VII A DAY AT HOME

To Editor Woman’s Page who is honest man, therefore at home when he is.

Dearest Sir:

My next escape was from employment of Mrs. Clarence Calicutt, Siberia, N. Y. This lady was very highly esteamed. She practise theosophy on her mind and make society acquaintance with frequent ladies. She had the most deceptive behaviour of any personality I ever employed to boss me. Her voice was half in half. One end of it was sweet, but the other end contained considerable quinine. The bitterish end was all I ever saw. For instancely, in curl-paper hour of early morning she would arise upward from breakfast and say, “Togo, why you so dub this day? Are you foolish or merely brainless?” Hashly she spoke it.

Jing-jing from telephone.

“Hello—are that you, Clara? How charmed you are! Yes, honey, I should seem very much obliged!” Sweetly she used her voice.

“Why you speak lemons to me and honey to telephone?” I asked to know.

“Because,” she report, “there are two ways of talking—one way for servants, other way for telephone.”

“Sometimes I wish you would talk to me like a telephone,” I require, saddishly.

One raindrop morning this Mrs. Calicutt approach to me and report. “Togo, I am at home to-morrow afternoon.”

“Will you be more at home then than you are now?” I ask it.

“I are not at home now,” she dib, snubbly.

“How confused!” I magnify. “You mean tell me you are not at home when I see you there standing?”

“Truthfully I speak it.” This from her.

“Then maybe you could be elsewhere when you are at home?” I collapse.

“Quite conveniently,” she otter. “I know some several ladies who frequently go ottomobile riding on days when they are at home.”

“America are full of customs,” I report, enjoying headache in my understanding.

“I am at home on second and fifth Wednesdays of September, June, and January,” she speak onwards. “I choose them difficult dates so folks can amuse themselves calculating when they will see me next. It are not fashionable for a lady to be seen too frequently at her residence.”

“It would require train despatchers and astronomers to calculate when to call with cards,” I report. She make no visible reply to that.

“To-morrow is my Wednesday,” she describe, pridefully.

“Will you keep this date all to yourself?” I ask to know.

“Not by no means I won’t!” she snudge. “I have invite considerable guests for slight tea-drunk. I asked them for 4. P. M. So I shall expect them about 6:30.”

“How much people you expect, if any?” I require.

“Folks who comes to afternoon tea-drunk are like mice what comes to traps. You never can tell how many you will catch. Sometimes refreshment-bait are entirely wasted without a nibble. Sometime they come in such quantities they carries off the trap. Sometime, when you ask folks to tea, they behave shyly like rabbits. Sometimes they make forward stampede like mules, all attempting to rush at once.”

“Then you cannot give me any statistic to estimate how many persons will arrive up to your Wednesday to-morrow?”

“I asked 80 persons. Perhapsly 8 or 200 will arrive. Who knows what?”

“Do all them persons expect to eat from your food?” I asked, for cold eyebrows.

“Folks does not come to teas to eat entirely, but to eat somewhat,” she reproof. “Mutton chops, oyster, and soup would seem too heavyweight for such festival. Yet they would act disappointed and peevly if they could not have some lightweight refreshment.”

“Ham plus eggs would do for them, perhapsly?” I snuggest.

“Nothing would seem more toothless for such occasion,” she growell. “Slight nibble of cakes, slight squench of chocolate will be too sufficient with conversation. Therefore, I ask you to attend to refreshments for to-morrow. Please prepare following lightweight foods for them:

5 doz. devilish ham samditches.

5 doz. nutty samditches confused with cheeze.

5 doz. letus samditches containing salad.

12 qts. chocolate drunk.

A large chorus of cakes, McAroons, candies & other meatsweets in confusion.”

I done what she said, Mr. Editor. You cannot imagine with all your printer’s ink how I enslaved myself preparing them samditches for her festival. All morning of Wednesday I stood gashing bread with knives till I manufactured so much of that lay-between food that it stood in bulk. Piles of devilish ham samditches stood around near heaps of nutty cheeze samditches, resembling sky scrapers looking at Washington Monuments with jealous expression.

All that A. M. Hon. Mrs. Calicutt rosh everywhere doing something to furniture & draping smilax buds from pictures to resemble greenery. At lunching hour she appear very disjointed and say, “Aunts of Columbus Society holds annual social this P. M. at Methodist Church. Maybe I shall not be able to catch many folks from this.” Sadness stood in her voice.

Hon. Clarence Calicutt, husband to her, retire homeward by 3:11 train and report, “What could be more nuisansical for business man than pink tea?”

At 4:10 P. M. all was prepare. Cousin Florence arrive for pore tea. Mrs. Clarence Calicutt set in central middle of room making her clothes look very social. Hon. Clarence Calicutt wear frockaway coat and require, “Can I smoke?” whenever spoken to. Cousin Florence crouch behind tea-earn with expectful expression peculiar to sailors before battle. But nothing arrived yet.

At 4:59 come jing-jing to door bell. Mrs. Calicutt arrange her smile, Cousin Florence set upright, & Hon. Clarence go to window where he attempt to look neglectful.

I elope to door with desirable expression peculiar to butlers. With noble position of heels and elbows I ope door. What see? There stood one (1) Armenian peddle-man offering $2 tablecloths for $3.57. I enclose Hon. Door befront of his face.

“This are most excited afternoon of my career,” depress Hon. Calicutt, smoking cigars out of window so as not to fumigate curtains.

Mrs. Calicutt make several petrified replies.

At hour of 5:68 P. M. Rev. Mr. Horse W. Dill come in. He never could afford to miss repasts anywheres because of his shrinking salary.

“All world seem to be at Aunts of Columbus reception this afternoon,” he say for diplomacy.

“I notice it,” dib Hon. Mrs. “I just remain home merely by accident to-day & so glad you come.”

I offer him 86 samditches. He ate 13 and 1 qrt. chocolate. He depart at 7:46 filled with delicious refreshment. After that Hon. Clarence, Mrs. Clarence, and Cousin Florence draw near together & gaze morbidly at them samditches piled in towers.

For week latter, evening dinner at home of Calicutt contained following programme:

SOUP

Didn’t have none.

ENTREE

Chocolate. Samditches containing cheeze.

ROAST

Devilish ham samditches. Nutty samditches.

SALAD

Letus samditches.

DESERT

McAroons, cakes, more chocolate, & whatever else.

Hon. Mrs. Calicutt and Cousin Florence ate this table of contents without complaining voice. Ladies is often thusly—they do not desire real food when they can be economical. But me & Mr. Calicutt begin to feel very illegal when we look at them samditches which must be ate. Frequently Mr. Calicutt telephone home that his board of directors had appendicitis, therefore he must stay in town for dine. I forgive him this deception.

Three weeks pass off. Then come fifth Wednesday when Mrs. Calicutt must again be at home for friends.

“Togo,” she pronounce that morning, “I have invite 120 complete persons and expect to enjoy quite a stampede this P. M. Please multiply your former programme of samditches by twice.”

“I shall do so,” I deploy.

Yet my soul determined to do elsewise. Why must I again clutter that household with sky-scraping piles of samditches which nobody came to eat except Rev. Mr. Dill who had merely appetite for 13? No! If Hon. Mrs. Calicutt was too foolish in her brain to keep from that extravagance, then I should save her from it. I should merely make 13 samditches and 1 qrt. chocolate, sifficient for Hon. Dill. Yet I should make my Boss Lady think I was preparing great quantities. This deceptiveness require great heroism.

“Togo,” say her, coming to kitchen in early P. M., “Are bread & devilish ham and letus and marionaise dressing and chocolate all ready to be executed in vast quantities?”

“They are faithfully prepared,” I pronounce with talented dishonesty.

“120 guests often feel very edible, so do it plenty,” she acknowledge, eloping away.

At 3 o’clock I manufacture 13 samditches and 1 qrt. chocolate. That was all we could afford to give Mr. Dill.

“Where are refreshments, please?” requesh Mrs. Calicutt when 4 P. M. was there.

“I keep them cooly concealed in dark place where staleness will not arrive to them,” I report, looking sly like roosters. She too busy preparing smilax buds to know how much money I saved her by not manufacturing food for guests who wouldn’t come.

At 4:63 P. M. I notice something which make my eyes alarmed. With tense puffing honk-music and wheel-rumble, 47 ottomobiles, buggies, motorcycles, & go-carts arrive up to house all together like sheep. They hitch up by front gate. Why was they came? O look see!! 118 complete persons of every imaginable age & sect got out and make jing-jing to door bell.

One horble thought roshed to my ears. All them folks was coming expecting to eat Rev. Dills’ 13 samditches and 1 qrt. chocolate! I was blame for my economy. What must I do? My heart turned pale while hysteria filled my elbows. Already I could hear glad-you-came sound by Mrs. Calicutt while that hungry mobb make rosh through parlour room amidst disagreeable laughter.

Swish-swish! It was Mrs. Calicutt’s silk footsteps coming.

“Togo,” she whisper with stage-voice, introducing her head at kitchen, “where is immediate food for 120 persons?”

“Here, please,” I report with quaker knees, poking forth them 13 samditches on plate.

Shrieks by her. Deep breathing and 4 sobs. I withdraw myself away from there before she should make a scenery. I slid myself from back door softly like cats walking over ice-cycles.

I felt very sorry for Mrs. Calicutt losing me like that, but when I reached trolley-road where I got on, I felt less pity. After all, there was ½ fraction of corned beef and 1 qrt. milk in ice-box, so them 120 At Homers needs not go entirely destitute from food. Maybe they would enjoy that, if conversation was sifficiently fascinating. For what-say famus Japanese philosopher, Oysta-san? He say, “In good company crusts tastes rich, but in bore company ice-cream seems awful poor.”

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