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Updated: October 11, 2025
Taken unawares, Teddy began to back up, to the accompaniment of the jeers of the spectators. The crowd howled its appreciation of the turn affairs had taken, Teddy steadily giving ground before the enraged Lilliputians. As it chanced a washtub filled with pink lemonade that had been prepared for the thirsty crowds stood directly in the lad's path. If anyone observed it, he did not so inform Teddy.
"What is that stockade for?" asked the commander, as soon as the steamer was moored to the shore. "The Hindus are a cleanly people, as required by their religion," replied Captain O'Flaherty in the hearing of all the party. "That stockade contains a big trough for washing their scanty clothing. It reaches into the water, so that they can fill their washtub without going out of it."
With two or three quick leaps she captured it again and was just preparing for her next swirl. "Primrose! Primrose! I think thee grows more disorderly every day. What caper is this? Look at these strings, they are like a twisted rope. And if thy bonnet had gone into the pond! For that matter it needs the washtub."
Like most New England houses built seventy-five years ago, the farmhouse at the old Squire's had been planned without thought of bathing facilities. The family washtub, brought to the kitchen of a Saturday night, and filled with well water tempered slightly by a few quarts from the teakettle, served the purpose.
While the water was heating, I could bring in a washtub out of the cave, and take my bath in the kitchen. Then I could put on a clean nightgown and get into bed with two others, who likely had n’t had a bath unless I’d given it to them. You can’t tell me anything about family life. I’ve had plenty to last me.” “But it’s not all like that,” I objected. “Near enough.
My mother, who was small and had red, sad-looking eyes, would come into the house from a little shed at the back. That's where she spent her time over the washtub scrubbing people's dirty clothes. In she would come and stand by the table, rubbing her eyes with her apron that was covered with soap-suds. "'Don't touch it!
He saw the boasting, incompetent father telling his endless tales of the Civil War and complaining of his wounds; the tall, stoop-shouldered, silent mother with the deep lines in her long face, everlastingly at work over her washtub among the soiled clothes; the silent, hurriedly-eaten meals snatched from the kitchen table; and the long winter days when ice formed upon his mother's skirts and Windy idled about town while the little family subsisted upon bowls of cornmeal mush everlastingly repeated.
Annie was busy at the washtub, and it was her mother, who had come to live with her and her baby while her husband was at the Front, that answered the postman's knock and brought in the parcel. "Annie, here's a parcil thro' France. It'll be thy Jim that's sent it. I can tell his writin' onywhere, though his hand do seem a bit shaky like."
Sam, looking down at him and studying the eyes and the colour in the cheeks, realised with a start that he had not for years seen the face of his father. How vividly it stamped itself upon his mind now, and how coarse and sodden it had become. "I could repay all of the years mother has spent over the dreary washtub by just one long, hard grip at this lean throat.
I remembered all the sins of my youth, and conscience assured me that I richly deserved my fate; finally, I thought of a certain unspeakably asinine speech which I once inflicted upon a suffering audience, and I felt so small that I rattled round in that old log like a white bean in a washtub, and slipped like an eel out of the little pipe-stem end of that old tree.
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