Hashimura Togo, Domestic Scientist

To Editor Good Housekeeper, who help make civilization with soap.

Dear Mr.:—Another place where I am no longer at is Rahway, N. J., working for Mrs. H. Griddle, cultured lady.

I tell you why I am removed.

This Mrs. Griddle to who I came determined to do Gen. Housework, have got considerable musical ambition inside her voice. She do all her housework at the piano. For continual hours each day she set there making soprano, compelling her voice to do following gymnasium:

More of this is to be continued. She say vocal culture require great endurance. She contain more of this noble quality than I can.

Washday arrive up to Griddle home by each Monday a.m. when Hon. Maggie Kelley approach to laundry prepared to drown all clothing in suds. This lady, who contains 6 feet complete muscle, is a scrubber of great talents. She say she was deprived of her husband several years of yore, because he beat her frequently. I should like to observe that athleetick gentleman.

A wash lady is something I prefer not to be, above all professions.

But last Monday it was arranged for me.

“Togo,” dictate Mrs. H. Griddle, stopping her soprano sifficiently to speak, “you will kindly give ade to Hon. Maggie today in clothes wash ceremony.”

“O thank you not to do so!” I declare with pathos.

“Why so?” she snagger with Mary Garden expression.

“This Hon. Maggie treat me without chivalry. How could I be assistant scrub beside her haughty actions?” I resolve.

“Either do so or deprive yourself of this job,” she holla, departing off in high Key of C.

I find Hon. Maggie lady in laundry preparing to suds. Redness appear from her hair and arms while she look to me with cross expression peculiar to a eagle watching an angly-worm. Then she lift wash-boiler from stove showing energy like Sandow juggling automobiles.

“Jap,” she reproach.

“Yes, Sir!” I pronounce.

“Was you sent here to look beautiful or to be helpful?” she ask out.

“Not sure—Mrs. Boss did not instruct me which to be,” I report.

“I will instruct you!” she growell like a lady menagerie. “Become busy as soonly as possible. You will find a clothes-ringer annexed to yonder tub. Attach yourself to the handle and ring the cloths earnestly until I tell you quit.”

She point to one slight machinery resembling a hand organ with pianola rolls. I wind this instrument continuously. Nothing evolve.

“O Mrs. Madam, I cannot hear the bell!” I suggest.

“Which bell please?” she otter.

“You tell me to ring the clothes, not so?” I ask it.

“I despise you for your yellow mind!” she dib. “Clothes does not ring when you ring them!”

I could not assimilate the way she said it. She lift several drowned clothes from the tub and show me with considerable muscle how to squash them through those rollers. Clothes, however wet, can be sent through that machinery and emerge forth with great dignity like flat snakes. I turn crank handle continuously while Hon. Maggie make poke-in with wettish clothing. I enjoy great pain in my wrist and elbows, and when I commence to quit, this laundered female say “Faster” with bull dog expression.

Pretty soonly I lay down my hands and stop. Her mad eyebrows snub me.

“Hon. Mrs. Wash,” I renig, “why should you be more cross and peeved than other persons?”

“Togo,” she say so, “my duties require it. Cleaning things is a job full of tragedy and other grouch. It would be unnatural to laugh while washing. Clothes is pleasanter to wear, but unpleasant to scrub. It is similar with everything. Dishes is joyful to eat from, but nobody admire them when hour of dishpan arrive. Nobody love Monday, because it is sacred to splash and suds, yet if Monday was abolished by Congress, there would be no beautiful society on Saturday night.”

“Can’t some variety of soap be invented with more poetry in it?” I require.

“It could,” she dib, “but it would probably be useless to take the dirt out.”

Hon. Mag fill tub with artistic color from blue bottle.

“While you are idle you can do something!” she holla suddenly like a steam whistle.

“How could I do something when idle?” this inquiry from me.

“You see that baskett of clothes?” She point forth to one baskett full of complete whiteness like a bushel of damp ghosts.

“I observe what is.”

“Take them immediately for hang-out!” she otter with gloom.

“What should I hang them out from?” I require.

“Maybe you are not acquainted with clothesline!” she say sarcastly while she led me forth to back yard where she introduce me to this useful rope. “If I knew I was to come to this place to be washing-instructor, I should demand teacher’s salary,” she pronounce glubly.

“That would be nice job for deserving widows,” I say for politeness. Yet she seem less ladylike.

“To hang clothes,” she instruct, “you must first lift them one at a time from the baskett, grasping them by both ears—thusly.” She show how. “You shake him twice, snap—snap!” She demonstrate this with considerable clothes-shake. “Then you buckle him to line with a clothespin on each ear.” She fill her mouth with clothespins, and then she lift one tablecloth by his ears, shake him brutally with her pugilistic hands, and nail him to clothes-line like she said so.

“You got sifficient strength enough to do this?” she require snapply.

“Maybe-so, yes,” I report.

“If not, I give you the prize!” she say, eloping to house without telling me which prize she meant.

I put all my intellectual mind on this clothes-hang job. It seem to be light, agreeable job for Japanese Schoolboy—simply to lift a clothes by his ears and glue him to rope with clothespins. But suddenly I was reminded. That Clothes-line was 7½ feet in highness, while I stood merely 5 feet in lowness. How should I get up there without flying machinery?

I observed a step-ladder sleeping quietly by kitchen window. It was a very diseased-looking furniture with lameness in one leg and several ribs fractured by too much exercise in open air, yet it was a step-ladder. I removed this piece of stairway to underneath clothesline where I put him. Then I poked six (6) clothespins in my mouth like wooden cigars. Then I took one pillow case from baskett, shook him rudely by his ears and ascended upwards. Hon. Ladder wubble on his sore leg, yet I enjoy no fear, because I am a brave Japanese. With gestures of extreme courage I pin Hon. Pillow Case to that stretched string where he clung with beautiful purity peculiar to washing.

I began to love this clothes-hang performance. It seemed so nice and healthful to do housework outdoors amidst backyard scenery and gentle summer breeze. It was very superior pleasure for me, making up and down hops on that ladder with agility resembling birds.

So I continued onwards near my duty. With extreme earnestness I suspended following clothing where they hung lynched upon line:

1 tablecloths (slightly dragged on ground, yet quite pale).

9 towels (one of them dropped, but was nicely brushed afterwards).

3 sox.

4½ pillow-case.

While standing tip-top on that ladder I was enabled to observe Nature. It are wonderful how tall a short Japanese feels while standing on a ladder! I could distinctly see over fence into next yard where Hon. Swede lady employed for cook by Mrs. J. C. Camel was making flirting conversation with Hon. Ice Man. I also observe Hon. Cat obtaining slight refreshment of cream-pitcher from window while that Swede was too interested. I stood in joyful trance holding wet sheet while biting clothes-pin like wooden sigars. It make such inexpensive enjoyment for cool summer day to stand on ladder beholding other folk’s business!

In the midst of everything Hon. Swede Lady turn off suddenly and see Hon. Cat. She made rude “Shoo!” with voice, and Hon. Cat were so offended he fell from window in the midst of milk pitcher and extreme breakage. With immediate quickness he made rabid scoot for fence with tail enlarged like a comets. “I shall attach him for you!” I holla to Mrs. Swedish—but soonly as I did so—O calamity!!

I lean too forward and Hon. Ladder stub his toe and broke lame leg with loud scrash! Bereaved of my support I make wildly grabb for atmosphere, Hon. Clothesline was where I struck, so I clasp him with tense affection. And there I was, hanging among clothes, swinging my legs with motion peculiar to wet stockings. Hon. Maggie Kelley observe me in this dangled condition.

“Git downward!” she snuggest.

Before I could reproach back, Hon. Rope bursted and I was anticipated to ground so forcibly that I sat there wondering what. Entire clothes-line seemed to surround me with damp washing like a wounded sail. Hon. Maggie making hysteria, seize bottle of wash blue in her prize-fight hands and approach a.m. screaming war cries. With howell of great intensity she threw that sky-colored liquid to my head, covering my nose and eyebrows with splashes of brilliant art.

Next she rose to house and obtain broom. When I seen that female club, I lost my connection with that home. I lep forwards. I fled off. I swum over the fence with great skill and continued to elope elsewheres. Farebye to that job!

When nextly seen I was 2 miles Westward setting among woods attempting to rub wash-fluid from my forehead which was blue.

Hoping you are the same,

Yours truly,
Hashimura Togo.