Part 1

MR. TOGO

MR. TOGO _MAID OF ALL WORK_

WALLACE IRWIN (HASHIMURA TOGO)

NEW YORK DUFFIELD & COMPANY 1913

COPYRIGHT, 1913 BY DUFFIELD & COMPANY

CONTENTS

PAGE I THE HON. VACUUM WHO CLEANS THINGS 1

II HON. BABY AND WHAT TO DO WITH HIM 13

III HON. MISS DRESSMAKER 25

IV THE HUSBAND’S PLACE IN THE HOME 37

V HOW SHOULD I DO PAPER-BAG COOKING? 49

VI HON. DISH RAG VS. THE HON. CHINA 61

VII A DAY AT HOME 73

VIII PETS 87

IX WASHING WINDOWS 97

X PAPER-HANGING 109

XI HON. GLADYS OBTAIN MATRIMONY 121

XII FALL CLEANING 133

XIII APARTMENT HOUSE LIFE IN NEW YORK 145

XIV CAN AUTOMOBILES BE TAMED FOR HOME USE? 157

XV PICNIC PARTY 169

XVI AN ADVENTURE IN BANTING 181

I THE HON. VACUUM WHO CLEANS THINGS

_To Editor Woman’s Page who make bright talk on dusty subjects._

Dear Sir:

I have just abandoned the home of Mrs. Hirem B. Bellus, Trenton, N. J., where I was. I shall describe circumstances, showing how I quit it.

This Mrs. Bellus, 211 lbs. sweethearted lady complete with curly-puff hair, employ me for do Gen. Housework, price $4.50 weekly payment. This are too less money, but she tell me small pay for small Japanese are entirely satisfactory. Satisfactory to who? I ask it. No reply from her.

“Are you an intelligent duster?” are first question for her.

“Japanese dusters is more intellectual than Turkey dusters,” I snop back. “I am acquainted with the habits of dirt and how to kill him. I am an experienced soaper and a fearless rubb. Therefore, you hire me.”

“Have you ever cleaned with a Vacuum?” she ask to know.

My soul was exhausted to answer this peculiarity.

“I never met him,” I acknowledge.

“How could I hire servant girl not familiar with this form of art?” she require peevly. “Vacuum cleaning are most delightful sport of home life to-day. It are enjoyed even in the farthest suburbs of the Universe, and yet you ignore it!”

“Ah, Mrs. Boss Lady,” I pledge with pathos, “do not fire me before hiring takes place! Try my sagacity. I shall learn to wrastle with this Vacuum you told about until you are proud to know me.”

So she took me to store room and introduce me to Hon. Vacuum.

The Hon. Vacuum that cleans, Mr. Editor, are like an ingrowing garden hose. He can inhale forever without coughing outwards. He are a species of mechanical snake whose breath always travels toward his tail. To use him, following directions must be did:

1--Screw tail of Hon. Vacuum to sprocket in wall.

2--Button the electricity and see what happen.

3--You will hear a sound. It will resemble moan of puppy cats aggravated by Winter blowing cyclones among ghosts. I cannot hear that Vacuum noise without feeling of lonesome poetry.

4--Hon. Vacuum begin to act disturbed. That are sign he want to eat dust.

5--Find some dust. Lead Hon. Vacuum to this and say, “Sick him!” Snorts! Hon. Dust will jump to nowhere while Hon. Vacuum howell for more food.

What are this Hon. Vacuum, anyhows? Hon. Dictionary Book say “Vacuum are Nothing.” How could Mr. Danl Webster speak such untruth by his Dictionary? Vacuum cannot be Nothing and yet make so much noises.

This intellectual Vacuum machinery resemble ostriches in what they eat. He delight to sip up tacks, needles, buttons and other hard groceries. He appreciate small wad of paper occasionally, but when I attempt feed him entire newspaper he hold it firmly against his nose, but refuse to go furthermore. I should like a photo of his digestion.

Mrs. Bellus, who are a wonderfully housekept lady, admire this Vacuum more than any of her relatives.

“I hate Dust,” she proclaim to me.

“Why should it?” I require. “Nearly all Earth are composed of this delicious powder. Mexico, Sahara Desert & Jersey City is built on dust and enjoys it continuously. Entire Italian army fight to get Tripoli, which are nothing but dust inhabited by Mohammed.”

“They are welcome to get it,” she snib. “With a regiment of Vacuum Cleaners led by Gen. Housekeeping I could wipe both armies off from Morocco and make it fit to sleep in.”

I am shocked by her cleanliness. Yet I ask to know one question.

“Mrs. Madam,” I reproach, “tell me this reply. When Hon. Vacuum supp up dust from this carpet, to where do it go to?”

She indicate Heaven with her thumb.

“Up there is grand blow-away hole which shoo it off,” she answer it.

So I continue on absorbing hairpins, string and other germs through that succulent machinery.

No lady I work for are equally balanced in their manias. Some are crazed about houseflies; cookery seem to make others continuously het-up; others seem to reverberate with pain when mentioning clothes-starch. This Mrs. Hirem B. Bellus was especially hobbed on that Vacuum Cleanliness. She could forgive all other crimes, no matter if I brought in beefstake too much charcoaled around edges. It no matter if I too sluggish with my feet to answer door when it bells. It no matter if I make outrageous beds or knock gentle glasswear in hard sink. She forgive. But she was deliciously disgusted if Hon. Vacuum was not mourning & howelling all day long while Togo poke its nose around among rugs & other brick-brack.

Her husband disagree from this.

“Togo’s biscuits fill my teeth with hatred while his coffee show contemptible weakness,” Hon. Bellus dib for breakfast.

“Perhapsly,” refute Hon. Mrs., “yet he are one of the best Vacuum Engineers I ever hired.”

“I cannot eat a Vacuum,” reject that Husband-man, with hat-in-the-ring expression.

“I are not responsible for your animal hungers,” corrode this Wife while she arose and gently order me to take Hon. Vacuum down cellar for vacate 2 coal-bins and a ashbarrel.

I retained this situation of jobs for six complete days’ work. All day long I go around house dragging hose like a fireman. I got that intelligent Vacuum so trained that he could do tricks of extreme cuteness. He could coax shoe-buttons entirely across room by his talented suction, and when they got up to his nose--gubble! They disappear to zero. He loved to catch flies by breathing them inwards; and once he attempt to withdraw Mrs. Bellus’ weak canary bird from cage. Which he not quite did, but too nearly.

So I continue on practicing this suctionary job; and I got so smart from it that I was preparing to request Hon. Mrs. for more wage of salary, when some unpleasantness exploded. I sorry to tell you.

Last Tuesday Hon. Mrs. Hirem B. Bellus come to me and say with gloves & hat:

“I go for lunching at Aunt Maria Stewart whose great wealth includes asthma and make her disagreeable but necessary. Be faithful with your Vacuum while I are away.”

I promus her.

“Grocer man will be here this p. m. for collect bill,” she corrode with indignation peculiar to debts. “Here are 20$ banknote for payment. I owe him 26$. Tell him to keep the change.”

So she part off, leaving me that 20$ paper of extreme value. Mr. Editor, it make me nervus to be alone with great wealth. Sipposing some burglary should come by window? Sipposing my dishonest instinct should fly up and make me skip Canada with cash-money?

Yet I was entirely faithful by that 20$. I took him and fold him to smallish wad, then I lay him carefully in crack of sofa where burglars could not see, yet I could not forget where was. Hon. Vacuum stood near purring softly while I done this. Who could expect what shall be?

Me & Hon. Vacuum continue our vacuous task, making kick-back of dust wherever was. I run him over rugs so oftenly that he pull holes from them. I make him sniff all cobble-webs from the pictures & poke his nose into each corner where was. We was very friendly, me & Vacuum.

I continue to vac. After Hon. Vacuum had sniffed off all wall paper, sideboard, etc., I remember how upholsterish chairs & sofas must be cured of germs also, so I vacuate these velvet upholsters. I was doing very nicely, thank you, when, of suddenly, I point nose of Hon. Vacuum to sofa where that 20$ bill was setting tightly. Yet no financial panics came to me until--O FRIGHTS!! _That 20$ bill begin hopping toward Hon. Vacuum’s nose with hypnofied expression peculiar to birds when eaten by charming snakes!_

I make snatch for money--alast! I was too late in beginning. Hon. Bill make leap to nose of Hon. Vacuum--gollup! Down long, thin throat of this machinery that wealthy cash was swallowed. I try to choke him so he give it back,--but useless it was. That cash-paper had flipped into his interior digestion before Jack Robinson could say it.

So I unbotton electricity and look down Hon. Vacuum with considerable angry rage. What had he did with my trustful money? O how my indignation jump up! How could this mechanical snake treat me so trickful after I had chaperoned him and fed him dust for several complete days? I shook him with grand cruelty in hopes to make him cough back that wealth of Mrs. Hirem B. Bellus. He remain entirely bulldoggish with that bill clasped somewheres inside.

Then I remember how Mrs. Bellus had told me how trash suctioned away by Hon. Vacuum was blowed high-ward through hole in roof. Maybe I should catch that 20$ yet before he got out! So with immediate quickness I got top-ladder & clomb to roof where I dishcover hole. Yet it was entirely penniless. Now & occasionally slight spurt of dust blow from hole; sometimes one shoe-button would popp out from where Hon. Vacuum had kicked him. Yet that hole remain like a bursted bank, refusing to surrender money.

Afar off in direction of Pennsylvania I could observe slight dusty expression of sky. I feel sure that was Mrs. Bellus’ money travelling West.

Enjoying great discouragements I got down from that roofly seat and wrote following telegram to Mrs. Bellus before walking farewell:

“Togo is resigned. Hon. Vacuum blow your 20$. So sorry to say. The unexpected often happen, so you may get this money back, as I do not see how you ever can. When last seen it was going to Pennsylvania where I shall be there to catch it if he fall down and send back by P. O. delivery.”

When I wrote this telegram I pin him to kitchen door and walk rapidly away with expression of one going West and expecting to arrive there. And while travelling I think of one wise quotation: “Nature abhors a Vacuum.” I am agreeable to Nature in this.

Hoping you are the same, Yours truly, _Hashimura Togo_.

II HON. BABY AND WHAT TO DO WITH HIM

_To Editor Woman’s Page, who was once a Baby, but has got over it._

Dear Mr. Sir:

I have now released myself from Patriot’s Bluff, Ohio, where I took considerable experience away with me. There I done home-work for Mr & Mrs Henery M. Bushel & child for delicious cheapness of wages, thank you. When I approach this Bushel home 2 weeks formerly from now, Hon. Mrs (refined lady with wealthy golden tooth) look severely at my Japanese humility.

“Togo,” she narrate, “this house contains the brightest, most valuable & booflest Hon. Baby in all world.”

I attempt to look surprised. “Mrs Madam,” I say gradually, “I have worked already at 13½ places which also contained the brightest, most valuable & booflest Hon. Baby in all world. How could it? Did them other places all have same baby?”

“No. But them other babies was all imposters,” she dib.

So she led me to setting-room, walking with quiet toes and wrapped expression peculiar to folks approaching Mikado or some other President. In 1/8 size rocking-bed I observe Hon. Baby laying among considerable softness and appearing quite babyhood.

“Are he not remarkabilious child?” she require.

“I are sure he must be very distinguished,” I say sweetishly.

“Why you think so?” she require with gently smiling.

“Because,” I says so, “all distinguished persons appears quite plain when first observed.”

“I do not care to hear your foreign thoughts,” she grudge.

Hon. Baby make happy guggle to see me, so I know we should get very friendship together. I waggle my thumbs to him, so he make more laugh.

“DON’T!!” holla Hon. Mrs. “You wish explode my child’s nerves by this actions?”

“Are it injurious for childhood to laugh at my thumbs?” I ask it.

“Many children are spoilt forever by too much laughter in infancy,” she explan. “I raise this child like I raise biscuits--by book. Volume entitled ‘How Do It to Grow Best Children’ tell me delicious nervus diseases what children will be entitled to if not careful. By feeding, exercise, etc., I intend to make this Babe great man for future.”

“Shall he be Presidential Candidate, perhapsly?” I require.

“No! he shall never have such brutal treatment!” she exclam. “Yet I are sure he shall be great because he has his grandfather’s eyes.”

I could not believe such youngly child could rob old gentleman of his eyesight. Yet I say nothing. “Have he got a name?” I require for chivalry.

“Several,” she report. “He are pronounced Alexander Applegate Leopold Bushel.”

“Bushel baskets have been filled with less,” I say punnishly. “That name surrounds him completely.”

“For shortness we call him Goo,” she say so. “Now I shall tell you his daily programme.” She take paper from table and read me following list of deeds intended for that Babyhood:

5:30 to 6 A. M. crying exercises enjoyed for development of lung.

6:15 sterilised milk programme with bottle.

7:30 Hon. Baby bathed in fluid offensive to mikrobes. Hon. Father then permitted to bring out scales and weigh Hon. Baby so to show he soon will be a Physical Perfection like Family.

8:10 A. M. ½ hour baby-talk conversation by his mother for development of brain.

8:40 slight perambulation in baby-cab continuing 2 hours. This trip must go through considerable streets and scenery, so Hon. Baby will get used to travel.

10:40 homeward arrival. More crying exercises enjoyed for benefit of lung.

11:30 continual sleep programme until entirely saturated with slumber.

Afternoon--same like morning programme, only more so.

Hon. Mrs Bushel told me this with intense accuracy peculiar to statistics.

“You speak reverently about sterilised milk,” I pronounce. “How do you make this youthful beveridge?”

“This milk are best science for all baby,” she report. “You put him in clean kettle & boil him to scalding point--”

“Boil Baby to scalding point?” I screech with shocks.

“No!! Boil milk,” she otter.

Which show what difficult housekeeping babies can be.

* * *

Mr Editor, one important rule I notice about babies--you must not never give them nothing that they want. This Hon. Bushel Baby are continuously poking forth sweet hands and making considerable blueness from his eyes to show his undesirable whims & requisitions. One time I was approaching steps with 100-lb ice-chunk for kitchen. Hon. Baby seen this and order some by making finger-signals. How could I disobey this toy boss? So I split off slight fracture of ice & was attempting to make present of this to him when--O scream! Mrs Boss came flewing outward and seen what was.

“Stop!” she holla. “You wish refrigerate that darling interior?”

I feel entirely hashed for my ignorance.

Another occasion Hon. Baby reach forth and begin eating loose end of my pink calicoed apron with toothless expression of sublime joyness. While he ate he say, “Ah-Goo!” which are Chinese words meaning “a good salad can be made of almost anything.”

Screams!!! “What style murder are you serving to my child now?” yall Mrs Henery M. Bushel hysterially.

“Excuse please. Are aprons injurious for food supply?” I ask to know.

For answer Hon. Mrs Bushel grabb him to arms & rosh at telephone.

“Hello, Doctor yes, come to the poisoning quick!” she gollup. Then she walk forward & back adding groans while Hon. Baby observe her emotions with great amusement.

Honk-honk to door. Hon. Dr Ottomobile arrive with chuggs & he hop forthly containing bags and implements.

“Where is poison?” he require, calm but nervus while his beard look entirely scientific.

“Here are!” hissy Hon. Mrs tearing forth my apron. “Hon. Baby ate this heartily.”

Hon. Dr took out mikeroscope. First he look at Hon. Baby through his mouth, then he poke that glass against my apron and peep with earnestness.

“This article contain 101 per cent. venomous products,” he explan. “In addition there is maniac acid solution with hypocritical sublimate. I am surprised to see your child looking so well, because by Science he should be dead 9 times.”

Hon. Mrs wept, but Hon. Baby continue making gurgle-laugh with Xmas dinner expression. For 48 complete hours his parents continued standing on end, expecting that child to perish off, because he was so much better behaved than usual.

* * *

Me & Alexander continue to be dear college chums; yet I was entirely nervus to approach him, because I was afraid I might explode some science connected with it. But all commencements have their finish. One day it came thusly:

“Take Hon. Baby for sidewalk promenade,” holla Mrs Henery M. Bushel from upstairs side. “You will find peramble-buggy on front porch. You must begone 2 hours and not aggrevate him by your foolish attentions. If he begin to cry, wheel homewards.”

“Shall do so,” I terminate.

“And remember thus,” she commute. “So long as he silent, you must not notice him.”

So I put on hat & go forthly to front porch where peramble-buggy was there. I wheel this along without noticing Hon. Baby, because I was ordered to snub it. The faithful duty I always possess made me entirely noble. I did not even peek in buggy for see how he look. Such were my obedience to commandments. For 1 hour I push that child-cab through fashionable streets where he can become educated by society sights. Silence from him. For 21 minute I wheel him by rivers, trees & scenery where he could become educated in Nature. Silence yet from him. For 15 minute I ride him by bank-buildings, offices, drug-stores, so he can get educated in business conditions. And yet he remain silent like a hypnofied fly. His refined behaviour made me feel lonesome--to pass 1 hour, 36 minute without some cry-exercises were too much for me to believe. He must be wrong somewheres. So, in defy to Hon. Boss Lady’s orders, I lift back top from that child-carriage--and O shocks! What I seen? Nothing!! Hon. Baby were not there!!!!!!

My brain began running backwards. Where could Hon. Baby went? Was he pulled out of buggy by airships while I was not looking? Had he drop from bottom of that cart or crolled over side and eloped secretively? I confused in all directions while my heart remained stationary.

With empty baby-trundle I trott along each sidewalk requiring, “You seen loose baby?” from each persons who said they didn’t. Hon. Police come and ask me what was. I told so.

“Black Hand stole um!” Holla Hon. Police with rabid calm. So he commence to trott along by me while 48 mobbed persons join up with us. “Have you saw loose baby?” everybody ask it. Nobody had.

Finally, made desperado by my fear, I decide to return back to home of Bushel and report what was. So elope I there, chaperoned by Hon. Police & persons. I stood by porch with quaker knees, knowing Mrs Bushel would be irritated to lose such nice child. While I stood thusly--beholt! Door flew ope and out come Hon. Mrs carrying Hon. Baby in arms!

“Fool Togo!” she yellup.

“Yes, please!” This from me.

“When you left house with Hon. Buggy how could you forgot?”

“Forgot what?” I asked to know.

“You forgot Baby!” she snagger.

Then I remember what was. When I left house she told I shouldn’t disturb Hon. Baby, so I forgot to look see if he was there in Hon. Buggy!

“Mrs Madam,” I erupt, stretching myself upwards to Samurai height. “By not taking your baby out and losing him, I saved his life. Yet I shall charge you nothing for this heroism.”

“You shall save his life again by eloping away from hither at once,” she dib wild-cattishly. “Leave baby-cab on front porch and let me see your absence.”

So I made very sorry removal feeling similar to one who make a living swallowing dull swords.

Hoping you are the same, Yours truly, _Hashimura Togo_.

III HON. MISS DRESSMAKER

_To Editor Woman’s Page Who Understand How Ladies Can Be Dress-Made Until They Appear Beautiful._

Dear Mr Sir:

During my progress around from places to places I have got acquaintance with all sorts American musical instruments. Banjos, gasolene, stoves, trumbones and basso drums I have heard shooting their music. But never until of recently did I encounter a sew-machine doing so. Sew-machines are different from pianos in several ways. Pianos are good for accompany ladies singing; sew-machines are useful for accompany ladies gossiping. This I notice.

Place at which I was most formerly employed was Mrs Jno W. Smith (pronounced the same way) who reside by her husband near Poison Ivy View, Conn.

This Mrs Smith have a mind full of drygoods. She speak of her friends in dressmake language entirely.

“Jno,” she say to her husband when they set down for dinner-eat ceremony, “to-day I met the most charming Brussels lace with accordeon tassels at wrists and elbows.”

“What was her name in real life?” require Hon. Smith with nervus expression of check-book.

“Mrs Ethel Crabapple,” report Hon. Mrs Jno, her mind making drop-stitches of fashionable pattern. “She have took up woman-suffrage movement and speaks very beautiful under her pink majolica hat of baby ostrich plumes.”

Hon. Jno Smith sigh like a bye-gone day.

“Ethel Crabapple!” he renig for slight sentiment. “I knew her when she was merely Ethel Scraggs. How is she?”

“Quite well, I think,” relapse Mrs Jno. “She spoke on Progress wearing a green opera cloak of cerise burlap aggrevated with panels of Arabian chiffon and satin annex at collar.”

Hon. Smith withdraw himself from this conversation for fear he might be asked to buy some similar uniform for his wife.

When this Mrs Smith are asked to ball-parties, dance-step festivals, trolley-ride, bridge-play gambol, etc., she look extremely downtrodden for days & days. Her husband remain calm but frightened, like Wall Street before it collapses. Of finally she lead Hon. Smith to breakfast where she report distinctually,

“I am absent of all clothing to wear anywheres.”

I do not notice this. But Hon. Jno grone severely while he give her all the wealth of his pockets. Then he go glubly away to his office feeling like the Queen of Sheba’s husband when it was fashionable for ladies to dress in solid gold with diamond buttons.

About one week of yore my Hon. Boss Lady come at me and decry,

“Togo,” she say, “one extra plate must arrive to table this week.”

“You expecting some person?” I ask out.

“No. Only a dressmake,” report her.

“Must I mix extra food for her daily?” I snuggest.

“Ah, no, not to do,” she repartee with economy voice. “This Miss Dressmake will eat what the family does.”

“If she eat what the family does, what will the family eat?” I ask to know.

No reply to this request.

Several considerable days before Miss Dressmake arrive up, Mrs Jno W. Smith spend many literary hours pursuing stylish magazines full of smiling ladies dressed in colours. Each ladies in them pictures was surrounded by diagrams & patterns showing how she was made. Mrs Smith select these portraits carefully, to see which she would rather look like. She prefer portrait of lady named “Style 41144B.” She say she would request Hon. Dressmake to fix her appearance like that.

“How you describe this dress, please?” I ask to know.

“It is a pan velvet shirred and basted with the yoke separated from the white,” she report.

“Eggs can be cooked in similar stylish fashion,” I communicate. She do not seem to assimilate them words I said.