II HON. BABY AND WHAT TO DO WITH HIM

To Editor Woman’s Page, who was once a Baby, but has got over it.

Dear Mr. Sir:

I have now released myself from Patriot’s Bluff, Ohio, where I took considerable experience away with me. There I done home-work for Mr & Mrs Henery M. Bushel & child for delicious cheapness of wages, thank you. When I approach this Bushel home 2 weeks formerly from now, Hon. Mrs (refined lady with wealthy golden tooth) look severely at my Japanese humility.

“Togo,” she narrate, “this house contains the brightest, most valuable & booflest Hon. Baby in all world.”

I attempt to look surprised. “Mrs Madam,” I say gradually, “I have worked already at 13½ places which also contained the brightest, most valuable & booflest Hon. Baby in all world. How could it? Did them other places all have same baby?”

“No. But them other babies was all imposters,” she dib.

So she led me to setting-room, walking with quiet toes and wrapped expression peculiar to folks approaching Mikado or some other President. In 1/8 size rocking-bed I observe Hon. Baby laying among considerable softness and appearing quite babyhood.

“Are he not remarkabilious child?” she require.

“I are sure he must be very distinguished,” I say sweetishly.

“Why you think so?” she require with gently smiling.

“Because,” I says so, “all distinguished persons appears quite plain when first observed.”

“I do not care to hear your foreign thoughts,” she grudge.

Hon. Baby make happy guggle to see me, so I know we should get very friendship together. I waggle my thumbs to him, so he make more laugh.

“DON’T!!” holla Hon. Mrs. “You wish explode my child’s nerves by this actions?”

“Are it injurious for childhood to laugh at my thumbs?” I ask it.

“Many children are spoilt forever by too much laughter in infancy,” she explan. “I raise this child like I raise biscuits—by book. Volume entitled ‘How Do It to Grow Best Children’ tell me delicious nervus diseases what children will be entitled to if not careful. By feeding, exercise, etc., I intend to make this Babe great man for future.”

“Shall he be Presidential Candidate, perhapsly?” I require.

“No! he shall never have such brutal treatment!” she exclam. “Yet I are sure he shall be great because he has his grandfather’s eyes.”

I could not believe such youngly child could rob old gentleman of his eyesight. Yet I say nothing. “Have he got a name?” I require for chivalry.

“Several,” she report. “He are pronounced Alexander Applegate Leopold Bushel.”

“Bushel baskets have been filled with less,” I say punnishly. “That name surrounds him completely.”

“For shortness we call him Goo,” she say so. “Now I shall tell you his daily programme.” She take paper from table and read me following list of deeds intended for that Babyhood:

5:30 to 6 A. M. crying exercises enjoyed for development of lung.

6:15 sterilised milk programme with bottle.

7:30 Hon. Baby bathed in fluid offensive to mikrobes. Hon. Father then permitted to bring out scales and weigh Hon. Baby so to show he soon will be a Physical Perfection like Family.

8:10 A. M. ½ hour baby-talk conversation by his mother for development of brain.

8:40 slight perambulation in baby-cab continuing 2 hours. This trip must go through considerable streets and scenery, so Hon. Baby will get used to travel.

10:40 homeward arrival. More crying exercises enjoyed for benefit of lung.

11:30 continual sleep programme until entirely saturated with slumber.

Afternoon—same like morning programme, only more so.

Hon. Mrs Bushel told me this with intense accuracy peculiar to statistics.

“You speak reverently about sterilised milk,” I pronounce. “How do you make this youthful beveridge?”

“This milk are best science for all baby,” she report. “You put him in clean kettle & boil him to scalding point—”

“Boil Baby to scalding point?” I screech with shocks.

“No!! Boil milk,” she otter.

Which show what difficult housekeeping babies can be.

* * *

Mr Editor, one important rule I notice about babies—you must not never give them nothing that they want. This Hon. Bushel Baby are continuously poking forth sweet hands and making considerable blueness from his eyes to show his undesirable whims & requisitions. One time I was approaching steps with 100-lb ice-chunk for kitchen. Hon. Baby seen this and order some by making finger-signals. How could I disobey this toy boss? So I split off slight fracture of ice & was attempting to make present of this to him when—O scream! Mrs Boss came flewing outward and seen what was.

“Stop!” she holla. “You wish refrigerate that darling interior?”

I feel entirely hashed for my ignorance.

Another occasion Hon. Baby reach forth and begin eating loose end of my pink calicoed apron with toothless expression of sublime joyness. While he ate he say, “Ah-Goo!” which are Chinese words meaning “a good salad can be made of almost anything.”

Screams!!! “What style murder are you serving to my child now?” yall Mrs Henery M. Bushel hysterially.

“Excuse please. Are aprons injurious for food supply?” I ask to know.

For answer Hon. Mrs Bushel grabb him to arms & rosh at telephone.

“Hello, Doctor yes, come to the poisoning quick!” she gollup. Then she walk forward & back adding groans while Hon. Baby observe her emotions with great amusement.

Honk-honk to door. Hon. Dr Ottomobile arrive with chuggs & he hop forthly containing bags and implements.

“Where is poison?” he require, calm but nervus while his beard look entirely scientific.

“Here are!” hissy Hon. Mrs tearing forth my apron. “Hon. Baby ate this heartily.”

Hon. Dr took out mikeroscope. First he look at Hon. Baby through his mouth, then he poke that glass against my apron and peep with earnestness.

“This article contain 101 per cent. venomous products,” he explan. “In addition there is maniac acid solution with hypocritical sublimate. I am surprised to see your child looking so well, because by Science he should be dead 9 times.”

Hon. Mrs wept, but Hon. Baby continue making gurgle-laugh with Xmas dinner expression. For 48 complete hours his parents continued standing on end, expecting that child to perish off, because he was so much better behaved than usual.

* * *

Me & Alexander continue to be dear college chums; yet I was entirely nervus to approach him, because I was afraid I might explode some science connected with it. But all commencements have their finish. One day it came thusly:

“Take Hon. Baby for sidewalk promenade,” holla Mrs Henery M. Bushel from upstairs side. “You will find peramble-buggy on front porch. You must begone 2 hours and not aggrevate him by your foolish attentions. If he begin to cry, wheel homewards.”

“Shall do so,” I terminate.

“And remember thus,” she commute. “So long as he silent, you must not notice him.”

So I put on hat & go forthly to front porch where peramble-buggy was there. I wheel this along without noticing Hon. Baby, because I was ordered to snub it. The faithful duty I always possess made me entirely noble. I did not even peek in buggy for see how he look. Such were my obedience to commandments. For 1 hour I push that child-cab through fashionable streets where he can become educated by society sights. Silence from him. For 21 minute I wheel him by rivers, trees & scenery where he could become educated in Nature. Silence yet from him. For 15 minute I ride him by bank-buildings, offices, drug-stores, so he can get educated in business conditions. And yet he remain silent like a hypnofied fly. His refined behaviour made me feel lonesome—to pass 1 hour, 36 minute without some cry-exercises were too much for me to believe. He must be wrong somewheres. So, in defy to Hon. Boss Lady’s orders, I lift back top from that child-carriage—and O shocks! What I seen? Nothing!! Hon. Baby were not there!!!!!!

My brain began running backwards. Where could Hon. Baby went? Was he pulled out of buggy by airships while I was not looking? Had he drop from bottom of that cart or crolled over side and eloped secretively? I confused in all directions while my heart remained stationary.

With empty baby-trundle I trott along each sidewalk requiring, “You seen loose baby?” from each persons who said they didn’t. Hon. Police come and ask me what was. I told so.

“Black Hand stole um!” Holla Hon. Police with rabid calm. So he commence to trott along by me while 48 mobbed persons join up with us. “Have you saw loose baby?” everybody ask it. Nobody had.

Finally, made desperado by my fear, I decide to return back to home of Bushel and report what was. So elope I there, chaperoned by Hon. Police & persons. I stood by porch with quaker knees, knowing Mrs Bushel would be irritated to lose such nice child. While I stood thusly—beholt! Door flew ope and out come Hon. Mrs carrying Hon. Baby in arms!

“Fool Togo!” she yellup.

“Yes, please!” This from me.

“When you left house with Hon. Buggy how could you forgot?”

“Forgot what?” I asked to know.

“You forgot Baby!” she snagger.

Then I remember what was. When I left house she told I shouldn’t disturb Hon. Baby, so I forgot to look see if he was there in Hon. Buggy!

“Mrs Madam,” I erupt, stretching myself upwards to Samurai height. “By not taking your baby out and losing him, I saved his life. Yet I shall charge you nothing for this heroism.”

“You shall save his life again by eloping away from hither at once,” she dib wild-cattishly. “Leave baby-cab on front porch and let me see your absence.”

So I made very sorry removal feeling similar to one who make a living swallowing dull swords.

Hoping you are the same, Yours truly,
Hashimura Togo.