Dear Sir

Just a few days of yore I apply there in extreme coldness of snow. This Hon. Mrs. Humburg, dark hairs lady of muscular expression, approach to kitchen and observe me.

“You are a cook?” she ask it.

“Yes are!” I say it.

“Then you will be expected to feed the furnace while doing so,” she negotiate harshly.

“Must I be an engineer because I am a hired girl?” I requesh.

“I guess supposedly,” renig Hon. Mrs., while leading me to inferno of down-cellar where I was introduced to Hon. Furnace. This iron animal, Mr. Editor, lives like a very homely hermit in middle of low darkness. He set there in nest27 of ashes, with tin snakes growing from his forehead like zinc octopus. His teeth was full of blazes and he would of made a nice idol for Japanese to worship when feeling old-fashioned. I could not love his face which seem too hungry when open and too satisfied when closed.

27

“We never permit him to go out in winter,” narrate Hon. Mrs.

“I shall watch see he do not escape,” I promus with Wm. Jerome eyebrows.

Annexed to Hon. Furnace were a slight clock with one finger going around like taxicabs. “This are the steam gag,” explan Hon. Mrs. “He are now pointing 23.”

“Do that tell age of Hon. Furnace?” I require educationally.

“No, not!” she snagger. “That indikate the number lbs. steam in boiler. You must be careful about that. If Hon. Steam Gag jump above 25 lbs. that will mean Hon. Furnace have got too much steam on his brain and might blow up with Harry Thaw noise. When Hon. Steam Gag get too ambitious, Oh, cool Hon. Furnace with immediate quickness before explode up!”

“A Samurai janitor fears no steam!” I reject proudishly, while folding my elbows over coal shovel.

Mr. Editor, I did not stoke long in this situation of work, but I make very pleasant impression of it. Although I enjoy thumb-scorch, ash-eye, and janitorial pain of spine, yet I commence to love Hon. Furnace for his characteristic. I28 begin to dishcover he are like Hon. Beethoven, famus piano-player—he got 

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