XIV CAN AUTOMOBILES BE TAMED FOR HOME USE?

To Editor Home and Lady Page who are so smooth of heart and soft of mind he can safely introduce gasolene into most explosive families.

Dear Hon. Mr!—With delicious rapidity I shot off from my last situation of work, care Mrs. Seth Hopp, Camden, N. J. This lady admire my talent so much she appoint me to every task of a disagreeable nature. In her supply of housework she include one slight, grey ottomobile of one-lung capacity and asthma of engine. This machinery are like mosquitos, small but cross.

Mr. Editor, I have always dreaded to get acquainted with ottomobiles because they are connected with so many crimes. Yet when I am employed as Gen. Houseworker in a house where a cook must understand chauffering, what could I?

Last Munday a. m. Hon. Mrs. Hopp approach to me with racetrack expression and corrode,

“Togo, as soonly as you finish washing dishes, go out to garage and wash ottomobile. Then take him down to R R depot to meet Mr. Hopp at 5.66 train.”

“I do not understood your ottomobile,” I abject.

“Nobody does,” she say cheerly. “Yet I are sure you can become mister of this difficult wagon, because Japanese are extra bright little people.”

I thank her with bent stomach. And yet calm nervousness straddled my heart.

As soonly as I had finished bathing dishes, Hon. Mrs. lead me forthly to gas-stable where that iron animal stood amidst awful perfumery. I was shocked to observe the cruel expression of lamps with which he gazed at me.

“He are simple and good natured when you know his habits,” she explain.

“This truth are also true of vampires,” I dib for frights.

“Your duty must be to dust him night and morning, manicure his carborette and train him to obey. When you learn to control him, it shall be your duty to drive Hon. Mr. Hopp back & forthly. I show you how to learn.”

Hon. Mrs go to home & put on racetrack hat peculiar to motor. Then she teach me free lesson.

Firstly she go to front nose of Hon. Ottomobile and twist crank resembling ice-cream freezer. Mad trembly arrive from his insides!

“Now he are ready to do anything,” collapse Hon. Mrs dragging me to seat besides her. I set here holding on to my soul.

“Observe my antics if possible,” she commit with extreme dexterity of thumbs, heels, hands & elbows while she poke 6 buttons, jerk 1 doz handles, inflame electricity and make goose-cry by horn.

I sat gast to see her. WHOOSH!! We commence onward.

“That are way to start ottomobile,” holla Mrs Seth Hopp while avoiding death on road & wheeling corners with aviator expression.

“It are easy like astronomy,” I rejoint, holding on to my hair to keep him from blowing off. And so forth.

At R. R. station we stop up and load on Hon. Mr. Hopp, one large, portable man of important fat.

“Togo are learning to chaff this car so he can drag you back & forth,” decry Hon. Mrs.

“He do not look very powerful,” contuse him cattishly.

How could he realise?

Mr. Editor, driving ottomobiles are a warlike work unsuited to Gen. Housekeeping. How can I do hired girl tasks, yet expect myself to command those harsh cranks and greasy energy what makes gasolene go? To make a chauffeur out of a cook are like making bullets out of buscuits. It could be done, but can it?

Yet this Mrs. Seth Hopp, Hon. Lady of extreme brain, was determined I should be a chum to her car, although I were sure he did not like my looks. Each morning for ½-hour time she give me lesson in how to start ottomobiles. I learn this with all the fido qualities of my Japanese religion. Yet something told me different.

“This horsepower are full of mules,” I tell her one day while I set there pulling 13 handles expecting Hon. Car to go when he would not.

“Brace uply!” she say for courage. “Any child can start an ottomobile.”

“Why you not employ a child, then?” I require.

I could see by her silence that she did not admire my rudeness.

After practice I become more intellectual with that machinery. With kindly assistance from Hon. Mrs I could tease him to start from his barn and run dangerously around block amid loudy curses from gasolene. Pride filled me up. Folks often feels thusly before cyclones.

That p. m. Hon. Mrs arrive to kitchen where I was manufacturing pie with mushroom expression peculiar to cooks.

“Togo,” she denounce, “you sippose you can now start Hon. Ottomobile by your lonesome self?”

“No starter could ever be more scientific than me,” I negotiate, holding pie-crust on my wrists.

“Glad to hear!” she congratulate. “Hon. Mr. Hopp return to-night by 6.6½ train. Feed 2 gals gasolene to Hon. Ottomobile and deliver Hon. Husband to me as soonly as possible.”

This were supreme time for prides. Bellboys, admirals and postmasters seldom feel more happy in time of great victory.

I put on respectaful gloves & greasy overcoat to resemble chauffer. I smudge some engine-smoke across nose, so I should look more mechanical. Then I go to gas-stable and quell Hon. Ottomobile with my hero expression. He seem quite doggish.

Skilful cranks by me. Loud roary from his stomach. Like Hon. Julius Cæsar crossing the Delaware I lep to seat & make my heels, thumbs & elbows go in all directions. O banzai! That sweet, tame ottomobile jump forwards like a canary. Defly I turn wheel and make him sidle up one street & down next. Citizens was seen dodging respectfully side by side to let me pass. One gentleman raise Bull Moose voice and mention it when I scratch his knuckles slightly. More faster and yet more so I sped onwards. I seem to be walking on golden wings. Poetry circulated in my chest. Thusly do gasolene make heroes of us all.

Pretty soonly I arrive up to R R station where I observe Hon. Hopp standing there in all the importance of his fat. Him & several conductors looked very gast when they observe great skill with which I knocked hitching-post from befront of saloon and still came on.

All wheels was waltzing nicely as I turn Hon. Car close to platform, intending for to stop and load on Hon. Boss.

But alast! when I got there I could not stay. Despite of how I wiggled handles, punched buttons, reversed myself with heels and commanded with voice, that inflamed chariot were deaf to pity and determined to continue onward. Hon. Mr make motions for me to arrest myself, but all I could do was to set in seat while Hon. Car gollup rudely around block. With Samurai calmness I continue to turn wheel, hoping thusly to arrive back to station. And so I did. Pretty soonly I come up to R R platform again. Despite my angry jerks by handle, I could observe how peevly Hon. Hopp look at me.

“Togo,” he holla, “come here!”

“I do so!” I response, so I make skilled wobble of wheel and drove Hon. Ottomobile up on platform, where he go for Hon. Boss so straight that this fatty gentleman start off with dodge run peculiar to ducks avoiding elephants. But Hon. Ottomobile was more quicker in the legs, so he pounce on Hon. Mr with rude affection peculiar to New Foundland dogs. Groans by him. Toots by otto. Then onwards I proceeded, still attempting to strangle that horsepower which would not quit.

Mr. Editor, you could not imagine such stubborn bullishness could be in anything not human. The more I twisted that wagon, the faster he go. Ditches, back fences and trees were splintered by his determination. At lastly, because I knew it would be convenient for me to die near the place where I was employed, I turned his nose toward home of Hon. Mrs Hopp.

We got there by very cross lots. Mrs. Hopp were standing by front gate when I whoofed by.

“Togo,” she yall as I pass, “Did you get my husband?”

“Yes, thanks—I got him plenty,” were smart reply I make.

Pretty soonly, by intense wheeling, I come back around block to where that sweet-hearted lady was.

“Put that car back in its stable!” she shreech like eagles.

“I obey!” was reply for me. So with all the Japanese courage I could demand from my ancestors, I turn Hon. Car through front fence, over vegetable garden, across clothes line. When I arrive to garage I put Hon. Car in very neatly, but Hon. Garage refuse to remain standing where he was, but followed in several fractions. 26 feet further on, Hon. Ottomobile, cursing like enraged kangaroos, lep over that cyclone and fall dead in heap of splinters. Nothing alive remained except a few wheels, pandemonium and me.

As soonly as my intellectual mind got back in place, I sat up, determined to see Hon. Mrs about resigning from that dangerous housework. But she saw me previously.

“Togo!” she glub, “how dares you make this rumpage when I spend one whole week teaching you how to start ottomobiles?”

“If you had spent another week teaching me how to stop him, I should be less scattered,” were bright reply from me.

So I remove my derby from around my neck & limp offwards feeling like tonsilitis.

Hoping you are the same
Yours truly,
Hashimura Togo.