Chapter II: Part 2

“Are you so unintellectual that you do not know my money is in my purse in my handbag in my suit-case?”

I give her Hon. Suit-case, feeling very sorry for my depravity.

Nextly we descend up elevator. On next floor I observed a warfare. Surrounding one enlarged sign pronouncing “Great Slaughter of Waists.” Hon. Mrs. Sweet see this and holla, “O such happy bargain!” Then she make inrush while acting like a mob.

She attempt to remove one refined clothing away from a fatty lady whose hat was rye on her head.

“Where you come from to act so Indian?” require Hon. Mrs. Fattish.

“From West Dewberry, Mass., more better place than you!” snib Hon. Mrs. Boss.

“I shall teach you some manners,” report Hon. Fattish making tug-jerk to waist.

I could not see that dear Mrs. Sweet thusly deposed upon, so I stand forth with upturned bundle.

“Stop off!” I holla to this wide woman. “How darest you be rude to a lady?”

Hon. Mrs. Boss and Hon. Mrs. Stout stand offward and look to me.

“Togo,” ensnap Mrs. Violet Sweet, “when you are called on you shall be called.”

So I withdrew backwards and permit her to finish that slaughter alone. Again she requesh me for handbag. I donate it to her.

“I shall keep it,” she dib. “You are not safe with valuable accumulations.”

So she give me one more swollen bundle for carry and proceed onwards.

“Where I shall find dish-pan, curling-iron and latest fiction-book bargain?” she require of Hon. Floorwalk.

“Three floor down-side take elevator,” he computate. We do so and arrive there where numerous sell-ladies was there making society conversation and other crashes of hardwear. Hon. Mrs. Sweet buy dish-pan, price 13½c. I carry this. She obtain pat toaster, bird-cage & complete written books of Hon. Rud Kipling. I hang those to myself.

“Where I find millinary hats?” she ask out to Hon. Sell lady.

“Top floor go upwards,” she indicate.

We do so. I stand back at respectable distance holding Hon. Bundle-package with fatigued elbows resembling Santa Claus. Hon. Mrs. set befront of mirror-glass attempting to make herself look Vanderbilt for $3.29 price. She try hat with roosters pointing upwards.

“You look very swelled for the price,” say Hon. Sell Lady.

“Took it away!” commit Hon. Mrs. She try hat with roosters dropping downwards.

“So joyful appearance!” suppose Hon. Sell Lady.

“Remove it!” snib Hon. Mrs.

At lastly she choose hatwear with roosters surrounding it in circles. Hon. Sell Lady enwrap it in box resembling trunk and this are piled on top of me. Thusly we start homewards.

At doorway Hon. Mrs. say,

“Oh! I must buy a pin, price 3c!” She elope to counter and do so.

Mr. Editor do you realize to know how difficult a pin can be? For 41 complete minutes we await that important sticker, then Hon. Mrs. must change $5 bill for remove 3c change out. At lastly when we arrive to trolley outside, Hon. Mrs. require,

“Togo, shopping are very outwearing work.”

“I heard so,” was loud report for me while restraining Hon. Hat Box where he slid on my ear.

At lastly we was in Porterhouse Junction setting in depot awaiting changecar. Of suddenly Hon. Mrs. holla,

“Oh!!!”

“What was?” This from me.

“I have lost Hon. Handbag. Elope back to Dept Store with immediate quickness and remove it from pin-counter where is.”

I set down all them bundles in pile resembling an Alp. Then I attach myself to Hon. Trolley and ride back to where she say.

With Samurai elbows I sidle myself through them broad ladies in Dept Store and arrive up at pin-place. Oh Yes! There were that dear Handbag laying loosely amidst pile of needles signed “4c.” I pick him up and start offwards.

While I was debutting out of door with Hon. Handbag on my proud wrist, one gentleman clasp me by coat.

“You are a shop snatcher!” he acknowledged glubly.

“I cannot assimulate your insult,” I renig.

“Where you obtain Hon. Bag?” he snuggle.

“He belong Hon. Mrs. Boss who is there!” I snagger.

“Come long to penitentiary!” he gubble, making dragging movements with my wrists.

“Hara kiri!” I yall, and before he could be more abominable I give him jiu jitsu and knock him over a bargain. Then I commence eloping away with talented foot-steps.

“Stop Mr. Thief!” several human persons holla, and nextly I knew I were a runaway with Boston attempting to catch up. I am a very sly Japanese, Mr. Editor, and when I was sufficiently entangled amidst streets I redoubled on myself and escape away to other sections of Boston where crimes was not noticed. 2 complete hour of time I hid there amongst flats. Then I emerge forth and catch redheaded trolley so I should meet Hon. Mrs. at Porterhouse Junction.

“Why you not stay all day?” she require sarcastly.

“Should gladly do so, but Hon. Police prevent,” I advocate.

“You got my handbag where was?”

“Yes, please!” I gave it forth to her. She look at it with disjointed eyes.

“Living sakes!!!” This from her. She enjoy deep gasp and faint off. By slight water-sip I revive her back.

“Damaged remnant of heathenish immigration!” she gollup, holding forth Hon. Bag. “Where you snatch this article of luggage?”

“Off from Hon. Pin-Counter,” I say so.

“I never seen it before. It belong to someone else!”

Thusly revolving she fainted out again. So I left her to enjoy it by herself and sklunk away feeling entirely impossible.

Hoping you are the same,

Yours truly,
HASHIMURA TOGO.

VII

Togo in Bachelor’s Hall

_To Editor Good Housekeeper Magazine, who must believe in shooing bachelors from neat homes with other flies and mice._

Dear Mr. Sir:—If you make inquiry for me at home of Hon. C. J. McGumm, Philadelphia, N. J., please do not go there, because needless to find me where I no longer am. I changed my mind from that job of employment for reason I say here.

Hon. Mrs. C. J. McGumm are blondface lady of considerable young years and very goodhousekeeping mind. Her Hon. Husband (of similar name) are the only untidiness she cannot sweep off from carpet when attacking cleanliness.

“Why are you so rubbish, Hon. Darling?” she require each nightfall when he retreat home from office with tired business appearance. “When you are in house all furniture cease to act obedient like it should and everything become deranged apart. Door-knob then become hat-rack for your derby, your coat wanders to sofa and fall asleep, while shoes will be found under piano kicking mud.”

He act entirely sugar to her. He reply to her inquiries by kissing expression of mustache, and they talk dove-dove language, which explain everything by not doing so.

But at lastly explodes came.

“Must marriage always be a cyclone?” she require one morning a.m. when he threw newspaper in gas-log with negligée expression.

“Hon. Heartsweet!” he snuggest, “I wish be comfortable in my own home.”

“So ha!” Weeps enjoyed by her. “Then you do not love me some more!”

“Why is?” he repostulate. “Must I prove adoration by acting miserable around house?”

“You are becoming more detached from me each day, I notice,” she lamentalize. “I can tell by your easy, smiling manner that you think of me too seldom. You break my house rules continuously. Instead of setting in hard, cheap chairs, you occupy wedding plush rocker, price 50$, which should be used only by society when it calls; you make smoke-cigar whenever you feel smoky; all time you read prize-fight instead of talking love to me, and each meal you demand apple pie with insurgent expression.”

“But I like apple pie,” he snuggest.

“Formerly you loved nothing but me,” she snatch. “Now you forget you are married.”

“Must I refuse to eat because married?” he snagger doggishly.

“So ha!” she dib for pain. “If that is where your thoughts are staying, then all must cease. Farebye! Hence forthly you shall find me c/o Mother.”

She arrange hat with traveling expression and make bang-out from door.

While she depart off Hon. McGumm stand by window-glass looking very Romeo. Sadness showed from his ears and chin. Then suddenly he resolve around, making humorous smiles resembling tickled hyenas.

“Ha, ha,” he say so. “Tee Hee and Ho. She imagines to think home cannot be properly heated without a woman. She thinks shucks. Togo, we show her how. We shall now run this house man-style instead of lady-style. Bachelor Hall are only proper residence for male gentlemen.”

“I am agreeable for this,” I report fearlessly. “How should we begin changing the sex of this home?”

“Signs of refinement should be removed with immediate quickness,” he devolve. “Remove ribbons & home-sweet-home portraits from wall and order 6 cases beer. In attic you shall find complete college-boy outfit of Indiana clubs, box-gloves, and love-me pictures. These shall be arranged in parlor to resemble saloon and other outdoor sports. Prepare for dinner-eat tonight 10 lbs. complete beefsteak & 9 apple pies, served with poker-chips and onions. To night at 7 p.m. I shall give annual banquet to members of Yamma Yamma Fraternity of which I was a joiner in days of manhood.”

“I shall do so with all the crudeness of my nature,” I alarm.

“Banzai & hurrah! We are free!” holla Hon. McGumm while he depart to office looking happy but lonesome.

Mr. Editor, you scarcely could imagine how I work to make that tender home look tough. Up in top-garret I find considerable Yale tools. One university row-paddle, 6 box-gloves, college pendulums with hurrah-rah signatures on it, portraits of class days, dogs, chorus-girls, and other prizefights all signed “To Darling Chas.” Also several German-speaking beer-gobblers and one landscape representing Hon. Gaby des Lys at a horse-race.

I fetch these to downstairs.

From parlor-room I took considerable art, representing several mother-portraits, portrait of “Innocence” representing childhood playing romp, portraits of an Alp by Aunt Sapho Lutz and considerable photo of McGumm uncles enlarged from their ancestry. Also fire-screen containing gilt, and tidy-cloth embroidered with artistic yarn. Also red splush albuum and several framed-up mottos from Shakespeare, Elb Hubbard & Genesis.

I fetch these to upstairs.

With considerable talent resembling dry-goods draping windows, I derange decorations for that parlor-room. I pile beer-bottles to piano and fill jardenair with cigars. A rude house motto reporting “CAMELS ONLY DRINK ONCE IN 78 DAYS BUT ENJOY IT LONG TIME” I sat on mantelpiece where portrait of Hon. Ralph Woodrow Emerson once were. Hon. Punch Bag I roped from chandeleer, while landscapes representing actor-ladies, dogs and other glee clubs I disarranged esthetically where was. I set parlor table with food-plates and decorate him in central middle with box-gloves and college pendulum containing joy-cries. Poker-chips by each plate.

That room look considerable unmarried when I finish him.

At promptness of six o’clock I elope to kitchen and commence mingling steak with onions. At 6.22 I hear war-song resembling feetball, and, peaking fourth from kitchen, I observe Hon. C. J. McGumm bringing home a Varsity.

“You remember that dreary date of ’99 when I bursted your collar-bone?” require one polar-bearish gentleman hugging Hon. McGumm till I heard him crack.

“Them were hilarious days,” commute Hon. Boss. “Let us give rah-rah.”

They do so, while plaster jar loose from spoken song.

When I fetch forth raw steak and apple pie, all require, “What the matter with Togo?”

“Nothing, no more than usual,” I snop for dignity. This seem to make them still more thirsty, so beer was sipped amidst Yamma Yamma congratulations. That ceremony were done very quietly while tablecloth was burning from heated cigarette.

“There was nothing to equal bachelor enjoyment,” explain Hon. C. J. McGumm while doing so.

“Nothing,” report one Taft-shape athlete. “I announce my engagement to Miss Tessie Dewberry.”

“We also shall marry in springtime,” pronounce 2 others distinctually. Slight glum settle over all until basso quartet make song-sing entitled “Soldier’s Farewell,” which add more jolly.

“Let us play penny-aunty as in oldtime date,” snuggest Hon. Boss. So they do so with considerable card.

Mr. Editor, I cannot understand this gambol. It are like golf, a game spoken in a foreign language.

Considerable pile-up of poker-chip was enjoyed while one man say “I see you!” yet look other way. They set for long lateness gossiping about Aunty amidst click-click noise. It seem very tame exercise, less cruel than feetballing, but more expensive.

By one a.m. time my eyes got hypnotized from watching this straight-flushing amusement, so I retired my head on chair and slept away.

At 3 a.m. by clockwork, I awoke upwards with basso quartet retreating off with song-sing entitled “Good-night, Lady!” Yet I could not see her.

Next morning 8 a.m. Hon. Boss Man say he no care for breakfast in dining-room because it make him feel destitute. So he took egg and coffee in kitchen. He say he would be home indefinitely, so he depart off for office seeming entirely unmarried.

I took look at the appearance of that bachelor parlor. Considerable rumpage was observed there. Quite several cigars had remained where they dropped and 26 bottles stood by gas-log looking quite vacant. Portraits of dogs & glee-clubs hung on wall in unequal position, resembling sea-storm.

What must I do with this room? I think Hon. Boss had told me whether Bachelor Hall should ever be clean. Maybe not. It certainly look less ladylike than ever in this deranged condition. Perhapsly Hon. Boss should be entirely enraged if I attemp to broom & dust this compartment he had took so much pains to masculify.

So I set by table, lit slight cigar, and read pugilist paper while upturning my feet. As thusly I reclined I did not hear something coming in front door.

“O!!!**??”

I peek upward. There stood Hon. Mrs. looking less peaceful than hornets.

“Hashimura Togo, what species of brutal debutchery have you been doing in my absentee?” she snarrel.

“I no do!” I say so. “Hon. Husband do!”

“Do not add untruthfulness to your falsehood,” she snuggest snap-turtlefully.

“I have read in papers about the distrustworthiness of Japanese servant-girls. But now I know. O!!! I leave my poordear Husband for you take care of. And thusly you neglect him. How he must suffer!”

She cover her hands with her face.

“I swear it, Mrs. High Boss, your Hon. Husband—”

“Do not swear before ladies,” she snib. “Now depart away while I faint.”

I do so feeling entirely decapitated.

Hoping you are the same,

Yours truly,
HASHIMURA TOGO.

VIII

Togo at the Seashore

_To Editor Good Housekeeper Magazine who know how cook delicious varieties of seashells._

Dear Mr.:—Among the fresh air at Sandflea Beach, Conn., employed by Hon. Mrs. & Mr. Liddbeater, I am no longer to be found at that address. If some one could find a seashore without an ocean attached to it I should be more happily to remain.

Nikkamura Japanese Employment Agcy send me there, where I arrive to smiling blue porch setting alonesome amid winds. The internals of that house resemble bleached almshouse, yet Hon. Mrs. Liddbeater say she were fortunate to obtain it in fashionable location price 200$ monthly.

“While by seashore we love the tough simplicity of life,” she snuggest with sweat-hearted expression. “We must pay expensively for our discomforts here, yet we are prideful to do so.”

“This place resemble Coney Island, yet less fashionable,” I report for compliment while observing girl-i-gig machinery on beach, candy, flirtatiousness and clams while Hon. Ocean bounce up suddenly making suds.

“It are splandid place to come for rest,” she report. “Now kindly to fetch 8 trunks upstairs, split wood, lynch hammock on porch, and deliver 14 buckets water from artizan well 11 blocks up street. When this are finished lunching can be prepare for 10, rugs beat, and ice-cream friz for party tonight.”

I thank her and feel sure I shall enjoy this vacation from work.

These Liddbeater family have got two (2) children of assorted sexes, age 17 & 18 respectfully. Eclaire are girl name and Oliver his. Both wear very giggling clothes and love to be engaged. She got Stanhope Whifflebudd, deliciously matinée boy, for hers, while Hon. Oliver obtain sweetheart attention from Hon. Bluebell Vawk, youngly lady of extreme tango.

All those frivolled young persons take rest by not doing so. Each evening they must attend Prof. Pffuster’s Waltzing Academy for more education in new Max Itch dance, which are all the enrage. Daytime they must enjoy tennis-play, walking, quarreling, and other excitements. Only time they remain quiet is when they go swimming, for this they can do by laying on beach under umburellas.

But when Fryday night arrive up my vacation become considerably more entangled. From out from depot emerge Hon. Mr. Liddbeater with tired business expression while reading Wall Street news from paper.

“Markets are decomposing rapidly while I am here,” he snuggest. “Unless I rest very laboriously I must go back to my unhealth.”

“What shall we do to make you feel entirely idle?” require entire family together like chorus-girls.

“At 4.06 tomorrow a.m. high tide shall arise and codfish will be biting viciously,” he say so. “Therefore we go fishing.”

Groans by all.

“Maybe you prefer to enjoy your seasickness alone,” renig Hon. Mrs. Madam with Pankhurst expression.

“Darling, I could not,” he reprieve. “I am determined to share my pleasures with my family. Therefore we arise upward at 3.30 to be prompt with hooks.”

That midnight was night for party where I friz ice-creams, served slight rabbits of Welsh birth, assisted chairs where tangos was jumping, play “Robt. E. Lee Polka” on pianola, and was otherwise considerable talented. By 2.26 I retire upwards to my box bedroom under cooked roof, where I remained outside my dreams till 3.31.

At 3.30 come tap-knock to door.

“What is it?” I require with startle.

“3.30!” holla Hon. Liddbeater voice out there. “Arise to go fish!”

“Do fish get up so early?” I ask to know.

“They bite best this hour,” he explain.

“I should also bite!” I snarrel.

“I do not pay you to make injurious comments,” he snudged while I hastily coat & pant myself for day labor.

All was there awaiting for breakfast with extreme appetite. When this devouring was finished Stanhope and Bluebell arrive up with flirtatious hats expected to attract fish.

“Togo,” demand Hon. Liddbeater like Napoleon, “while we fish you shall go along and whittle bait. Also prepare lunching for 10 and be very impromptu about it.”

I do so and we nextly go to shore where I must carry complete lunching including baby and umburella. Pretty soonly we arrive to detestable whaleboat being kept by salted gentleman resembling damaged admiral.

“Will this boat hold 12?” require Hon. Boss Man.

“So easily!” corrode Hon. Navy. “It were built for six.”

Therefore all was compressed in while we chug with gas-perfumery to central middle of ocean.

“I have feeling of slight squash,” narrate Hon. Bluebell when we were five miles among rolls.

“I hold your hand for it,” report Hon. Oliver, looking pale but poetic. He do not seem to accomplish much medicine by this. Hon. Bluebell become yet bluer.

All the ocean seem to tip up on one side as if it was going to spill 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.

“Daily and nightly,” she agnosticate, “I worry with brain for fear some spark or blazes might walk into my home and burn all my sweet art and dear menorandum to zero of ashes!”

“I shall smother all arson with great cruelty,” are fire-chief promise I make.

So Hon. Mrs. Fogg donate to me one smallish volume of book entitled “First Ade to Fires.” This literature, which is bound in 4th of July color, tell me following information about fire when he gets loose:

“Chimbleys are most dangerous articles to have around a house because they gets clogged with soot, thusly causing inflammation of the roof which creates blazes and burns insurance. Total loss. Best way to put out a mad chimbley is to sprinkle salt down him until he quits.

“In case of houseafire, human folks must be saved before all other furniture, because they are most combustable. This can be did by throwing wet blanket over them and dragging them forth. Valuable heirlooms can be saved from burning house by taking them out.”

I read this instructions, Mr. Editor, and feel prepared for anything.

This Mrs. Fogg got one Irish cooklady name of Hilda Katz. Hon. Hilda are beautiful, except her face and figure, which are not. She enjoy very sorry romance, because of Hon. Wm., a hack-driver, who drove away with another fiancée and remain there. Consequent of this, Hon. Hilda weep & cook nearly all time.

“Togo,” she report to me, while making tears and pies, “never promise to marry any gentleman in the livery-stable business.”

“I shall avoid this peril firmly,” I narrate.

“67 doz assorted love-letters this Wm. sent me. And what usefulness are they now?” Weeps by her.

“They might make a sad novel, if printed among pictures,” I say so.

She peel onions with Romeo expression.

But I were too busy being a fire-detective to think of Wm. and his escape from love. Nearly each hour by clock-time Hon. Mrs. would come to me and talk underwriter language:

“You hear that smell of smoke?” she require.

“It smell like New Haven Railroad burning dividends six miles away,” I say with syrup voice.

One day, my Cousin Nogi give me sweethearted gift of one valuable cigar, price 5c. cash-money. I nourish this dear tobacco very carefully in pocket and await till late night-hour when I could smoke him in my room & think of my ancestors. So I lock door, open window and do so. In midst of puffs I hear something.

Knock-knock! This noise by Hon. Door. I unlock lock and gaze outside to where Hon. Mrs. Fogg was there with kimono & pale eyebrows.

“Some odor is burning in this house!” she gollup.

“What perfume of smell do it resemble?” I ask it.

“It resemble a fire among dry goods,” she gubble.

“Be calmly quiet,” I negotiate. “The smell you heard was merely only slight gift-cigar I smoke in honor of my Cousin Nogi.”

“I would avoid such a cousin,” she snib with nose. “Blow out gas and go to bed at oncely!”

I could hear her peevishness by her feet as they walked.

It were nice, balmish evening of summer weather when Mrs. and Mr. Chas Hassock, neighborly persons of quiet fashion, was there to play bridge-gamble amidst society clothing. Hon. Mr. Fogg, medium gentleman with tame whiskers, were also there acting like a husbandman.

Bridge-card resume for several hours while those 4 persons sat there calling each other “Trumps” and other American insults.

O suddenly!! what was that my nose smelled? Inflammatory smell of fire!!

With iced brain I recall what “First Ade to Fires” said about mad chimbleys, so I rosh silently to outside house to see how ours were behaving. O surely yes! Hon. Chimbley were shooting sparkles & pin-wheels from his enraged bricks!

What I do then? With immediate quickness, I rosh to dining-room and grab 2 salt-sellers in my courageous thumbs. Making my toes extremely swift, I clomb ladder to roof & scramble along shingles with care peculiar to Thos. Cats. Then, by heroic movements of wrists, I pepper considerable salt straight into the face of that mad Chimbley. Yet he still continue on making Vesuvius out of himself.

What nextly must I do? I think of that fire-volume which say, “_Human folks must be saved before all other furniture_.”

So I scomper to bed-room, dragg forth one complete blanket & soush him in wet water of bath-tub. With these blanket held in my firm knuckles, I ascended downstairs to parlor where Hon. Mrs. Fogg set in her marcel hair and considerable expensive face-powder calling Mrs. Hassock a “Renig” in bridge-language.

With wetness of blanket, I stand behind Hon. Mrs. Fogg.

“What for?” she holla when she seen me. But before anything else could collapse, I wound wettish blanket round her head.

“Gog!” she report with strangely voice. Yet, before she could narrate more, I had drogged her forthly to fresh air.

“What is the meaning of this meanness?” require Hon. Fogg.

“Meaning of Fire!” I yellup. “Why do you stand there making speechless talks, when your home is sparking?”

At this oratory of words, everybody begin making hook-and-ladder movements. Hon. Fogg grabb bird-cage and pair of tongs. Hon. Mrs. save 3 plush albums. Hon. Hassock attemp to remove sideboard, but it were nailed to floor. Hon. Mrs. Hassock rosh down street breaking fire-alarms out of telephone poles.

But I were more Sandow in my strength. With Samurai knuckles, I grasp cabinet full of cut-up glasswear and roll him down front steps to lawn. Loud crashes! Thusly was valuable dishes saved from fire.

With deer-foot heels, I eloped upstairs to bedroom and begin pouring entire household out of window. Mattrass, pitchers, rugs, etc., fell like Niagara falling. When I threw forth family water-color landscape representing the face of Aunt Nerissa Hodges, it make boomerang fly-off and struck on head of Hon. Fogg which went through. Too bad.

I were just in the heroism of poking brass bedstead through pane of glass, when Mrs. and Mr. Fogg escorted by Mrs. and Mr. Hassock and Hon. Hilda Katz, cook-lady, suddenly encroach into room and seeze me.

“Platoon of brainless mind!” they all hiss like circular snakes. “Who inform you this house were blaze?”

“Did I not see Hon. Chimbley spitting rockets?” This from me.

“Sakes of shucks!” commute Hon. Hilda contemptibly. “That were not house-afire. That were merely me burning negligent love-letters in kitchen stove.”

Grones by all.

“So my house are not afire!” report Hon. Mrs. for disappoint.

“So sorry!” I regret. In distant midnight I could hear rural hose-carriage approaching with gongs. “Maybe there was no fire, but this were very useful practice. Also I was enabled to show you the iced quality of my intelligence. If there had been some fire, I should put it out!”

“You have put nearly everything else out,” sorrowfully Hon. Mrs., looking outside to moonlight where the entire interior of her home lay scrambled on the lawn.

Hon. Fogg gargle with his teeth.

“Since you are so talented at putting things out,” he suggest, “perhaps you can place yourself elsewheres with immediate rapidness.”

I oblige. When nextly observed, I were setting in R. R. Station awaiting for morning train and feeling quite roasted.

Hoping you are the same,

Yours truly,
HASHIMURA TOGO.

XII

Togo Makes Discoveries

_To Editor Good Housekeeper Magazine, whose mind thinks recipes._

Dear Mr. Editor:—When Hon. Chris Columbus dishcovered America, he do so at his own risk. It are muchly the same with Gen. Housework—all persons must be entirely careful about what they find out, because they can’t always do something with it. I know because I try.

My last former address was home of Hon. Mrs. J. B. Cluck, Canton, O. I am now employed there as an absentee. Mr. Editor, you and your magazine are blame for the miserable anecdote what happen to me there. I tell you, Mr. Editor Good Housekeeper, how was:

This Hon. Cluck lady suddenly approach up to me last Tues. a.m. & say with voice,

“Togo,” she say so, “I am delightful reader of Good Housekeeper Magazine.”

“You are one in several 1,000,000,” I snatch back, with expression of rapid circulation.

“In this wonderfully home-made periodical,” she divulge, “I are frequently suprised to read one department name of ‘Dishcoveries,’ what tell considerable knowledge to ladies what require to make housework unexpected. This month ‘Dishcoveries’ give bright recipes on following subjects:

“‘How to make pincushions from potatoes.

“‘How to keep moths out of moth-bags.

“‘How to make babies cry by music.’”

I assimulate her words with eyebrows.

“It seem insulting to sell so much wisdom for 15c,” I contuse.

“Recipes like this,” decry Hon. Mrs., “are good ways to know. Every servant girl, whether male or female, should read those ‘Dishcoveries’ & attempt to do so also. New things can be thought of only by thinking of something new. Therefore, remember I expect you to make some useful ‘Dish-covery’ each week you are in this home.”

With such language, she suddenly eloped away, leaving my hands in thoughtful dishwater.

Mr. Editor, it are easier to be Shakespeare than Edison. Hon. Shak. merely composed poetry, but Hon. Ed. has to compose inventions what actually go when expected to.