One early a. m. Hon. Mrs uprose for breakfast early at 11 o’clock. She approach to me with tear-drop eye.
“Togo,” she say, “you have been with me 5 entire weeks. Therefore you can be considered the oldest family servant in N. Y. I shall reward you with bad news. My Husband has did so much brokerage in Wall Street that he has broke. Therefore, we shall be more tight compressed than usual.”
“How could it?” I ask feelishly.
“We must move to a smaller flat,” she glub. “Will you faithfully follow us thereto?”
“Mrs Madam,” I entrench, “I might do faithfully what you say. I might follow you to smaller flat, but how could I squeeze in when I got there? Excuse me while I go to Arizona where I can stand with 1000 miles on each side of me and can turn over in bed without wounding my elbows on a washstand. Indians does not live so high as New Yorkers, but they lives much broader.”
Hon. Mrs explode her voice from my words and attemp’ to imprison my escape by locking front door. But she could not. With Samurai war-cry I open umbruella and, attaching myself to handle, I make jump-out from bedroom window and flew 9 stories like Hon. Glen Curtiss.
When I arrived to pave-walk Hon. Janitor see me and report,
“You are broken out with lunacy.”
Hoping you are the same,
Yours truly,
Hashimura Togo.