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Pretty soonly, when that Home were completely tied down in wagons, Hon. Mrs. arise upwards from her nervus prostration and say so to me, “Togo, can your brain do some intellect?”

“I shall be entirely brilliant, if brain is not,” I promus.

“Well, if so,” she snagger, “I wish you would ride on front wagon with Chief Housebreaker and tell his brainless mind the number of new house where it should go.”

“Where shall it be?” I inquest.

“Remember this number exactly—125 North Orange Street. Can your memory assimilate it?”

“Doggishly!” I insure.

“Remember—125!!” she holla while Hon. Vanload chuckle off.

This job of bossing boss make me entirely enlarged in my sensations which feel like German army. To think of! Small-down Japanese like me setting there in frontwheel seat dictating orders to gigantic Irish! This show how brains is more muscular than muscle.

Pretty soonly we arrive up to home entitled Number 125. O such landscape of expensive house! Front lawn extending on all sides, considerable pompus windows, goddesses in iron nightgowns standing near fountains, and front door of considerable brass resembling Senators. Joy inflamed my ears. How pleasure I feel to know that Hon. Mr. Sulkz had increased his salary so much he could afford to move into house like a library.