Читать книгу Hashimura Togo, Domestic Scientist - Wallace Irvin - Страница 8

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To Editor Good Housekeeper Magazine who are cheaper than coal, because he warms many homes, price 15c.

Dear Sir:—Most recent job of employment I was impeached from was home of Mrs. and Mr. J. W. Humburg, Pondside, N.J. Perhapsly you can tell me why, because I am disabled to understand the customary habits of some households.

Just a few days of yore I apply there in extreme coldness of snow. This Hon. Mrs. Humburg, dark hairs lady of muscular expression, approach to kitchen and observe me.

“You are a cook?” she ask it.

“Yes are!” I say it.

“Then you will be expected to feed the furnace while doing so,” she negotiate harshly.

“Must I be an engineer because I am a hired girl?” I requesh.

“I guess supposedly,” renig Hon. Mrs., while leading me to inferno of down-cellar where I was introduced to Hon. Furnace. This iron animal, Mr. Editor, lives like a very homely hermit in middle of low darkness. He set there in nest of ashes, with tin snakes growing from his forehead like zinc octopus. His teeth was full of blazes and he would of made a nice idol for Japanese to worship when feeling old-fashioned. I could not love his face which seem too hungry when open and too satisfied when closed.

“We never permit him to go out in winter,” narrate Hon. Mrs.

“I shall watch see he do not escape,” I promus with Wm. Jerome eyebrows.

Annexed to Hon. Furnace were a slight clock with one finger going around like taxicabs. “This are the steam gag,” explan Hon. Mrs. “He are now pointing 23.”

“Do that tell age of Hon. Furnace?” I require educationally.

“No, not!” she snagger. “That indikate the number lbs. steam in boiler. You must be careful about that. If Hon. Steam Gag jump above 25 lbs. that will mean Hon. Furnace have got too much steam on his brain and might blow up with Harry Thaw noise. When Hon. Steam Gag get too ambitious, Oh, cool Hon. Furnace with immediate quickness before explode up!”

“A Samurai janitor fears no steam!” I reject proudishly, while folding my elbows over coal shovel.

Mr. Editor, I did not stoke long in this situation of work, but I make very pleasant impression of it. Although I enjoy thumb-scorch, ash-eye, and janitorial pain of spine, yet I commence to love Hon. Furnace for his characteristic. I begin to dishcover he are like Hon. Beethoven, famus piano-player—he got red-hot soul inside his homely face. It were pleasant to watch him eat $8 worth very hard coal and purr from sweet digestion. It are nice to be healthy. He seem to contain no meanness. When I close his mouth with shovel he forgive that impoliteness. He love to have me comb his ashes with poker.

Pretty soonly, while doing this, I begin to feel like engineers running Lusitania. I decorate my complexion with smudges and imagine how 1000 Newport passengers was on upstairs deck congratulating my intelligence. While thinking thusly I poke more coal into inflamed mouth of Hon. Furnace. Yet I keep my scientific eyesight on Hon. Steam Gag for see he did not over-jump 25 lbs., thusly causing mania to explode.

This engineerish work seem so heroic that I grew quite peev about merely house-maidenly work. Yet I was hired to do. So I perform them with disgust.

While I was upstairs doing bed-make exercise, Hon. Mrs. incroach with sharpness of face peculiar to swords.

“I am quite aquainted with Hon. Furnace,” I say for happy smiling.

“I notice it,” she degrade,“by the thumb-tracks you leave on bed-spread.”

“If you would burn white coal, maybe I would match your delicate home more nicely,” I snuggest.

She reply by not doing so.

Hon. Furnace seem more depressed that afternoon p. m., so I sit beside him to shovel nourishment. Hon. Steam Gag say 14, which are very sick temperature. Hon. Furnace look dull-eye like fish, and more I coaled him the less he het. I feed him slight soap-box for light foods, and by 4:11 he smile more pleasanter and commence eating coal. At 5:12 Hon. Steam Gag awoke up to taxicab work.

Thusly I left him and go to kitchen for make food for rest of family. But my soul would not get into that kitchen work, Mr. Editor. It were similar to a janitor attempting to be a chef. It might be done, but can it? I almost nearly put shovelful of coal in apple-pie, I was thinking so hard about what would tempt appetite of furnaces.

Howeverly, I finished fashionable foods for that Humburg family to eat, to include considerable potatus and canned corn. Hon. Mrs. who went to Trenton for slight shop-buy, arrive back at 6:34 attached to her Husband. I observe that gentleman through door-hinge and notice his dishagreeable Wall Street appearance. He look entirely bear-market. First thing he do when approaching inside was to sneeze while walking to Hon. Radiator and touching him with diamond fingers.

“Huh!” This from him. “Have you employed Hon. Doc Cook for janitor?”

“Why so?” This from Hon. Mrs.

“Because he makes North Poles wherever he goes,” snig Hon. Mr. I could not assimilate this compliment which might be otherwise.

I brought in dinner-food on tray and set him to table. When Hon. Mr. took chair he looked to me with serious eyesight.

“That are nice-looking niggero boy you employ,” he snuggest to Hon. Mrs.

“He are not niggero,” she devolve. “He got that complexion from being attentive to furnace.”

“Oh,” he snagger. “If he would put more coal in Hon. Furnace and less on that face, perhapsly I should feel less iced.”

I could not chide that denaturized man, yet I thought so.

After dinner-eat he approach to kitchen and say: “Togo,” he say with doggish voice, “furnaces are made for heats. Otherwisely we would use ice-boxes, which is just as handsome. Any cook who cannot feed my furnace should be banished for cruelty.”

“I understand this knowledge,” I report chivalrously.

“Did you permit Hon. Furnace to go out?”

“Ah, no, not I did!” This I say. “I watch him entire day and give you my truthful insurance he did not leave that cellar.”

“Tonight you must compel him to heat, no matter how desperado you act,” he snarrel, departing off with bang-slam.

At hearing such adjectives, angry rages filled my hair with scorn. What is so ungrateful as ingratitude? Nothing!! Had I not sat by sick-bed of Hon. Furnace, feeding him what stumach would hold? Yes! And yet this crude gentleman reproach my firemanship with coolness.

Nextly I become determined. I would compel that heater to a hotter thermometer if I cooked my soul doing so, I declare!

So I ascend down to cellar. Hon. Furnace was still there doing the same. I shook him with considerable peev, but he merely answered by winking his dull coals. Hon. Steam Gag say 18 and act like he was intending to faint away. I have read in novel-book about bravery of engineer who save his ship by burning it up for steam. I shall do similar!

I burst up kitchen table, which should burn nice because covered with happy grease. Hon. Furnace love such foods and eat him with loudly roar. Hon. Steam Gag jump forwards to 19. Afterwards I poke in oilcloth which blaze resembling July 4 and smell more so. At this sight Hon. Steam Gag leap onward to 21 and that cave where Furnace lived become quite sun-stroke. And when I fetch forth excelsior-shave quenched with kerosene, I never observed Hon. Furnace chew more satisfaction. Coal I added in hodd—when—Oh, look!!

Hon. Steam Gag had arrived at 27 and was pointing his reckless finger further up! This could not happen!!! I remember how Hon. Mrs. had cautiously warned me that Hon. Furnace would get steamed brain and explode from dementia if Hon. Gag surpass 25 lbs. Yet there he was approaching 30 with mean taxi-click!

What should heroes do with such circumstances? I thought lightning. Too much fire make too much steam, too much steam make blow-off. Therefore fire must quit at oncely. With rapid coal-scuttle I make outrush to kitchen sink where I fill him with water and make back-rush to cellar. I open mouth of Hon. Furnace, and embracing my elbows, throw water with awful strength. What did that cruel furnace reply then?

WHOOSH!!!***

Out-jump of steam, cooked coal & atmosphere suppress me backwards with such rapidity that I hurricaned through 2 doors and 1 window, arriving in outside snow-bank on the seat of my stumach.

“What deed have you done now?” scram Hon. Mrs. from topside porch.

“Your furnace just discharged me,” I flop back disgustly.

“I congratulate him,” she narrate. Then she make earnest close-down to window, so there I sat surrounded by frost.

Hoping you are the same,

Yours truly,

Hashimura Togo.