To Editor Good Housekeeper Magazine, who must believe in shooing bachelors from neat homes with other flies and mice.

Dear Mr. Sir:—If you make inquiry for me at home of Hon. C. J. McGumm, Philadelphia, N. J., please do not go there, because needless to find me where I no longer am. I changed my mind from that job of employment for reason I say here.

Hon. Mrs. C. J. McGumm are blondface lady of considerable young years and very goodhousekeeping mind. Her Hon. Husband (of similar name) are the only untidiness she cannot sweep off from carpet when attacking cleanliness.

“Why are you so rubbish, Hon. Darling?” she require each nightfall when he retreat home from office with tired business appearance. “When you are in house all furniture cease to act obedient like it should and everything become deranged apart. Door-knob then become hat-rack for your derby, your coat wanders to sofa and fall asleep, while shoes will be found under piano kicking mud.”

He act entirely sugar to her. He reply to her inquiries by kissing expression of mustache, and they talk dove-dove language, which explain everything by not doing so.

But at lastly explodes came.

“Must marriage always be a cyclone?” she require one morning a.m. when he threw newspaper in gas-log with negligée expression.

“Hon. Heartsweet!” he snuggest, “I wish be comfortable in my own home.”

“So ha!” Weeps enjoyed by her. “Then you do not love me some more!”

“Why is?” he repostulate. “Must I prove adoration by acting miserable around house?”

“You are becoming more detached from me each day, I notice,” she lamentalize. “I can tell by your easy, smiling manner that you think of me too seldom. You break my house rules continuously. Instead of setting in hard, cheap chairs, you occupy wedding plush rocker, price 50$, which should be used only by society when it calls; you make smoke-cigar whenever you feel smoky; all time you read prize-fight instead of talking love to me, and each meal you demand apple pie with insurgent expression.”

“But I like apple pie,” he snuggest.

“Formerly you loved nothing but me,” she snatch. “Now you forget you are married.”

“Must I refuse to eat because married?” he snagger doggishly.

“So ha!” she dib for pain. “If that is where your thoughts are staying, then all must cease. Farebye! Hence forthly you shall find me c/o Mother.”

She arrange hat with traveling expression and make bang-out from door.

While she depart off Hon. McGumm stand by window-glass looking very Romeo. Sadness showed from his ears and chin. Then suddenly he resolve around, making humorous smiles resembling tickled hyenas.

“Ha, ha,” he say so. “Tee Hee and Ho. She imagines to think home cannot be properly heated without a woman. She thinks shucks. Togo, we show her how. We shall now run this house man-style instead of lady-style. Bachelor Hall are only proper residence for male gentlemen.”

“I am agreeable for this,” I report fearlessly. “How should we begin changing the sex of this home?”

“Signs of refinement should be removed with immediate quickness,” he devolve. “Remove ribbons & home-sweet-home portraits from wall and order 6 cases beer. In attic you shall find complete college-boy outfit of Indiana clubs, box-gloves, and love-me pictures. These shall be arranged in parlor to resemble saloon and other outdoor sports. Prepare for dinner-eat tonight 10 lbs. complete beefsteak & 9 apple pies, served with poker-chips and onions. To night at 7 p.m. I shall give annual banquet to members of Yamma Yamma Fraternity of which I was a joiner in days of manhood.”

“I shall do so with all the crudeness of my nature,” I alarm.

“Banzai & hurrah! We are free!” holla Hon. McGumm while he depart to office looking happy but lonesome.

Mr. Editor, you scarcely could imagine how I work to make that tender home look tough. Up in top-garret I find considerable Yale tools. One university row-paddle, 6 box-gloves, college pendulums with hurrah-rah signatures on it, portraits of class days, dogs, chorus-girls, and other prizefights all signed “To Darling Chas.” Also several German-speaking beer-gobblers and one landscape representing Hon. Gaby des Lys at a horse-race.

I fetch these to downstairs.

From parlor-room I took considerable art, representing several mother-portraits, portrait of “Innocence” representing childhood playing romp, portraits of an Alp by Aunt Sapho Lutz and considerable photo of McGumm uncles enlarged from their ancestry. Also fire-screen containing gilt, and tidy-cloth embroidered with artistic yarn. Also red splush albuum and several framed-up mottos from Shakespeare, Elb Hubbard & Genesis.

I fetch these to upstairs.

With considerable talent resembling dry-goods draping windows, I derange decorations for that parlor-room. I pile beer-bottles to piano and fill jardenair with cigars. A rude house motto reporting “CAMELS ONLY DRINK ONCE IN 78 DAYS BUT ENJOY IT LONG TIME” I sat on mantelpiece where portrait of Hon. Ralph Woodrow Emerson once were. Hon. Punch Bag I roped from chandeleer, while landscapes representing actor-ladies, dogs and other glee clubs I disarranged esthetically where was. I set parlor table with food-plates and decorate him in central middle with box-gloves and college pendulum containing joy-cries. Poker-chips by each plate.

That room look considerable unmarried when I finish him.

At promptness of six o’clock I elope to kitchen and commence mingling steak with onions. At 6.22 I hear war-song resembling feetball, and, peaking fourth from kitchen, I observe Hon. C. J. McGumm bringing home a Varsity.

“You remember that dreary date of ’99 when I bursted your collar-bone?” require one polar-bearish gentleman hugging Hon. McGumm till I heard him crack.

“Them were hilarious days,” commute Hon. Boss. “Let us give rah-rah.”

They do so, while plaster jar loose from spoken song.

When I fetch forth raw steak and apple pie, all require, “What the matter with Togo?”

“Nothing, no more than usual,” I snop for dignity. This seem to make them still more thirsty, so beer was sipped amidst Yamma Yamma congratulations. That ceremony were done very quietly while tablecloth was burning from heated cigarette.

“There was nothing to equal bachelor enjoyment,” explain Hon. C. J. McGumm while doing so.

“Nothing,” report one Taft-shape athlete. “I announce my engagement to Miss Tessie Dewberry.”

“We also shall marry in springtime,” pronounce 2 others distinctually. Slight glum settle over all until basso quartet make song-sing entitled “Soldier’s Farewell,” which add more jolly.

“Let us play penny-aunty as in oldtime date,” snuggest Hon. Boss. So they do so with considerable card.

Mr. Editor, I cannot understand this gambol. It are like golf, a game spoken in a foreign language.

Considerable pile-up of poker-chip was enjoyed while one man say “I see you!” yet look other way. They set for long lateness gossiping about Aunty amidst click-click noise. It seem very tame exercise, less cruel than feetballing, but more expensive.

By one a.m. time my eyes got hypnotized from watching this straight-flushing amusement, so I retired my head on chair and slept away.

At 3 a.m. by clockwork, I awoke upwards with basso quartet retreating off with song-sing entitled “Good-night, Lady!” Yet I could not see her.

Next morning 8 a.m. Hon. Boss Man say he no care for breakfast in dining-room because it make him feel destitute. So he took egg and coffee in kitchen. He say he would be home indefinitely, so he depart off for office seeming entirely unmarried.

I took look at the appearance of that bachelor parlor. Considerable rumpage was observed there. Quite several cigars had remained where they dropped and 26 bottles stood by gas-log looking quite vacant. Portraits of dogs & glee-clubs hung on wall in unequal position, resembling sea-storm.

What must I do with this room? I think Hon. Boss had told me whether Bachelor Hall should ever be clean. Maybe not. It certainly look less ladylike than ever in this deranged condition. Perhapsly Hon. Boss should be entirely enraged if I attemp to broom & dust this compartment he had took so much pains to masculify.

So I set by table, lit slight cigar, and read pugilist paper while upturning my feet. As thusly I reclined I did not hear something coming in front door.

“O!!!**??”

I peek upward. There stood Hon. Mrs. looking less peaceful than hornets.

“Hashimura Togo, what species of brutal debutchery have you been doing in my absentee?” she snarrel.

“I no do!” I say so. “Hon. Husband do!”

“Do not add untruthfulness to your falsehood,” she snuggest snap-turtlefully.

“I have read in papers about the distrustworthiness of Japanese servant-girls. But now I know. O!!! I leave my poordear Husband for you take care of. And thusly you neglect him. How he must suffer!”

She cover her hands with her face.

“I swear it, Mrs. High Boss, your Hon. Husband—”

“Do not swear before ladies,” she snib. “Now depart away while I faint.”

I do so feeling entirely decapitated.

Hoping you are the same,

Yours truly,
Hashimura Togo.