III HON. MISS DRESSMAKER
III HON. MISS DRESSMAKER
To Editor Woman’s Page Who Understand How Ladies Can Be Dress-Made Until They Appear Beautiful.
Dear Mr Sir:
During my progress around from places to places I have got acquaintance with all sorts American musical instruments. Banjos, gasolene, stoves, trumbones and basso drums I have heard shooting their music. But never until of recently did I encounter a sew-machine doing so. Sew-machines are different from pianos in several ways. Pianos are good for accompany ladies singing; sew-machines are useful for accompany ladies gossiping. This I notice.
Place at which I was most formerly employed was Mrs Jno W. Smith (pronounced the same way) who reside by her husband near Poison Ivy View, Conn.
This Mrs Smith have a mind full of drygoods. She speak of her friends in dressmake language entirely.
“Jno,” she say to her husband when they set down for dinner-eat ceremony, “to-day I met the most charming Brussels lace with accordeon tassels at wrists and elbows.”
“What was her name in real life?” require Hon. Smith with nervus expression of check-book.
“Mrs Ethel Crabapple,” report Hon. Mrs Jno, her mind making drop-stitches of fashionable pattern. “She have took up woman-suffrage movement and speaks very beautiful under her pink majolica hat of baby ostrich plumes.”
Hon. Jno Smith sigh like a bye-gone day.
“Ethel Crabapple!” he renig for slight sentiment. “I knew her when she was merely Ethel Scraggs. How is she?”
“Quite well, I think,” relapse Mrs Jno. “She spoke on Progress wearing a green opera cloak of cerise burlap aggrevated with panels of Arabian chiffon and satin annex at collar.”
Hon. Smith withdraw himself from this conversation for fear he might be asked to buy some similar uniform for his wife.
When this Mrs Smith are asked to ball-parties, dance-step festivals, trolley-ride, bridge-play gambol, etc., she look extremely downtrodden for days & days. Her husband remain calm but frightened, like Wall Street before it collapses. Of finally she lead Hon. Smith to breakfast where she report distinctually,
“I am absent of all clothing to wear anywheres.”
I do not notice this. But Hon. Jno grone severely while he give her all the wealth of his pockets. Then he go glubly away to his office feeling like the Queen of Sheba’s husband when it was fashionable for ladies to dress in solid gold with diamond buttons.
About one week of yore my Hon. Boss Lady come at me and decry,
“Togo,” she say, “one extra plate must arrive to table this week.”
“You expecting some person?” I ask out.
“No. Only a dressmake,” report her.
“Must I mix extra food for her daily?” I snuggest.
“Ah, no, not to do,” she repartee with economy voice. “This Miss Dressmake will eat what the family does.”
“If she eat what the family does, what will the family eat?” I ask to know.
No reply to this request.
Several considerable days before Miss Dressmake arrive up, Mrs Jno W. Smith spend many literary hours pursuing stylish magazines full of smiling ladies dressed in colours. Each ladies in them pictures was surrounded by diagrams & patterns showing how she was made. Mrs Smith select these portraits carefully, to see which she would rather look like. She prefer portrait of lady named “Style 41144B.” She say she would request Hon. Dressmake to fix her appearance like that.
“How you describe this dress, please?” I ask to know.
“It is a pan velvet shirred and basted with the yoke separated from the white,” she report.
“Eggs can be cooked in similar stylish fashion,” I communicate. She do not seem to assimilate them words I said.
Day before arrival of Hon. Miss Dressmake this Mrs Smith derange back parlor with delicious variety of cloth to resemble drygoods emporium. Spools, tapes & other patterns are confused everywheres. You would expect Panama Canals could be built from such a preparations.
“Are dressmake-ladies expensive artists to employ?” I ask it.
“Deliciously so,” she pop back. “They cost $1.50 per daily, not to mention wear and tear on food and sew-machine. I expect this lady to make me 2 ball-dance gowns, 1 wrapping-kimono, 1 stylish walk-suit, 2 costumes for afternoon tea ceremony and ½ doz. pajamas for Hon. Jno Smith. She will be employed nearly 4 days.”
“How can you possibly make any profit from her?” I ventriloquate. No reply as yet.
Pretty soonly Hon. Annie B. Goblin (Miss), slightly spinster lady of detached age, arrive up to do this dressmake employment. Her complexion was concealed behind freckles. She might of been beautiful, had she not been homely.
This Miss Goblin lady understood international sewing to any extent. She could combine Irish lace, China silk and Persian embroidery on the same dress without the least race-riot. Few politicians can keep so many nationalities together calmly.
She were a very talented sewing-bee who never quit buzzing with conversations. She was one of them ladies what makes newspapers useless.
Last Thursday A. M. Hon. Mrs Smith give her $4.80 worth of Baptist silk and command her to create a dress to resemble Princess Patricia, so much as possible.
“At that price I can make you look like a Queen slightly marked down,” communicate Hon. Annie B. Goblin, making whizz with sew-wheel, at same time telling delicious society news with her pincushion voice.
“Mrs Horse W. Harvey hope to be a widow soon,” she report between stitches. “She has took up voice culture which must kill her husband with rapidity. She owe me $8.64 for two years and her Jewish lynx set is merely her husband’s fur overcoat warmed over.”
“I have long enjoyed that delicious suspicion,” deploy Mrs Jno W. Smith, who do not care for gossip, but merely stay near to oversea that job.
“Mrs van Swallow Tagg has a mortgage on her house which leaks,” continue on this sewing-wasp. “I am sorry for her peevish temper which is a disease. Her husband is a good man, but dishonest.”
“She wears her hats unbearably,” reproach Mrs Jno W.
“Mrs Cyrus Q. Bogle’s prominent Aunt Angelica drinks patent medicine for her rheumatism.”
“How shocked I am!” explode Hon. Mrs. “Tell me some more.”
“Her nephew Joshua who goes to Yale to study footballing—excuse, please, would you prefer to have this yoke hooked or cut bias?”
“Cut bias, please,” exclam Mrs Smith with tense voice. “What did you say about Mrs Bogle’s Nephew Joshua who go to Yale?”
“He arrive home from Yale smelling distinctually of cigarettes. He cannot last long.”
“Them Bogles contain very common stock,” repose Mrs Jno. “I seldom could admire Mrs Bogle’s character since she came to church in that flowered dimity with panniers of heliotrope velour cut umpire style at the neck with a demi-train of Belgian brocade.”
“I respect your grief,” relapse Hon. Annie B.
“Although she are one of my dearest friends,” explan Mrs Smith, “I am obliged to add stinginess to her other disagreeable virtues. In despite of the fact that her husband owns one complete livery stable, she still continues to behave like the Middle Classes. Her silk dresses are only nearly.”
Jing-jing!! This from front door bell. Too bad I had to answer, because I was fascinated to hear that brutish remark of Hon. Bogles. Howeverly, I was dutiful as usual; so I elope to door-knob. There stood one lady wearing fashionable complexion. She poke forth following print on call-card:
“Are Mrs Smith residing here this afternoon?” require Mrs Bogle.
“Yes, if convenient,” I say to.
“Are she too busy to appear?”
“Yes. Thanks.”
“Will she not appear to me, her dear-friend?”
“No, Mrs Madam. Sorry. Too busy.”
“Busy what with?” This from her.
“She are employing a dressmake lady to gossip about you.”
“Me!!” she exclam without sugar.
Silence.
“What stitches did this dressmake person take in my character?” she corrode.
“She say your Aunt Angelica drink medicine.”
“Truthfully, she does.”
“She report your nephew Joshua eat cigarette-smudge.”
“I might deny that uselessly.”
“She describe your husband’s doggish habits.”
“I also realise them.”
“She explain how your dress contains flounced dimity with spaniels of heliotrope cut umpire-fashion at neck with—”
“No more!” holla Mrs. Bogle dropping fire from her eyebrows. “Such reports are false as they are truthless. I permit neighbours to abuse my family, but when they distort my gowns I draw the string!”
She done so by making door-bang and departing offward amidst furies.
“Togo, who has came and went all at once?” require Hon. Mrs from upstairs.
“Mrs Cy Q. Bogle, please.”
“Mrs Bogle—how strange. I was just discussing her.”
“I told her you was.” This from me.
“WHAT!!!!” This from her.
I repeat. Loud silence. Sew-machine stop, gossip stop, dressmake stop.
“Annie,” I hear Mrs Jno W. Smith say, “Bring me glass of water to faint with. Also discharge Togo sooner than possible.”
This sound so unwelcome to me that I refuse my situation by going away. So I elope to trolley with suit-case, feeling quite the reverse.
Hoping you are the same
Yours truly
Hashimura Togo.