Part 7

“You are dressed in very little else,” he legalize. “I should die of shames if I should see my Wife promenading in street clad in such a lack.”

“I do not blame you,” she snagger snubbishly. “I once saw your Wife in bathing suit and can sympathize with you.”

Hon. Judge feel considable contempt of court for this remark, yet he could not hang her, because her style had not killed anybody yet.

“Who is it buys the purchase of your wardrobe, such as is?” he ask to know.

“My husband,” she pronounce.

“I shall arrest him for failure to provide,” he renig hashly. So he lock up court in time to go codfish.

Mr. Editor, numberous reformers is making weep-voice because ladies is coming out in worse & worse. Yet I are less alarmed. Styles is like other forms of advertisement—they are made to create look-at, and when this stop, they stop also. Ladyfashions is always worse than formerly, yet never so bad as they was. If you think 1913 is hideolous, look at 1880; if you think that ugliferous, observe 1870. Before the Uncivil War considerable preachers made considerable shock because ladies wore their lingeries next to their shoes. In reign of Gen. Arthur gentlemen enjoyed much sorrow because ladies wore their skirts in Psyche knots behind their backs. And now they create peev because ladies does not wear sifficiently enough anywheres.

At what periodical time of civilization have not mankind scolded ladykind for something she took on or put off? You would think from how they act that gentlemen must detest ladies for looking so homely. Yet suicide, divorce & population increases annually, which show that ladies can never dress too fashionable to be loved by someone.

Hoping you are the same,

Yours truly, HASHIMURA TOGO.

XVII

The Drama of Sex

_To Editor N. Y. Newsprint who knows how to go too far without arriving there._

Dearest Sir:—My Aunt Taki Kati, spinsterial suffragette from Kobe, Japan, arrived here of recently and say she should like see all the customs of America.

“What you wish see firstly?” I require for guide-bookish expression.

“Theater,” she say so.

“Had we not better begin with some other slum first?” I ask out. “There are some delicious gunmen in jail this week; Tammany Hall are still open to tourists and I could show you some splandid opium smokeries in Chinatown, price 25c.”

“Why should I not see theater first?” she require with Pankhurst eyebrows.

“Because so,” I report. “To enjoy theater you should a proach it gradually like any other bad habit. It are better to work up from mild to more strong. Otherwisely you might become ill without feeling intoxicated. Foreigners intending to see American theaters should first take lessons in blonde-slavery, debutchery, gun-manliness and o. u. kiddery. Then they can see dramatic arts without blushing too much.”

“My stumach has been strengthened by hunger strikes,” say that suffraging Japanese. “Therefore I can stand considerable endurance.”

“What variety play you wish observe?” I say it.

“Some simple domesticated drama,” she indicate. So we went forthly for see what was.

Mr. Editor, when we approach Broadway that street seem about like usual. Breathing get more difficulty there all time, because so many new theaters arise there each night, making fresh air umpossible.

“I smell the odor of some smell,” narrate my dear Aunt with chokes.

“There is several new Viennese plots in town,” I say so.

While we walked we could see following flashing signs winking with wicked electricity:

COUNTESS NYMPHIA BY SWINEBURG OPENLY VICIOUS!!

Next sign report:

THE GIRL AND THE LIBERTINE A HORRIBLE HIT!!

Next theater divulge:

SLIGHTLY SOILED THE DRAMA OF DISEASE!!

Nearby electricity say:

THE WHITE SLAVE’S FROLIC MODERN MUSICAL COMEDY 100 SHOCKING SONGS!!

My Aunt Taki Kati wish see this opera, because she admire Gilbert & Sullivan for their tunes. So we go Box Office and ask buy sit-down inside.

“We do not sell tickets,” he reply peevly. “Ain’t you got sifficient brains in your mind to go to speculator when buying tickets?”

We find Hon. Speculator by sidewalk looking quite commercial.

“10$ each,” he report with tickets.

“Why should your price be so immodest?” I snagger.

“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: