Part 5

“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.

When Hon. Mrs. Cluck require me to think up some Dishcovery, I were completely flabbed to find what was. Nearly everything seemed to be already thought of to make home easier—hot water, ice man, gas, etc. Brooms was there to sweep with, foods to cook with, each thing for to do so. When I look around that home, all full of everything, I feel like North Pole after Hon. Doc Cook was there—nothing else left to dishcover.

That week my brain grew sidewise from too much originality. Yet no useful thought come up.

With frequent occasionality, Hon. Mrs. Cluck approach and dement,

“You find that Dishcovery yet, Togo?”

“Great explorers requires overtime to do so,” I relate.

No intellectual reply from her.

Wedsday pass, Thursday pass while Fryday & Satday proceed in similar manner. At last it was Sunday.

This Sunday are devoted to stay-home amusement by Hon. Cluck, who are a bald-haired gentleman of medium oldness. He spend this vacation by setting in slippers and enjoying quarrels he is too busy to attend to other days. When these is finished, he reads comical supplements until fatigued by humor, when he spreads Hon. Happy Hooligan page over his bald hair and commences to snore. This program are enjoyed to any extent while Hon. Mrs. telephone her Mother to explain how sad her marriage was.

“Jas!” holla Hon. Mrs. to Hon. Mr., last Sunday while he was leaping from one nap to another, “Why should you save your snores for your Wife?”

“You comfort me so I cannot keep wakeful,” he smooth back.

“Do you snore while being comforted by a—stenographer?” she gollup so quickly.

He said nothing very well.

“Oh!!” This from her. “If I could dishcover some way for to keep you from going to sleep every time you sat in that chair, I should be submerged by much gratitude.”

I was standing in next room near keyhole trying not to listen when I axidentally hear her make this dialogue.

Zizz!! Intellectual flash arrive to brain: I should make one Dishcovery what would give Hon. Cluck happy-home wakefulness when setting in that chair. Banzai! I stogger backwards with Edison feeling of thumbs.

Next a.m. while Hon. Mrs. were absentee at Dept Store squandering money on hair-pins, I approach Hon. Chair where husband love to dream. With artistic hammer & nails, I attach Hon. Chair to rope in next room which were pulled by neat derangement of pulleys. He were a Mawruss Chair, full of pads and very fat, and I was proud to see the expression of calm comfort what he wear while setting there awaiting happy home-come of Hon. Mr. Cluck.

When Hon. Mrs. Cluck arrive back for dinner that evening, food were absent, for reason because I had been too busy with importance to think up such triful.

“Why you no cook for eat it?” she require with hawk voice.

“I have cooked something more grand than merely stomach food,” I snuggest. “While you was absentee, I have been preparing something elegant for the brain to chew: I have made a Dishcovery!”

“O narrate it to me!” she collapse for vasty excitements.

“Not to do!” I holla. “Such thoughts must be delivered by express to editor of Good Housekeeper Magazine.”

She glub slightly, but I was firm.

“If you have time to spare from your scientific study, please prepare what hash there is in the house for food which is 2½ hours late.” She say it.

At 6:47 hour, Hon. Cluck return back in usual mood of joyless anticipation. He say several nouns expressing lateness of Japanese cookery, then he remove off coat, collar, neckbow & shoe-ware, expecting to put on house slippers and smoke-jacket and manufacture comfort.

“If Togo shall be till breakfast preparing dinner, I shall go to my Mawruss Chair and enjoy slight kitten nap,” Hon. Mister glump.

“If you had more regular profiles, you would be a sleeping beauty,” contuse Hon. Mrs.

“If this home was run right, it would not be run down!” combust him.

“If you was not a fungus, you might be a genius,” detone her.

I were deliciously relieved to hear them talk that way, because I knew they would get so interested in unpleasantness that Hon. Cluck would forget to go sleep in Mawruss Chair until after dinner was ate. And then I would have time to show my Dishcovery.

And so it was. While I prepare what hash I could find, Hon. Cluck spent time pacing backwards and reverse with expression peculiar to Admirals on July 4th. At lastly dinner set himself on table while Hon. Cluck devoured big dinner amidst usual steam-roller grumbel about my unhappy cooking.

“Can’t you recall some sweet language to make marriage pleasant?” renag Mrs. Cluck.

“Marriage are only pleasant when he are asleep,” he peruse, looking expectfully to Mawruss Chair.

When it come to pie time, I could already observe dormatory expression of lodging-house crowling over fatty face of Hon. Boss. Yawns by him. Stretches. At lastly, he arose upwards, lit cigar, rubbed his tired business eyes & started for library.

“I think one slight, little nap in Mawruss Chair will prepare me,” he say so to Wife.

“Prepare you for what?” she dib back at Hon. Husband.

“For go to bed,” he resnort. He make sluggardly walk toward Mawruss Chair.

Now I knew it were time for activity, if my Dishcovery would be useful. So I ran with silent speed of cats towards other room where end of rope was. Through library door, I could see Hon. Chair setting there with dimpled pads. I grabb rope detatched to pulleys what led to Hon. Chair. Next thing I could see Hon. Cluck back up towards Chair, stretch lovingly, and crouch his knees as if intending to set down. But he wasn’t.

YANKS!!! With hero strength, I pull rope which cause Hon. Chair to sidle backwards on castor. Consequence of this was large. Hon. Cluck, suddenly dejected from his set down, fell on his collar button, arriving to carpet so hippo-ponderously that entire home were jarred loose.

“O darling Mr. Husband, are you gone?” require Mrs. Wife, lopping over him with heroine expression peculiar to Julia Marlowe.

“Can’t you tell I am here by the noise?” he gubble. “What spirituous medium has came here to pull away my chair with unseen hands?”

“I do it!” I explode with great quickness suddenly emerging forth from curtains like primadonna making first entrance when band play with great exuberance.

“_Why_ you done it?” Both Hon. Mister and Hon. Mrs. spoke together like mad chorus girls.

“It was fault of you & Good Housekeeper Magazine!” I snuggest to her. “Did you not tell me every servant girl should make Dishcovery of something needed in the home?”

“Perhapsly I did,” Hon. Mrs. rosp back with question-mark.

“Did you not tell Hon. Husband something must be did to keep him from sleeping in Mawruss Chair after big dinner every day?”

“I said thusly.”

“Well!” This from me. “I have cooked up an Invention what will keep Hon. Sir from all snores. Reward me, please!”

For immediate payment, Hon. Cluck arouse up with voice peculiar to zoology. He annexed me by the seat of my collar & left me outside where I stood long time.

Mr. Editor, if you wish this Dishcovery for your page it will be yours for the cheapness of dirt.

Hoping you are the same,

Yours truly, HASHIMURA TOGO.

XIII

Togo’s Thanksgiving

_To Editor Good Housekeeper Magazine, who keep cheerful in spite of Holidays._

Dear Sir:—While annual yearly date of Thangsgive approach up, I enjoy pain in connection with my memory. Americans act so peculiar when thankful that I am not insured what to do. For instancely, I tell you what collapsed to me last Thanksgive Thursday:

I were employed for Gen. Cookery at domestic kitchen of Mrs. & Mr. Romeo Goober, East O’Rora, Ill.

“Togo,” say Hon. Mrs., approaching up to me, “tomorrow shall be Thanksgive Day.”

“What are origin of this joy?” I ask to know.

“Pilgrim 4 Fathers first invented it,” she report. “In historical time of 1492, Hon. Miles Standish were setting on Plymouth Rock. ‘We have no foods,’ decry Hon. Miles. ‘I have no appetite,’ snuggest Hon. Jno. W. Alden, assistant Pilgrim. ‘We should be thankful for that!’ negotiate Hon. Miles, so Thankful Thursday were manufactured from that date.”

“How you shall celebrate this patriotic festival?” I require.

“By eating it,” decrop Hon. Mrs. “The more we eat, the more patriotic we become. On that Thursday date America are thankful about all sorts of calamities, while families group themselves around turkey to express gratitude and cramberry sauce.”

“My heart stands upright to think of such cheerfulness!” I resort. “I shall rejoice tomorrow for to observe one American dinner where Kick & Peev are not invited.”

“Tomorrow we expects to celebrate as usual,” she report for sweetly smiling. There will be 8 to dinner, to include my fattish Uncle Seth who equal 3 more. All my relatives is most sneerful particular about foods. So now will you please elope immediately to market for buy one turkey-chicken of 26 lbs. complete tenderness, 4 qrts. cramberries of delicious sourness, 6 bunches celery-weed, and sufficient punkens to construct 2½ pies?”

I go. At Gouge Bros. Market where was I observe sign, “FAT TURKEY 35c.” To see this, I feel very humorous about that High Cost of Life.

“Such delicious cheapness of bird!” I negotiate to Hon. Butcher who was there. “At such rates, how much would 2 turkies cost?”

“$22.80,” he report for immediate arithmatic.

“Do you not promise fat turkey for 35c?” I rake off.

“35c per lb.,” he snagger financially.

“I should like one (1) lb., please!” This from me.

“We do not sell broken sections. You must purchase complete bird, price $9.80.” This from him.

“At such rates, folks can get rich by starving,” I snagger.

No response from him. He go to ice-box and fetch forth one enlarged fowel without any clothing on.

“This are nice fresh turkey,” he satisfy.

“How you know he fresh?” I snuggest.

“Have he not been constantly on ice for 2 yrs.? Nothing could be more fresher than that,” depose Hon. Butch. I buy.

He sell me expensive celery-bouquet, price 75c per cluster. It seem disrespectful to eat such valuation. Also precious cramberries, price $1 for seldom quantities, added to $2.50 worth punkens for pie. I promenade homewards, carrying this valuable butchery and hoping no burglar would see me.

While I was thusly straggling along with burdened back, one assorted dog, name of Hon. Fido, snux up behind of turkey and made smiling sniff-nose.

“Shoo!” I report. Hon. Fido stood waggishly saying nothing, but looking at Hon. Turkey with flirting eye. I was joyful to observe this, because Hon. Shakespeare say, “Them what dogs loves must have many tender qualities.”

Date of Thankful Thursday arrive up. By early a.m. of dawntime I arose up and commenced. All a.m. that assorted dog, Hon. Fido, set outside screen door. I permit him. I arrange Hon. Turkey to polite position and stuff his surprised interior with decorated crumbs. I satisfy him with salt & pepper.

About time of afternoon p.m., I could hear several thanksgivers scraping their footprints on rug. Their feet sounded quite hungry, yet I could not hear any words spoken more cheerful than Sunday. Hon. Turkey now send forth smiling smell of bakery, and I was glad to assist his importance.

Pretty soonly all take set-down to table.

“We got much to be thanksgiving for,” report Hon. Goober with sharp knife. “Dinner is late as usual.”