“This are an immodest play,” he snudge. “Also we must charge extra for
this performance because the author will be arrested after Act II.”
I knew we could see just a.m.ch wickedness for less cash money, so we
walk onwards. On side-up street we see sign which say:
THE LIMIT!
ABUNDANTLY WORST!!
At this play we obtain sitting-room price 3$ each, which were
deliciously cheap for so much sin. When we got inside there I obtain
program, which was useless for my Aunt Taki, who do not understand
American language, but can blush plenty in Japanese. Following words
was on program:
_Evil Characters Represented_
J. W. Wineblower Vice-President of Vice Trust
Mrs. Lillian Lorelei A Temptation
Venus A poor shop girl
There was many others on that program which I did not have time to
see because Hon. Curtain go uply amidst Rector music. The scenery was
red like it was blushing for itself. And there sat Hon. Mrs. Lorelei
removing shoes while smoking opium. Pretty soonly one of her husbands
encroach in and complain that Hon. Janitor has been putting too much
water in his morphine this week. Knock-knock by door. Hon. Police
arrive in and accept bribery. Amidst considerable talk about purity
Hon. Miss Venus arrive in and say she cannot obtain sifficient vice for
4$ weekly in department store where she work. Therefore she have come.
I shall tell you the rest when I can whisper....
Mr. Editor, when Act I were finished up my Aunt Taki Kati smell a
bottle of Japanese salts for take the taste out of her nose. She say
that if America was like this Japan must annex it before it decayed.
She say her oldmaidenhood were insulted by that sight and she was sure
she must die dead from shocks.
“Maybe we better go outside for ventilated air,” I snuggest.
“Ah no!” she otter. “Let me faint where I am. If I went out I might
lose my seat.”
But I feel otherwisely. I would rather drink my beer in some saloon
where thoughts are more pure. So I elope outside, leaving Hon. Aunt
to shock by herself. There was so many Presbyterian clergymans coming
inward that I was nearly scrunshed in going outward. Yet I manage to
get to lobbed door outside.
By Boxed Office I notice Hon. Moses Feldspar, the management, talking
to Chief of Police and other press agents.
“You are less ashamed than formerly,” I narrate hashly.
“Why should I feel ashamed of employing Truth among my actresses?” he
snagger.
“I never saw Truth behave so careless!” I dib.
“She are most truthful when naked,” he exclam.
“She are,” I renig for scorns. “But when Hon. Stage Manager dress her
in X ray skirt she appear entirely dishonest.”
Hoping you are the same,
Yours truly,
HASHIMURA TOGO.
XVIII
Grand Opera in English
_To Editor N. Y. Newsprint who can be considerable comical without
music_,
Dearest Sir:—Cousin Nogi report to me recently with Oscar Hammerstein
eyebrows.
“Togo,” he say so, “cannot grand opera be equally grand when pronounced
in English?”
“Frequent theaters is now doing so with help of talented soprano,” I
say it.
“So glad to hear!” contuse my cousin. “Nextly they will be singing
Salome in Japanese, which will be nice education for Japan who wish
to be educated so quickly possible, yet like to know what they are
talking about while doing so. Now they can’t do, thank you. Of
recently famous sing-song play ‘Carmen’ were introduced in Yeddo.
Considerable confusion enjoyed. When Hon. Bullfighter emerge forth
from slaughterhouse yalling ‘Tor-ee-a-do-da!’ in elevator voice,
all Japanese thinkers present imagine it was New York scenery
describing Tammany Hall after election while Hon. Jno. P. Mitchel were
congratulating himself on cruelty to tigers.”
“While grand opera is in English all persons can understand merely by
ear,” I nudge gladly.
“Will not German language lose its health if translated?” require
Cousin Nogi.
“Perhapsly,” I collapse. “American language have no beautiful words
like ‘lustspiel’ and ‘Sauerbraten.’ Yet maybe they could use some
baseball language so all could seem natural.”
“At any rates,” say Nogi, “it must be entirely enjoyous sensation to
set in opera and know what they are talking.”
“Let us go and try one,” I snuggest with happy hat.
So we sonter forthly until we observe theater what say “Grand
Opera—English Spoken here.” We encroach to door where bull-board
pronounce, “Opera Longrin by Hans Wagner, Famus Cyclist.”
Annexed to door-entrance stood one stylish bell-boy who hold slight
program in his thumbs.
“All words to opera 25c!” he pronounce distinctually.
“Why must we spent this ¼$ for words, please?” I ask to know.
“So understand what stage-singers say,” report boy containing buttons.
“Do they not say it in English?” I negotiate peevly.
“Not sure,” say Hon. Boy. “I have only been here a week.”
We step inwards and observe opera going ahead amid considerable
crashes. I heard “Ouch!” while I set down, but was not sure whether it
was orchestra or merely lady I stepped on.
Hon. Stage was filled with scenery, people & tragedy. I could not tell
what that picture represent, but it were easy to see who was there.
King Leopold of Belgium in antique bathrobe were surrounded by German
Samurai on bright banks of Erie Canal where they go for fresh air while
being cruel in music. Hon. King grumble some dishagreeable barytones to
goldly-hair daughter who step forthly in rich nightgown & holla,
“O wat di spa!”
I turn to eye-glass gentleman next by me who were reading Book of Opera
with piano-tuner expression.
“What she mean when she say, ‘O wat di spa!” I requesh.
“She say, ‘O what despair!” he pronounce distinctually.
“What language was that, please?” This from me.
“English,” he whisper peevly.
“I am glad to make its acquaintance,” I argue slightly.
Pretty soonly, after considerable choir-noise, Hon. Orchestra get into
dispute with brass horners. And look, see! Down wet transportation
of Erie Canal come flotting one enormalously swollen duck and on him
stands riding one hansum circus man in tin clothes. Excitements.
Hon. Tin Gentleman get off from that trained white chicken and throw
hitching-rope around his stretched neck. Hon. Poultry bobb chin with
peck-peck expression and steam away with promptness peculiar to
commutation. Hon. Tin Hero wave muscles of fingers.
“Feh-wa! Feh-wa! Ma fayvu swa!” he warbule with sweet lung.
I turn to Hon. Eye-Glass next by me who still read Opera Book.
“What was he said it?” I require chivalrously.
“He say, ‘Farewell, farewell, my faithful swan!’” he snub maddishly.
“Are he still talking English?” I narrate.
“Hush it!” he snarrel. “Between your noise and the orchestra I cannot
hear the opera.”
“If my absence will make this art easier for your mentality I shall
cease to blockade,” are sharp report I make while withdrawing Cousin
Nogi outside the theater.
Although Nagasaki by birth, I am Glasgow in my soul, Mr. Editor. It
pangs me to spend money without some come-back for what I pay.
So I enrush up to box-office with money-back expression.
“I require get at leastly 35c return rebate on these stubbed tickets,”
I say so to merely financial gentleman who was there.
“Why for?” dib Box Officer hashly.
“Because is!” I reject scornly. “I pay large wealth to hear English.
What they sung was otherwise.”
“That were English!” say Money Box.
“I could not understand it.” Say me.
“Nobody expect understood Grand Opera in any language,” he snagger. “Be
reasonable like Sherman Law.”
“What are grand opera for, if not?” I ask to know.
“Several things. To give folks wrong impression of history and confuse
them about love while admiring Smart Setters in diamond horseshoe,” he
define. “This has satisfied Art for 311 years—why should you require
something else all of a sudden?”
“Then why would it not be just as good for Americans if sung in
Chinese, Swedish or German?” I negotiate.
“Because of patriotism,” he define. “Every man prefer to be puzzled in
his own language.”
Hoping you are the same,
Yours truly,
HASHIMURA TOGO.
XIX
A Lesson in Eugenics
_To Editor N. Y. Newsprint, who will please be more careful about
choosing his ancestors in the future_,
Dear Sir:—Last Wedsday night I got feeling of lonesome matrimony, so
I put on Tuxedo slippers and necktie resembling Vogue. I was not sure
which lady I intended for marry, but I go see Miss Tessie Matsuki
because I could get there without carfare. This Matsuki lady live over
store of her father, Hon. J. W. Matsuki, Japanese hay & grain. She got
considerable Vassar intelligence and would make nice wife for librarian.
I found her by lamplight wearing goldly spectacles while reading
enlarged volume entitle “Eugenic.”
She felt my biceps while shaking hands & seem to examine my hair for
criminal traits. I ask her would she like go see emotion picture show
with my accompaniment. She say no. She prefer set stationary and talk
about Future Race. I explan that I did not keep up pretty well with
sporty events, but my Cousin Nogi were entirely educated about racing
& baseball. She give high-up laugh of culture.
“Future Race are not sporty event,” she define. “It are Eugenic.”
“I got no time to think foreign languages,” I say so while admiring her
sweethearted expression with Garden of Allah sensation. “I come here to
ask some big importance. Would it be convenient to get married?”
“It would be no trouble however,” she report for smiling.
“O then we shall!” I holla while attempting to hold her handclasp, but
she snatch it to herself.
“If suitable I shall include you on waiting list,” she snuggest.
“I present you my heart,” I renig for poetry.
“Condition of lung are more important,” she renounce. “Let me hear
your deep breathing.” I do so. She listen. “Ah!! I suspected what I
supposed! Your left pulmonia has slight anachronism. How dare you love
me?”
“Permit me to tell about myself!” I yall like Romeo.
“Tell me about your grandfather, instead,” she abrupt.
“I do not ask you marry my grandfather.” This from me while enjoying
slight agonies.
“In Eugenic,” she report, “we are expected to marry entire family.”
“This Eugene must come from Utah,” I snib. “My grandfather would not
permit such illegality. He were married once, which were too many.
Also he are dead. It are immoral to marry dead folks.”
“What he die from?” she romp forth.
“Asthma of knees,” I pronounce.
“So ha! Then you got diseases in family!”
“You expect my ancestors to die from being too healthy?” I ask to know.
“Perhapsly Hon. Eugene who wrote that book will teach us how to do so.”
“He expects to arrange everything,” she compose proudishly. “His
speciality will be marriage. Youngly persons will be selected carefully
like Luther Burbank choose best potatoes for crop.”
“Will this Hon. Eugene make some new marriage ceremony?” I otter.
“That have been arrange also,” she tell. “When 2 Eugeniuses wish get
married following program will be enjoyed:
“Joy-bells will be jungled from tip-top of gymnasium where members of
Board of Health will act as Ushers, admitting relatives after examining
their tonsils. Talented vaudeville performers will play ‘Weddlesohn’s
Mending March’ on Indian clubs while Bride & Bridebroom, wearing Annit
Kellerman bathing suits to show no deception had been concealed, will
walk up aisle hand-in-hand with parents wearing rubber gloves. Bride
must not blush, because that are sign of weak heart and Bridebroom must
not seem nervus, because that indicate tendency to allipeptic fits.
After dumb-bell drill Rev. Preacher will step uply.”
“What Rev. Preacher will do this ceremony?” I inquest.
“Not sure,” she negotiate. “Perhaps Rev. Billy Sunday might do, because
of muscular religion.”
“What shall this marriage service say?” is next question for me.
“It say following dialog:
Rev. Mr.——, Do you love this woman?
Bridebroom—No.
Rev. Mr.——, Woman, you love this man?
Bride—No.
Rev. Mr.—— Good. You have no inherited instinct. You swear there is no
fits, insanity or general ability in family? (They swear.)
Then stick out tongues, please. That will do, thank you. I make you
manandwife.”
Miss Tessie Matsuki look to me reproachly when saying this.
“What happen pretty soonly after marriage?” I snuggest.
“Baby,” she pronounce. “He are born perfect without a blamish or any
other sign of humanity. He are gave perfectly balanced name like
Sandow Socrates Shakespeare Scagg. In babyhood he are never kissed. In
schoolday he are never spanked. In manhood he are never loved. And so
he grow upward.”
“What do he become, after so much exercise—a Congressman, perhapsly?”
“How could he? Congressman are noted for imperfection.”
“Then perhapsly he would be novelist or play-right?”
“Ah never yet!” she snatch. “How could perfect Man be connected in
trade with Jack London, Gus Thomas and other rough boys?”
“Yet there might be some jobs for him. He could be machinery engineer
of prominent greatness.”
“Not possibly!” she reject. “Should we permit such model gentleman to
build subways for political scandals?”
“But this Eugenics Baby must choose some activity of work. Shall he be
too good for any profession when grown up?”
“Indeed will!” she holla. “He will be a Father.”
“Father of what?” I require with alarmed teeth.
“Of children similar to himself.”
“Miss Tessie Matsuki,” I denominate punctually while choosing my hat
from table, “excuse my escape. I wish for search out some young lady
who will prove her unfitness to marry by falling in love. Please
excuse!”
“Uncivilized brain!” she snarrel. “Go forthly! Such depraved minds like
yours drive tacks into the feet of Science when he try to progress. And
yet the world do move, in spite of Tammany Hall.”
“Tammany Hall also move occasionally,” I corrode with Fusion expression.
So I elope away full of low character.
Hoping you are the same,
Yours truly,
HASHIMURA TOGO.
XX
Togo’s Christmas Day in the Morning
_To Editor Good Housekeep Magazine who realize how it must be more
expensive to give than to receive._
Dear Mr. Sir:—Merry Xmas thoughts fill me with something else. My brain
refuse to ring bells in connection with this annual jingling. Perhapsly
it is because of following anecdote which happen to me:
At home of Mrs. & Mr. J. Poke, Rockpile, N. J., which is on the list
of places where I am no longer there, I was employed in their midst.
That family contained only two (2) complete children, but they were
sifficiently plenty. By name they was Hester and Lester, aged 5 & 7
respectfully. These youngly persons, when healthy, was full of childly
amusements including dish-break, runaway, knockabouts, and whittling
pensils with Father’s safety razor.
But by approach of Xmas time they suddenly became otherwise. I notice
this because I seen it. They walk around with Y. M. C. A. expression of
toes and seem too good to be happy.
“Oh childish children!” I require from them, “why so you do so? Do you
enjoy some sleeping sickness to make you thusly silent?”
“Hush it!” they depose. “Xmas are coming!”
“Are Xmas, then, such saddish event that you should await it without
cheers?” I ask to know.
“Oh, not is!” they ollicute. “But, unless we behave very Sunday-school,
Hon. St. Claus will not arrive with gifts of great cash valuation.”
I stand gast for this phenominal. So I go to Hon. Mrs. Poke and require
from her, “Hon. Mrs. Madam,” I say so, “who are this Hon. St. Claus who
seem so Carnegie in his gifts?”
“He resemble Hon. Doc Cook,” she snuggest, with slyly winking. “No such
person ever was.”
“How so!” I snatch off for horrors. “Then I must inform Hon. Hester &
Lester about this mistaken personality.”
“Not to do!” she snagger peevly.
“Why should not?” I ask to know, with eyebrows.
“Because thus,” she say it. “I told them about this Hon. St. Claus from
my own voice.”
“How you could be so deceptive?” I terrify.
“I do this to make my children less sinful in their comportment,”
she snuggest. “When they go around making gunman noises, I holla,
‘Stop before Hon. St Claus hear you and refuse to come!’ If they tell
untruthful lies, I humiliate them by reproaching, ‘Hon St Claus will
snub you for this untruthfulness!’”
“Honesty are nice exercise for children to learn,” I corrode.
She make pleasant face for reply.
“On Xmas night-before,” she explan, “me & Hon. Mr. Poke set up slight
candle-tree in dining-room. We cluster this foliage with ornaments to
resemble circus, and by foot of it we place extended quantities of
drums, guns, horns, cannons, velocipedes, baseballs and other tools
with which home can be broke. In dawn-break of morning Hon. Dear
Children come down and observe. ‘Who sent it?’ they require. ‘Hon. St
Claus bring it because you was truthful childs,’ we report. ‘How he
get in?’ they ask to know. ‘He slid down chimbley-pipe,’ we say back
deceptively. So merry Xmas is enjoyed by all.”
“Are it not somewhat sinful to relate them fibbulous tale to tender
child?” I negotiate.
“Ah, no!” she abstract. “If childhood should not believe in St
Claus, then most happy times would relapse forever. Togo, you
must do everything what possible to make them believe in this
whisker-gentleman.”
“I shall attempt to think up something deliciously deceptive,” are
smart answer I make.
* * * * *
As Xmas date approach up, Hon. Hester & Lester become more fidgettous
in their psychology.
“This morning I dishcover 6 boxes labeled ‘Smith’s Toy Store’ in
basement of cellar,” pronounce Hon. Lester. “What could be in it?”
“Coal is frequently packed in toy-boxes,” I renounce.
“It look very deceptive to me,” deploy infant Hester.
“At times I are discouraged about St Claus,” narrate Hon. Lester.
“So sinful thought!” I holla.
“How could I believe in gentleman I never seen? Where is his photo? I
suspect.”
“Many distinguished persons is shy about photos,” I abrupt.
“Perhapsly,” aggrevate Hon. Lester. “Yet other things I cannot
understand with brain. Hon. Parents tell me how Hon. St Claus comes
sliding down chimbley-pipe with gifts. I have awaited many nights to
observe this downfall, yet he never come. Therefore he ain’t.”
“If you should seen him make in-shoot by chimbley-pipe, would you
believe this whiskered fairy?” I ask it.
“Oh, surely yes!” response Hester & Lester together like chorus girls.
“Then on Xmas morning you shall observe him!” I abrogate with earnest
expression of teeth.
On date previously before Xmas I go to town-village with weekly
salary, price $5, and purchase considerable wheel-cart, squeak-doll,
jump-up-Jack, and other childish amusement. These I poke under overcoat
and retreat home slyly like snails walking over upholstery.
When night time was there, Hon. Hester & Lester was cruelly sent to
bedtime and locked asleep so they would not find out about Hon. St
Claus. As soonly as they make sleep, Mrs. & Mr. Poke command me for
bring forth Xmas-tree. I make him grow from soap-box in dining-room.
I assist intelligently hanging this foliage with tin fruit, including
numberous candles standing on limbs to resemble candy fireworks.
While Hon. Poke boss my enthusiasm, I fetch forth considerable heavy
toy-boxes from basement of cellar. Back-broke feelings by me. Yet I
continue this labors until mixed assortment of Xmas stood by tree with
deceptive labels about Hon. St Claus.
At 1 o’clock hour a.m. Mrs. and Mr. retire bedward, exhausted from
observing my work. But my dutiful labors had just commenced. I must
prepare to show those childish children how Hon. Mr. Claus down-slide
down chimbley-pipe.
All house was full of darkness. Frozen moonlight outside. With sneekret
feetsteps, like snakes swimming in oil, I approach to closet and fetch
forth following articles of clothes:
1 minkish ottomobile coat
2 boots of rubberly exterior
1 cap from Eskimo leather
½ lb cotton resembling whisker.
I drop all them presents I bought inside one laundry-bag, place myself
into those garments of clothes, then with detective toes I descend up
through attric to where chimbley-pipe was on roof.
4 o’clock time now approach. Making affectionate hugs to Hon. Chimbley,
I could tell it was Xmas by the feel of the themometer. By peeking down
Hon. Chimbley, I could see how it was sifficiently large hole to permit
my Japanese smallness—yet I must compress myself to do so. I enjoyed
considerable nervusness like heroes expecting to dive down Mt. Vesuvius.
Pretty soonly 6 a.m. was there and I was not yet froze completely hard.
By listening down chimbley-pipe with telephone expression, I could hear
childhood voices coming down-stairs saying “Oh!!” It were time for me
to make some slide.
I pull ½lb cotton to my chin, snuggle Hon. Bag to back, and commence
climbing into chimbley. What was? Distinctually I could smell slight
smudj of smoke coming upwards! Yet it were too late. Already I was
slipping, down-sliding slowly. Great chokes enjoyed. When nearly down I
stuck up suddenly. More chokes.
“Oh, hellup, hellup!” I gollup.
“Who there?” demand Hon. Poke below-down.
“Hon. St Claus containing smoke!” I yellup. “Make haste or else be
quick!”
Some individual persons grabb me at toes. With intense drag I was
pulled forth to fireplace where blazes was. My cottonly whisker become
inflamed, and in desperado attempt I clash against Xmas-tree which
tottle over amidst horble fire-alarms. Great holla by all. Then I
am a hero, as usual. While all others make hook-and-ladder noise, I
embrace Hon. Tree with elbows and reject him outwards through window.
Of finally all was silent, except slight smell of smudj.
“What impossibility are you attempting to act like?” require Hon. Mrs.
sarcastly.
“Hon. St Claus,” I report.
“Why you no entrance by door?” shreech Hon. Mr. with wounded knuckle.
“Doors is not respectable for Saints to come in by,” I devote.
“They are plenty for Japanese to go out by,” resnort him, escorting me
outwards with brutal jam.
And when I was deploying away from there I hear Hester & Lester report
in voice together:
“We have saw Hon. St Claus. We do not care to meet such a person!”
So I depart off feeling like an umpossibility.
Hoping you are the same,
Yours truly,
HASHIMURA TOGO.
XXI
The Head of the House
_To Editor Good Housekeeping Magazine, civilized personality who knows
everything about home except what goes on_,
Dear Sir:—Last place from which I was rebounded were home of Mrs. &
Mr. Annette Pratt, Curfew Glen, N. J. These individuals, though not
peculiar from themselves, had home-names what distincted them entirely.
Hon. Mrs. Pratt was Mother Love, Hon. Mr. Pratt was Father Darling
and Hon. Daughter Pratt was Mabel Dear. This Mabel Dear was half-past
schoolgirl age. She enjoy such aggrevated health that her mother make
considerable worry for her.
“Why should not Mabel Dear help Togo make housework?” require Hon.
Husband while seeing her idly resting.
“She must enjoy her headaches each morning during housekeep hours,”
snuggest Mother Love. “It are fashionable to be illhealthy until noon.”
“Her illhealthiness do not keep her from tennis-play, night-set-up,
tango & flirtating which she do considerable,” commute Hon. Him with
grouches in his voice.
“Fortunately she can accomplish slight duties expected of any
high-bread girl,” gollup Hon. Mrs.
“When I was boy my mother knew nothing about Vermin Castle dance, yet
she could make doughnut, quilt, soap, beds and many other delicious
home cooking,” he glub.
“Father Darling,” yellup Mabel Dear from her sofa where she layed with
her fatigue, “Mother Love says I can have new Harper’s Bazar dress for
Judkins-Perkins wedding festival ball.”
“I am too busy going to my office!” he snarrel while departing with
door.
This Mabel Dear are Miss Lady of such great importantness that it give
me great sorrow of brain to think she was born to merely New Jersey
condition of real estate. When Hon. Father pass off she tell this
sadness to her mother.
“Mother Love,” she say so, “it create considerable humility in my
prides for see Togo open doors with soapsuds thumbs when Hon. Percy
Twill, whose home contain several butlers, arrive here for flirtation
and observe our poverty.”
“Mabel Dear I sympathize to you for our downslide in world. Since
marriage to Father Darling I have expected very little. Before marriage
my home was entirely surrounded by footmen.”