XXXIVELECTION DAY
San Francisco, November 1st.
To Editor New York Newspaper who have been frequently nominated to be President by loving Japanese subscribers; but he must refuse such jobs, thank you, because too busy with ink-pen—and he would rather write than be President.
Hon. Mr. Sir—Election Day are now within short gasp of here & all Japanese Schoolboys of my acquaintanceship are running back and forthly. Symptoms of tense patriotism for them. I. Anazuma, Japanese barber, have pasted in window-pain of his shave store 2 portraits of fat & famous Americans. On one portrait he have wrote following description in Japanese:
HON. WM. JENNY BRYANHe Will Deliver the Nation out of Peril
On other fat portrait he have wrote:
HON. WM. H. TAFTHe Will Deliver the Goods out of Kindness
I were a-standing by sidewalk making eye-glances at them 2 sweet portraits & choosing whichto vote for (if Yellow Peril could do so, thank you) when uply come Arthur Kickahajama with sad-dogged expression of dizzy heart.
“Hashimura Togo,” he unpack, “why you gaz at them 2 Presidents with rapture of ears?”
“Soon one will be elected,” I apply, “& then troubles of this Kingdom will be all over.”
“Over!!” dib Arthur Kickahajama for shreech. “Over!!!” He make thrills of knuckles which are sure symbol of allepeptick fits.
Then he drag from interior pocket of coat some rippings from newspaper-press which he read me with hearse voice. FromDaily Hoot, violently conservative Republican paper, he read as following:
“‘If Bryan are elected ruin will be enjoyed everywheres. Heaven are expected to fall any minute. Corn will refuse to grow in Kansas & National Guard will be called out to make it do so. In South niggers will be darker & more lynched. Hens will neglect to surrender their eggs. America will be considerably cursed. Election of Hon. Bryan should be cause of great national funeral.’”
“‘If Bryan are elected ruin will be enjoyed everywheres. Heaven are expected to fall any minute. Corn will refuse to grow in Kansas & National Guard will be called out to make it do so. In South niggers will be darker & more lynched. Hens will neglect to surrender their eggs. America will be considerably cursed. Election of Hon. Bryan should be cause of great national funeral.’”
“So glad to hear this in time,” I riggle. “Therefore I shall vote for Hon. Taft if I could.”
Arthur for glum read following editorial fromDaily Riot, seriously Democratick hand-organ:
“‘If Taft are elected America will quit. Common People will be scrunched by drowntroddery. Truth will also receive hourly chops by ax. Kings will appear everywheres riding inautomobiles. Daily excursions to Siberia will be enjoyed by masses. Groans. Right of free speeches will be denied to Henry Watterson & bloodshed must therefore ensue. Patriots will grunt with deranged hair. Election of Hon. Taft should be cause of great national mourning,’”
“‘If Taft are elected America will quit. Common People will be scrunched by drowntroddery. Truth will also receive hourly chops by ax. Kings will appear everywheres riding inautomobiles. Daily excursions to Siberia will be enjoyed by masses. Groans. Right of free speeches will be denied to Henry Watterson & bloodshed must therefore ensue. Patriots will grunt with deranged hair. Election of Hon. Taft should be cause of great national mourning,’”
“So sad!” say Arthur, “America must therefore go to complete doggly smitthrine on date of Nov. 3.”
“Are they no way to escape this?” I alarm with face.
“Only one,” commute Arthur. “Perhapsly Bluejean V. Debs might be elected by mistake.”
Mr. Editor, I go way from Arthur full of damp thoughts about Election Day. I go to grassy yard of Mrs. Lusy Macdonald, 286 pounds complete gentleness, and there I work my job assisting shrubbage to grow for $1.25 weekly payment. My dog O-Fido company me there & are entirely useless, as usual. While I are to work soothing her lawn with rakes I are continually thinking for selfish brain: “If I merely had 1 day lie-off from work I might do something to save America.” So I wish I could & O-Fido agree with snubbed tail.
Soonly come Mrs. Lusy Macdonald in dainty pink rapper which look like 3 queens. Angelick expressions for her.
“Togo,” she say-it, “have you got a ill to look so languish?”
“O! sweethearted Mrs. Madam, I enjoy a brainache this morning, thank you,” are complain from me. “Could I not obtain a lie-off from Work, thanks so much, please?”
“Why so you require such a lie-off?” are burst from her.
“With sufficient leisure I might save America,” I mention.
“Such worthy thought!” she relish. “Therefore you are permitted 1 day lie-off from rakish labours on lawn.”
I make back-away with humbel bows. O-Fido do somewhat simlar. When we arrive to gate-post Mrs. Lusy Macdonald exclaim for sweetness:
“How you shall spent this day of idle enjoyment, please?”
“I shall spent it in worrying about the ruin of America which should occur on Nov. 3,” are fuss I make & do a vanish. O-Fido do same way.
So I go to street corner & set on water-plog to enjoy sorrow without interrupt. O-Fido devote time smelling rats which is not there under pavement.
Near off by lamp-post I see several carpenter-mans at work in middle of street a-building 1 tiny house of delicious sheet-iron. It were a awful temporary-looking struxure of 6 × 10 architexure.
Pretty soonly long come one Hon. Police, byname Paul Smutz, who get my affection by arrest of Bunkio Saguchi for gin-drunk. I are a proud acquaintanceship to this hero.
“Such oddy house!” I say-it with points to place what them carpenter-mans was a-building. “What you call such a cabin in American language?”
“That house,” say Hon. Police, “are called a Pole.”
“It do not look like a Pole in appearance,” I otter. “To Japanese Schoolboy it look more like a penitentiary for white rabbits.”
“So wicked thought!” say Hon. Police with buttons. “That tiny house to which you now look at are Palladium of American Liberty.”
“What do Americans do in such a Palladium?” are next question for me.
“They votes for Presidents,” ollicute Hon. Smutz with helmet.
“So happy!” I say-it. “In them tiny doll-cabins Presidents is manufactured by ballet-box every 4 years! Were Pres. Roosevelt made in a little tin cottage like that?”
“Absolutely similar,” snuggest that coply man.
“I are surprised he did not burst it!” are notation for me.
Silences by Hon. Police. Waggish signals by O-Fido.
“How could Hon. Taft be accommodated in such a toy temple?” are intelligent query I make.
“Fat candidates gets slim votes in some districts,” complain he.
“What makes Americans more freer than any other kingdom?” I ask-it because Hon. Smutz are not yet savage.
“Americans is more freer because they are permitted to vote,” compute them official.
“So happy Americans!” I snagger. “How free they should all feel going to Pole on Nov. 3 eech with a ballet in his hand to vote it!”
“They should, but do they?” revoke he with club. “Many Americans make long journeys on Election Day to escape that Palladium of Liberty.”
“Could they feel free without that sweet privelage?” I require.
“They feel most free when they forget it,” he dub. “I prove this by following tabloid statistick:
“1—Out of eech 3 Americans only 1 Registers.“2—Out of eech 3 who Registers only 1 Votes.“3—Out of eech 3 who Votes only 1 cares who is Elected.”
“1—Out of eech 3 Americans only 1 Registers.
“2—Out of eech 3 who Registers only 1 Votes.
“3—Out of eech 3 who Votes only 1 cares who is Elected.”
“How shocky!” I gasp. “By such sinful statistick America must be going to doggly bow-wow!” (Howels from O-Fido.)
“Can not some patriots do something to make more votes for Election Day?” are next queery I ask.
“Many of them do,” say he. “Many persons votes 5 or 6 times eech election to make fatter ballet-box.”
“Such noble patriots should receive at least 1 Carnegie meddle,” I lapse.
“They should, but do they?” are repose he say. “There will be much gladness of rejoicing shot off in this Hon. City for Election Night,” he add for information.
“I read by newspaper this morning how Election of either Candidates would be cause for great national mourning,” I reckon.
“You read the wrong paper,” say Hon. Smutz. “When announcement of new President are made entire lid will be removed from America & 4th of July will shoot through. What patriots are not already in saloons will be tied together in magnificent blockade on streets mixed with brass bands, tin-horning, full dinner-pails, Glad-It’s-Over Marching Clubs, automobile axidents & other demonstrations of peaceful banzai. Musick-waggons will ocasionally sonter by with all office-seekers trying to get on at once. Maddy yalls from crowd when eech newspaper bulletin-board announce that another doubtful State has goneRepublickan, as usual. Rockets. Occasional fights to make everybody completely cheerful. Fire-engines go by to some joyful blaze. Telegrams arrive. Romp-girls dance along with tickle feathers. Then O!! Portrait of Future President are flashy to screen. Bells go off confused by whissles & drumcore exploded by throats of 1,000,000 yalling Americans.”
“And what next?” I enquire patiently.
“Following this,” say Hon. Paul Smutz, heroic Police, “following this are complete silence for 4 years.”
And he depart off to catch an excessive automobile what done a crime.
Mr. Editor, it will require more than explosions to awake Hon. Washington from sweet sleep which will go on for next 4 years. When Associated Press hears slight shock along Patomac it will not be sounds of unrest—it will be merely snores from happy Congressmen. By time this loving letter are there in your post-office, White House furniture are already preparing to be sat on by another kind of Person. Perhapsly he will be a bigger man, but I bet my bootware he will not cover so many places at once. In Executive Offices a new Voice will kind of quiver & flitter through corridors which is used to being crackedby a Real Racket. In Aunty Room outside will set distinguished statesmans in awful neat rows with eyebrows full of Thought and nothing else. Gentleman inside may say, “Prevaricatorius ugly lyre!” now & then, but sound of this curse will be less hearty than of yore-time.
And in that Crowd Outside following sweet faces will be missing:
1—Shaggy Pete, Louisiana guide.2—Harvard football captain.3—Mrs. O’Rafferty, mother of 6 twins.4—Rev. Lyman Abbott.5—Spike McGhoul, heavyweight swat.6—Charles Scribbler & Sons.7—Duke De Buzzi and staff.8—Nero, famous trick elephant from Hippodrome.
1—Shaggy Pete, Louisiana guide.
2—Harvard football captain.
3—Mrs. O’Rafferty, mother of 6 twins.
4—Rev. Lyman Abbott.
5—Spike McGhoul, heavyweight swat.
6—Charles Scribbler & Sons.
7—Duke De Buzzi and staff.
8—Nero, famous trick elephant from Hippodrome.
Them features, Mr. Editor, will be seriously lacking. Cabinet will come together occasionally for slight confap but it will seem quiet, like directors’ meeting of Ice Trust. Treaties will be made in sneeky gum-slipper manner. Panama Canal will be finished & nobody will know it. New President of America might declare war between U. S. and Germany with less dramatick effect than Hon. Roosevelt got by chasing 3 boys off from White House steps.
Next 4 years will be healthy climbate for old persons & delicate children. People will live longer but not so much. And what will happen to us in 1912? Hon. Nick Longworth will explain with American eye-wink!
Thou, too, climb on the Ship of State,Climb on, O happy Candidate!—And favoured Nations shall proclaimThe deeds of You who drag to fameYour good-for-nothing Running Mate!
Thou, too, climb on the Ship of State,Climb on, O happy Candidate!—And favoured Nations shall proclaimThe deeds of You who drag to fameYour good-for-nothing Running Mate!
Thou, too, climb on the Ship of State,Climb on, O happy Candidate!—And favoured Nations shall proclaimThe deeds of You who drag to fameYour good-for-nothing Running Mate!
Thou, too, climb on the Ship of State,
Climb on, O happy Candidate!—
And favoured Nations shall proclaim
The deeds of You who drag to fame
Your good-for-nothing Running Mate!
Hoping you are entirely aware,
Yours truly,
Hashimura Togo.
S. P.—Banzai! America fleet reach Tokyo and international friendship are glued together by sticky ceremonies. Most sweetest exercise of all was when them 10,000 Japanese school-children sing, “Hail Columbia, Jappy land!”
H. T.