by W. W. Jacobs
MARY MAPES DODGE
MISS MALONY ON THE CHINESE QUESTION
Och! don't be talkin'. Is it howld on, ye say? An' didn't I howld ontill the heart of me was clane broke entirely, and me wastin' that thinyou could clutch me wid yer two hands! To think o' me toilin' like anager for the six year I've been in Ameriky--bad luck to the day I iverleft the owld counthry, to be bate by the likes o' them! (faix, an'I'll sit down when I'm ready, so I will, Ann Ryan, an' ye'd better belist'nin' than drawin' your remarks), an' it's mysel', with five goodcharacters from respectable places, would be herdin' wid the haythens.The saints forgive me, but I'd be buried alive soon 'n put up wid a daylonger. Sure, an' I was a granehorn not to be lavin' at onct when themissus kim into me kitchen wid her perlaver about the new waiter-manwhich was brought out from Californy.
"He'll be here the night," says she, "and Kitty, it's meself looks toyou to be kind and patient wid him, for he's a furriner," says she, akind o' looking off. "Sure an' it's little I'll hinder nor interfarewid him nor any other, mum," says I, a kind o' stiff, for I mindedme how these French waiters, wid their paper collars and brass ringson their fingers, isn't company for no gurril brought up dacint andhonest. Och! sorra a bit I knew what was comin' till the missus walkedinto me kitchen smilin', and says, kind o' schared, "Here's Fing Wing,Kitty, an' you'll have too much sinse to mind his bein' a littlestrange." Wid that she shoots the doore; and I, misthrusting if I wastidied up sufficient for me fine buy wid his paper collar, looks upand----Holy fathers! may I never brathe another breath, but there studa rale haythen Chineser a-grinnin' like he'd just come off a tay-box.If you'll belave me, the crayture was that yeller it 'ud sicken youto see him; and sorra stich was on him but a black night-gown overhis trousers, and the front of 'is head shaved claner nor a copperbiler, and a black tail a-hanging down from behind, wid his two feetstook into the heathenesest shoes you ever set eyes on. Och! but I wasupstairs afore you could turn about, a-givin' the missus-warnin'; an'only stopt wid her by her raisin' me wages two dollars and playdin'wid me how it was a Christian's duty to bear wid haythins and taitch'em all in our power--the saints save us! Well, the ways and trials Ihad wid that Chineser, Ann Ryan, I couldn't be tellin'. Not a blissedthing cud I do but he'd be lookin' on wid his eyes cocked up'ard liketwo poomp-handles, an' he widdout a speck or a smitch o' whiskers onhim, and his finger-nails full a yard long. But it's dying you'd be tosee the missus a-larnin' him, and he grinnin' an' waggin' his pig-tail(which was pieced out long wid some black stoof, the haythen chate!),and gettin' into her ways wonderful quick, I don't deny, imitatin' thatsharp, you'd be shurprised, and ketchin' and copyin' things the best ofus will do a-hurried wid work yet don't want comin' to the knowledge ofthe family--bad luck to him!
Is it ate wid him? Arrah, an' would I be sittin' wid a haythen, and hea-atin' wid drum-sticks--yes, an' atin' dogs an' cats unknownst to me,I warrant you, which is the custom of them Chinesers, till the thoughtmade me that sick I could die. An' didn't the crayture proffer to helpme a wake ago come Toosday, an' me a foldin' down me clane clothesfor the ironin', an' fill his haythen mouth wid wather, an' afore Icould hinder squrrit it through his teeth stret over the best linentable-cloth and fold it up tight, as innercent now as a baby, the dirtybaste! But the worrest of all was the copyin' he'd be doin', till ye'dbe distracted. It's yerself knows the tinder feet that's on me sinceever I've bin in this country. Well, owin' to that, I fell into the wayo' slippin' me shoes off when I'd be settin' down to pale the pratiesor the likes o' that, and, do ye mind, that haythin would do the samething after me whiniver the missus set him parin' apples or tomaterses.The saints in heaven couldn't have made him belave he cud kape theshoes on him when he'd be payling anything.
Did I lave fur that? Faix an' didn't he get me into trouble wid mymissus, the haythin? You're aware yerself how the boondles comin' fromthe grocery often contains more'n'll go into anything dacently. So, forthat matter, I'd now and then take out a sup o' sugar, or flour, ortay, an' wrap it in paper and put it in me bit of a box tucked underthe ironin' blankit the how it cuddent be bodderin' any one. Well, whatshould it be, but this blessed Sathurday morn the missus was a-spakin'pleasant and respec'ful wid me in me kitchen, when the grocer boycomes in an' stands fornenst her wid his boondles, an' she motionslike to Fing Wing (which I never would call him by that name nor anyother but just haythin); she motions to him, she does, for to take theboondles an' empty out the sugar an' what not where they belongs. Ifyou'll belave me, Ann Ryan, what did that blatherin' Chineser do buttake out a sup o' sugar, an' a handful o' tay, an' a bit o' chaze,right afore the missus, wrap them into bits o' paper, an' I spachelesswid shurprise, an' he the next minute up wid the ironin' blankit andpullin' out me box wid a show o' bein' sly to put them in. Och, theLord forgive me, but I clutched it, and the missus sayin', "O Kitty!"in a way that 'ud curdle your blood. "He's a haythin nager," says I."I've found you out," says she. "I'll arrist him," says I. "It's youought to be arristed," says she. "You won't," says I. "I will," saysshe; and so it went, till she give me such sass as I cuddent takefrom no lady, an' I give her warnin' an' left that instant, an' shea-pointin' to the doore.
* * * * *
It is now the proper time for the cross-eyed woman to fool with thegarden hose. I have faced death in almost every form, and I do not knowwhat fear is, but when a woman with one eye gazing into the zodiacand the other peering into the middle of next week, and wearing oneof those floppy sun-bonnets, picks up the nozzle of the garden hoseand turns on the full force of the institution, I fly wildly to theMountains of Hepsidam.
Water won't hurt any one, of course, if care is used not to forget anddrink any of it, but it is this horrible suspense and uncertainty aboutfacing the nozzle of a garden hose in the hands of a cross-eyed womanthat unnerves and paralyzes me.
Instantaneous death is nothing to me. I am as cool and collected whereleaden rain and iron hail are thickest as I would be in my own officewriting the obituary of the man who steals my jokes. But I hate to bedrowned slowly in my good clothes and on dry land, and have my dyinggaze rest on a woman whose ravishing beauty would drive a narrow-gagemule into convulsions and make him hate himself t'death.
BILL NYE.
