious gunmen in jail this week; Tammany Hall are still
open to tourists and I could show you some splandid opium smokeries in
Chinatown, price 25c.”
“Why should I not see theater first?” she require with Pankhurst
eyebrows.
“Because so,” I report. “To enjoy theater you should a proach it
gradually like any other bad habit. It are better to work up from
mild to more strong. Otherwisely you might become ill without feeling
intoxicated. Foreigners intending to see American theaters should
first take lessons in blonde-slavery, debutchery, gun-manliness and o.
u. kiddery. Then they can see dramatic arts without blushing too much.”
“My stumach has been strengthened by hunger strikes,” say that
suffraging Japanese. “Therefore I can stand considerable endurance.”
“What variety play you wish observe?” I say it.
“Some simple domesticated drama,” she indicate. So we went forthly for
see what was.
Mr. Editor, when we approach Broadway that street seem about like
usual. Breathing get more difficulty there all time, because so many
new theaters arise there each night, making fresh air umpossible.
“I smell the odor of some smell,” narrate my dear Aunt with chokes.
“There is several new Viennese plots in town,” I say so.
While we walked we could see following flashing signs winking with
wicked electricity:
COUNTESS NYMPHIA
BY SWINEBURG
OPENLY VICIOUS!!
Next sign report:
THE GIRL AND THE LIBERTINE
A HORRIBLE HIT!!
Next theater divulge:
SLIGHTLY SOILED
THE DRAMA OF DISEASE!!
Nearby electricity say:
THE WHITE SLAVE’S FROLIC
MODERN MUSICAL COMEDY
100 SHOCKING SONGS!!
My Aunt Taki Kati wish see this opera, because she admire Gilbert &
Sullivan for their tunes. So we go Box Office and ask buy sit-down
inside.
“We do not sell tickets,” he reply peevly. “Ain’t you got sifficient
brains in your mind to go to speculator when buying tickets?”
We find Hon. Speculator by sidewalk looking quite commercial.
“10$ each,” he report with tickets.