Читать книгу Hashimura Togo, Domestic Scientist - Wallace Irvin - Страница 6

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To Editor Good Housekeeper Magazine who should be found in every employment bureau

Dearest Sir:—While working in servant-girlish employment of Gen. Housework I have endured considerable cruelties with great durability. But when ladies insists to pour kindness upon me, then the worm twists from such brutality. For thus reason I am now entirely disjointed from job of working at home of Hon. Mrs. Heneretta Hoke & Husband, Nutt Center, N.J. I tell you this historical event.

When I employ this Mrs. Hoke to be boss, she say with Jane Addams expression, “Hon. Abe Lincoln freed niggero slaves sometime of yore; therefore Japanese servant must also be considered human.”

“I do not expect such sweethearted treatment,” I say for slight tear-drop.

“I am going to commence my beginning by being generous to you,” she encroach. “You may take Thursday afternoons out.”

“How far out can I take them?” are question for me.

“Plenty far,” she renounce, “but not so distant he will not get back in time for breakfast Fryday morning. I give you this Thursday p.m. from great philanthropy of soul, so you will be able to work harder when you get back.”

“What amusements are proper for servant on this bright holidate?” I ask to know.

“Sometimes one way, sometimes different,” she pronounce. “Walking, setting down, quarreling, flirtating, seeing emotion-picture show, obtaining drunkenness, getting married or arrested—all are good ways for servant on Thursday.”

I thank her from the stomack of my soul and fill my brain with joy-thoughts about that nice date of afternoon I should spend. It were Monday when she say this. Each day afterwards my gladness become pretty plenty when I think what light amusement it should be. I fill my mentality with plans for frivolity. Maybe I should go to hear Rev. Dr. Soyanada lecture on Mr. Ibsen. Or perhapsly I might walk in Unnatural History Museum admiring skeletons. These light joys seem pretty happy—but O!—of suddenly I think something better. I should write my cousin Nogi for meet me in G. A. R. Cemetery where we could learn American language by reading biographies on monuments.

Thursday morning arrive up. Such beauty of day! Air was clear like alcohol, making blueness of sky which removed blueness from heart. I never observed better day for servants to see cemeteries. At 11 I eloped to room for make slight brush to shoes & derby.

Lunch time arrive.

“Togo,” report Hon. Mrs. Hoke, poking unprepared head into kitchen, “you will be unexpectedly detained at home this afternoon; so sorry. I shall give bridge-gamble for 48 friends this and 6 additional must remain for dinner-eat.”

Door-slam was her next reply.

Mr. Editor, have you ever been retained in kitchen, manufacturing lemonade-drunk for ladies while Nature stand outside whistling for you? Amidst such sorrows your fingers shuffle their feet and your soul refuses. I attempt to bake cake while enjoying these pains; but you cannot make cake arise when your heart contains no yeast.

All through brightness of afternoon bridge-gamble continue while I poke forth chocolate. At lateness of 11.22 p.m. 6 additional persons depart off from dinner-eat. I go bed without congratulation.

Next morning Hon. Mrs. report to kitchen with shameface.

“So careless, I forgot Thursday!” she guggle.

“Could you not forget Monday or Wednesday next time?” I acknowledge.

“When Thursday comes again, remind me it is here,” she snuggest while tucking her hairs.

So I again enslave myself with fidelity for 6½ complete days. This Thursday, I think so, me & Nogi should see that delicious cemetery while brightness of weather was there. Once more I write Nogi, “Come meet me at kitchen, so we sure find each other.” He reply back, “Will do.”

Next Thursday come up. More sunshininess of thermometer I never saw. On such days birds gets headaches from too much song. So I was prepare to elope away for slight vacation. By early date of breakfast I encroach up to Mrs. Boss and reply with butler voice, “Thursday have arrive!”

“So glad you remind me—so he has!” she gosp. “If you had not speak I would forgot—Daughters of Samantha Stitching Society meet here this p.m. You must assist with salad-eat for 41.”

“Are this not my outside day?” I repeat for slight peev of tone.

“Be less impertinent in your impudence,” she snagger while walking.

I remain where was that afternoon. Yet my soul became so sogged he nearly dropped out. At 2 p.m. while I was chopping up detestable chicken for salad-feed, my Cousin Nogi make smiling knock-knock to kitchen door.

“When shall you get out?” he require with fashionable derby.

“I am hopelessly sentenced for life,” I reply spirally. “Set down in chairs and enjoy my imprisonment.”

Ring-door occur so I must lay aside my apron and other sorrows while opening knob for assorted fat ladies. When I go back to kitchen and commence explaining indignation in Japanese to Cousin Nogi, then Mrs. Hoke poke her features in door.

“Who that?” she require hashly, making points to Nogi.

“My affectionate cousin Nogi,” I corrode.

“You are not permitted to amuse cousins while working,” she snib. “Howeverly, Nogi may remain if he help pass salad to Daughters of Samantha.”

Loudly crash heard when Nogi was escaping through window.

Mr. Editor, Thursday Out are like any other form of love. If you never had it you never miss it. I had 2 Thursdays removed from me and was getting accustomed to do without.

When another Thursday arrive up all Nature look cross & aggravated. Extreme cyclones begin blowing away Kansas; trees threw down, huj landslides of snow fell from heaven while wet rain also was there to make puddles amidst ice.

Hon. Mrs. Heneretta Hoke arrive in kitchen with her face filled up from the sunshine which was not in sky.

“Togo,” she say so, making charity expression of mouth, “you have been earnestly faithful Japanese in bake, stew, and dish-wash.”

“I confess it.” This from me.

“Therefore I shall reward it,” she sympathize while pointing to outdoors where nature were feeling seasick while blowing down hen-shed. “I give you your Thursday Out.”

“I bid you merry no thanks!” I say it. “If convenient, I shall take my outing inside where there is less pneumonia.”

“O!” she defy with steam voice. “You dishobey my orders?”

“If convenient,” I snagger, “I prefer my picnic in my bedroom where there is only one leak.”

“Shall not do!” she howell. “Your lung require fresh air Thursday.”

“My lung feel plenty fresh already,” I insure.

“O boneless Japanese!” she retork. “Why should I be continuously thoughtful for your convenience? Why should I treat you gently like a horse when you stand there and kick my kindness back in my face?”

Bang door. She popp away.

When dishes was entirely washed off I retire upwards to my room with my mind full of vacation. This department where I slept was neat room for Japanese, but too small for Swedes. What should I do with this enclosed Thursday? Sleep, perhapsly, and enjoy a few nightmares by daylight? This seem too inappropriate. What then should I?

I set on bed opposite bursted portrait of Hon. Geo. W. Washington while watching drop-drip of rain falling into wash-bowl. Pretty soonly I uprose and lock door.

How should I be amused? Then, of suddenly, I think it. Music! That are considered most fashionable indoor exercise for jaded fatigue. So I open up trunk and got out following implements:

 1 Japanese banjo of whang-string variety.

 5 complete cigars of Philippine factory.

 1 music entitled “Jolly Widow Wedding March.”

 1 umbrella of American nationality.

I tie umbrella to bed, so keep off drop-drip. I arrange myself under this water-shed, light cigar in teeth, put banjo in knuckles, retain music on knee. Then I commence beginning. Japanese banjos, Mr. Editor, refuse to wear American tunes unless forced to do so; but by practical continuation of pick-pick on strings I can become quite Mozart. I spent 2½ hours at this musical sympathy, filling small room with more sounds than it could contain and almost becoming tuneful, when—O startle!—knock-knock rapped at door.

“Come inwards!” I holla.

“Can’t do, and be pretty quick about it!” glub basso voice of Hon. Mr. Hoke, making rattles from locked knob. “Please unlock door so I can drag you out.”

I oblige politely by unlatching that locker. Hon. Hoke rosh inwards and stand sky-scraping over me like bulldogs scaring mice.

“Why you mean?” he thonder. “Why you so reptilian in depravity when kind Mrs. Wife are so angel-handed? Are she not entirely generous?”

“She are quite Carnegie,” I pronounce humbly.

“Did she not give you my shoes last week?”

“She do. I am saving them to give to some tramp who like ventilated soles,” I oblate.

“What are more ungrateful than ingratitude?” he hoop. “And now this sweetish lady offer you Thursday which you refuse. Why so?”

I point out of window where weather was there shooting lightning into churches while thunder cursed with entreme bellus.

“I do not like this Thursday,” I renig. “It is damaged.”

“You shall be included among the wreckage!” he nash while compelling me downstair. And next I stood alonesome in the midst of Thursday which was quite drowned.

Hoping you are the same,

Yours truly,

Hashimura Togo.