“Mrs. Madam,” I reproach, “tell me this reply. When Hon. Vacuum supp up dust from this carpet, to where do it go to?”
She indicate Heaven with her thumb.
“Up there is grand blow-away hole which shoo it off,” she answer it.
So I continue on absorbing hairpins, string and other germs through that succulent machinery.
No lady I work for are equally balanced in their manias. Some are crazed about houseflies; cookery seem to make others continuously het-up; others seem to reverberate with pain when mentioning clothes-starch. This Mrs. Hirem B. Bellus was especially hobbed on that Vacuum Cleanliness. She could forgive all other crimes, no matter if I brought in beefstake too much charcoaled around edges. It no matter if I too sluggish with my feet to answer door when it bells. It no matter if I make outrageous beds or knock gentle glasswear in hard sink. She forgive. But she was deliciously disgusted if Hon. Vacuum was not mourning & howelling all day long while Togo poke its nose around among rugs & other brick-brack.
Her husband disagree from this.
“Togo’s biscuits fill my teeth with hatred while his coffee show contemptible weakness,” Hon. Bellus dib for breakfast.
“Perhapsly,” refute Hon. Mrs., “yet he are one of the best Vacuum Engineers I ever hired.”
“I cannot eat a Vacuum,” reject that Husband-man, with hat-in-the-ring expression.
“I are not responsible for your animal hungers,” corrode this Wife while she arose and gently order me to take Hon. Vacuum down cellar for vacate 2 coal-bins and a ashbarrel.