XI HON. GLADYS OBTAIN MATRIMONY

To Editor Woman’s Page, who do so much to make family life less lonesome.

Dear Mr Sir:—

Home of Hon. Samule Scott, East Orange, N. J., is one of the nicest homes from which I ever was discharged from. When I first went there to work that family contained following list of persons:

Mrs Scott
Mr ”
Miss ” (retired).

This Miss Scott were young lady of 20 years complete beauty. O such smiling hair & blond eyes! How well her complexion matched her costume! Before her marriage her name was Gladys, but I are not sure what she is called now, as each American girl must change her name when she get married. This is very confusing custom to Japanese boy. I was working for that Scott family when that Hon. Gladys obtained matrimony. I never seen an American wedding before. Now I realise why so many people in these U. S. object to being married more than once.

Hon. Scott, who has been a father to Gladys all her life, arrived up to me last Tuesday P. M. and say fidgetfully,

“Togo,” he say, “there will be a wedding in this house next Satday & I wish you would be as stylish as possible in passing food. You must appear fashionable in every way, because it are customary on such occasions to look more wealthy than you are.”

“Are you going to be married again, Hon. Sir?” I ask with chivalry.

“Not if I could avoid it!” he say peevly. “It is my daughter Gladys who I shall give away.”

“To who will you donate this charming lady?” I ask out.

“Hon. Charlie Sweetberry will be the blushing bridebroom,” he pronounce. “You remember Charlie who arrive here more & more frequently bearing flowers?”

“Distinctually,” I report. “He came with rose-bud tokens so frequently I thought that he was a florist.”

“We intend to make this wedding so joyful that we are all quite miserable preparing for it,” he describe. “The event will be shot off at high noon.”

“Are noon on a wedding day any higher than any other noon?” I require for information.

“If you paid the bills you would think so!” he explode glubly & walk in an offward direction.

Mr Editor, you would be surprised to see how much burden that wedding was to Hon. Express Co. who brought the packages! For several entire days bundles arrove in large quantities of freight. Street in front of that house was headquarters for delivery wagons. Messengers came continually bringing Merry Christmas parcels enwrapped in paper. Hon. Samule Scott, assisted by me & family, would spend long-time each day disenwrapping those parcels and gossiping about what came. Excitement. Out would drop some golden fork or swollen pitcher marked “Happy Returns.”

“Why should these be labelled ‘Happy Returns’?” I negotiate.

“Because,” pronounce Hon. Samule with depressed eyebrows, “they are all returns of wedding presents we sent other folks.”

I stand gast at this phenomenal.

Each day for 14 complete hours that hansom Scottish home stood full of dressmakers, vacuum cleaners, dentists, milliners, reporters and other necessities of life. Hon. Samule Scott walk around looking tense like a financial crisis. Mrs. Scott were always busy. When not engaged in any other housekeeping she set down and wept some tears.

“Why you wept, Hon. Lady?” I ask to know.

“I am preparing for the wedding,” she say back. “No wedding can look fashionable without a few weeps.”

Each morning Hon. Gladys Scott stand up with dressmaker and report with angry rage of girlish soprano, “You make me so nervus that screaming would seem pleasant!” Yet a few moments later she meet Hon. Chas Sweetberry in parlour & report with kitten words, “O Chas, I am so happy!”

My brain feel cross-eyed to hear this duplex conversation.

Friday night Hon. Tortoni, Italian caterman, back-up horse to front lawn and dump forth sifficient camp-chairs to furnish 1 complete picnic. Hon. Chas Sweetberry & 1 clergy man come later. They meet that Scott family, including Hon. Gladys, in parlour where they lock door and say a long ceremony, walking around & giving away several times.

When Hon. Sweetberry come outside to smoke cigaret, I say to him with banzai in my voice,

“Congratulations, Mr Sir!”

“For what?” he dib.

“For your marriage which just took place,” I encroach.

“That wasn’t marriage,” he snork. “We was just practising.”

I was confused.

* * * * *

Great date of wedding was finally there. All furniture in Hon. Parlour was fixed like pews, so all could take set-down. Mrs Scott wep some more when she seen the chairs in tiers. All that home was dressed with greenish smilax like a beautiful salad. Hon. Bridebroom arrive with silk-pipe hat over his headache. Five or six best men emerge at front door wearing Floridora clothing. Bridal-maidens came in quantities looking like they wondered who would be next. Humouristical college friends walk up carrying footware, rice & other groceries. Several hack-loads of relatives was wheeled to door.

Silence.

A clergy man encroach at side door with Rev Mr. expression.

All was prepare. Yet something was not. Hon. Samule Scott rosh up to me with quiet craze.

“Togo,” he whasper, “where are Chas, the bridebroom?”

“I seen him in aunty-room off library quarrelling with his necktie,” I report.

Surely yes! He was there in aunty-room trying to correct the nervus behaviour of his collar button.

“This is the happiest day of my life,” report Hon. Chas when dishcovered, “How my shoes hurt me!”

More silence.

All that audience now set in parlour expectfully. Humouristical college friends pass rice-package amidst eyewinks peculiar to comedians. Several relatives appear quite affectionate.

Music emerj from piano. Hon. Bridebroom with serene collar now pop forth and stand amid flowers at end of room. 2x2 now come Bridlemaidens expensively trimmed. Hon. Bride, artistically enwrapped in original Irish curtains, nextly step forth supporting her Father, who need this attention because of his quaker knees.

“You are what you say you are?” require Hon. Clergy to Bride & Broom who now stand close by.

They agree to this.

“Has somebody here an objection to this gentleman?” ask Hon. Preach to audience.

Everybody seem careless about replying. I was going to say how I thought he was too easily peeved about his neckties, but Hon. Preach neglected to wait.

When Hon. Preach explain to Bride how she must take that man for worse & more of it, she seem to feel no alarm. He warned her about several things which I could not hear. Still she was determined to be married. So Hon. Bridebroom, who seem too entranced to remember, borrow a ring from Best Man and Miss Scott became a Mrs.

Wildly onrush of friends now ensued. Kissing heard everwheres amidst sobs & other joy. Most elderly gentlemans was most dutiful about kissing Bride.

“No one shall be permitted this salute except relatives!” holla Hon. Bridebroom appearing slightly frantic.

“Then we must be included,” report 16 humouristic college friends. “We are fraternity brothers to you.” They approach with happy mob.

Nextly come wedding brekfast. This was the most latest brekfast I ever passed food for. Also it was so innapropriate for brekfast, because wine was served instid of eggs. And the only toast which they ate was drank amidst speeches. Everytime somebody poke forth harsh word about Hon. Bridebroom it seem laughing-signal for all.

“This young man,” report Uncle Henry to Hon. Bride while he rose upward, “This young man remind me dishagreeably of his Uncle Hiram which led a wild life and was sent to Congress in his old age. Be careful or he will do likewise.”

The blushing Bride seem very calm. It was the Bridebroom who done nearly all the blushing.

Pretty soonly the recent Mr & Mrs Sweetberry make quick-change to railroad clothing and elope together to hack outside. While they was walking down front steps those 16 humouristic college chums suddenly give Black Hand signal.

WHOSH!!

42 gallons selected rice make cyclone upon hat-plumage of that Mrs Bride who escape with screem to carriage.

BOMB!!

12 complete carpet slippers hit Mr Bridebroom with accurate target-practice just as he was lifting his legs into that cab. More feetware mingled with rice arrive in droves and hit Hon. Carriage with angry strokes. My Samurai soul stood endwise with alarm. I should prevent this cruelty.

“O stop!” I holla, roshing forwards. “Why should you attack them young folks and drive them forth with brutality after what they has went through? Toss one more rubber boot and I shall rebuke you with my rages.”

While thusly I spoke one 2nd handed ballroom slipper stroked my hair and I walk away feeling absent in my brain.

Hoping you are the same
Yours truly
Hashimura Togo.