To Editor Good Housekeeper Magazine, noble editor who make fly-chasing delightful among national sports.

Dear Sir:—Last Wedsday midnight p.m. were historical date when I bade sad kiss-a-by to employment from home of Mrs. K. W. Pumphrey, North Bourbon, Ky. This were too bad accident from my helplessness.

When I enter this sweethearted home Hon. Mrs. Pumphrey say me, “Togo,” she relate, “I am most particular about flies.”

“I am sure you must raise some delicious varieties of these live stock,” I collapse for chivalry.

“O not to do!” she renig hashly. “I would sooner have a tiger in my home than a fly.”

“A tiger might be more noisy,” I negotiate.

“A tiger merely contains six claws in his feet,” she snagger, “while a fly got 10,000 scratchers each containing 10,000,000 germs. From this you can estimate.”

I attemp to do so until fatigued.

“From national science report arranged by boss doctor of John Hopsmith University I learn considerable valuable diseases which come from flies. Asthma, miasma, phantasma, connection of the menbranes, loss of memory, worms (hook, book & ring) hydrophobia, anglophobia, colic, bibliography, and jaw-lock. All these are brought to homes from footprints of this poisonous bird.”

“They should not be permitted to fly,” I abhor.

“It is not when they fly they are harmful. They do the damage when they land,” she tell.

“In this they are similar to aeroplanes,” I snuggest.

“Perhapsly!” she combust. “At any rates, I give you instructions. Whenever you see a fly, track him to his hole and shoe him at once.”

“Only horse-flies can be shoed,” I determinate.

She could not assimilate this reply I said.

“Whenever I see flies,” she say furthermore, “I shodder, not so much for self & husband as for dearie Baby Alexander, who are endanger.”

“Expect me to fear nothing including flies,” I narrate cruelly like a Samurai.

Mr. Editor, when housewifely lady got fears for something she got it even when it are not there. I once did kitchen labor for one lady who imagine tramps was somewhere all time. When grocer arrive with order expression, she holla, “Tramp!” till he say otherwise. She yall, “Tramp!” when welcoming book-agent peddleman come. One day gentleman in very tired-looking clothes arrive up to door. She screech, “Tramp!” and quench him with hose-water. “I am preacher,” he yellup. “I thought you was tramp,” she oblige. “At my salary I should be,” he negotiate while walking awayward.

Thusly it were with Hon. Mrs. Pumphrey about flies. Each morning she examine fly-paper lovingly like mariners studying charts.

“How much flies we caught this a.m., Togo?” she ask it.

“Six,” I say it. “Five house and one butter.”

“Unloosen Hon. Butterfly,” she dement. “We should not punish nature’s lovely insex becouse of sins of others.”

So I grabb that lovely insex and attemp remove him from his sticky toes. But when I done so he turn meanly and bit me on thumb with hot end of his poison tail.

“That butterfly are a wasp!” I lecture amid Japanese word curse.

“Wasps does little harm,” she say sweetishly.

“What little they does can be noticed immediately,” I snarrel.

And so onwards.

After 2½ days of continuous flymanship I become extremely skilful in murder. My ears became very bright by listening for flies. At distance of 66 ft. I could hear Hon. Fly walking up windows. Then was time for me. My eyebrows containing gunpowder expression peculiar to Bwana Tumbo, I hide behind curtain-shade with cruel hand containing swat-stick. Hon. Fly approach, little imagining. Now and occasionally he stop and rubb his mittens together so they will be more ready to catch more diseases. Still I await. Of suddenly I arise uply, silently like eels drinking milk. And then. Swatts!!!

By this warfare I broke considerable flies and other dishes.

Hon. Pumphrey, husband, come home saying scorn about flies.

“What are so fatalistic about this bug all of a suddenly?” he ask it. “In childhood of youth I was affectionately acquainted with flies. While enjoying cradle-ride of infancy, flies was allowed to buzz round my head like angel whispers. And yet I live.”

“Man who talk like that never had any infancy,” snagger Hon. Mrs. with peev.

“If folks in this neighborhood could pay less attention to screen door and more to window-lock there would be less burglary,” he otter. “6 homes has been burglarized while everybody was busy snubbing flies.”

He remove one enlarged coltish revolver filled with bullets and lay him doggishly on table.

“O!!!” This from Hon. Mrs.

“While you are executing flies I shall mutilate burglars,” he narrate with militia voice. “And let us see who gets it first.”

“Kindly not to point him this way while doing so,” elocute Hon. Mrs. Madam looking calm but nervus.

Another weeks go by and I am very much embossed in my work. Once in occasionally Hon. Fly come walking into home on deceptive wings, yet I pursue. Sometime I make masher motion with broom & impale him flat against wall. Other time I allure him gently with towl so he flop to fly-paper where his feetsteps becomes glue.

Once Hon. Fly alight downward on Baby Alexander nose, shaking his cruel feet, intending to leave 10,000 symptoms. Spank! I capitulate that insex by stroking Hon. Baby on head with apron. Yet he cry without thanks for my bravery.

At lastly that house were so scarce of flies you could not find him without advertising. All day, while not sweeping other rugs, I search back & forthly with cruel fly-spank. Yet never a buzz was there. Such was accomplishment of my great science.

Night of Wedsday approach up. When dinner-eat was accomplished and dish-wash ceremony done up, my Cousin Nogi arrive to kitchen for make conversation from Japanese politics while eating cake, kindness of Mrs. Pumphrey who didn’t know it. Lateness of hour arrive. When time of 11.63 p.m. come, Nogi make sleepy go-home while I emerge to my bedroom expecting tomorrow, as usual.

I light gass. What was? Buzz! Ah, Hon. Fly, where was it? I turn my eyesight behind window-curtain—and sure enough! There stood one entirely enlarged buzzer washing his front thumbs.

With sneekret expression I borrow slipper from myself and stole forth. Crouches. Of finally, when Hon. Fly seem to be looking at his nose, I lep. Bangs! Yet he was too soon. He flew uply, aeroplaned circular for moments, and then—when less expected—start to fly outward through door.

O!! This escape must not! Slightly down hallway were child-room where Hon. Baby Alexander layed enjoying innocent nightmares. That fly must not arrive there to sting him with medical diseases. If no hero was there to save him who must? I must!

Therefore I rosh forwards with slippershoe in my Samurai thumbs. With talented stroke of match I lit gass. O yes! There were Hon. Fly snuggling in air right over eyebrow of that infantile. I make talented swing to lash him with slipper, yet he were too collusive for me. Ere I could brush him dead he make slippery-wing motion & flew to window-curtain where he hide shyly like poets avoiding praise.

I should get him yet! I crouch downly, my slipper raised uply. But while I do so—O look! Who there?

Standing distinctually in doorway of child-room I observe Hon. Mr. Pumphrey standing like a cold ghost in pajamas. And in his righthand finger he held that enlarged coltish revolver.

“What is?” he whasper ghastly.

“I chase one in here!” I gollup. “He are now coyly hiding behind curtain of window.”

“Were he stealing my child?” gawsp him.

“Not yet but maybe,” I narrate.

“Wait while I shoot,” he narrate while making target movement.

“Ah not!” I holla. “Permit me to do so. I have killed several with slippers.”

“How foolhardened is courage!” he stotter while I lep forwards. Swatts!! with dareless heel of slipper-shoe I collided Hon. Fly so certainly that he broke and fell amidst dead kicks. Prides filled my lungs. Joyly I reach downly, and pick Hon. Fly by fingers.

“I save your child without expense!” I naturalize. “Here is!”

“Here is what?” he require, peevly chewing his breath.

“Hon. Fly,” I reject, like militia.

“You mean say you approach in here so stealthly a.m.dnights for catch flies?” This from him with flashes.

“I say it!”

“Great Scotch! And I thought it was a burglar!” he say disappointly.

“So sorry I could not find one,” I gosp.

Hon. Mrs. Pumphrey come in while she fainted away.

“Next time you come into my Baby’s room don’t do so!” she snarrel.

“Mrs, Madam,” I decry, “how can you talk so crosswise? You tell me how slaughter flies for their rattlesnakish crimes, yet you say scolds when I do so.”

“Midnight is not fly-time,” she narrate.

“Maybe you are enraged because it were not a burglar,” I snuggest. “Yet what is more horble to have in house than a fly?”

“A Japanese foolboy is!” corrode Hon. Mrs. & Mr. in together voice while dejecting me outside of screen door where I still remain, feeling quite dissolute.

Hoping you are the same,

Yours truly,
Hashimura Togo.