A SPICY SCENE.

Globe, Volume V, Issue 590, 10 May 1876, Page 3

A SPICY SCENE.

Our friend Thompson, who resides in B , is very fond of apple sauce, and always wants it highly flavoured with cinnamon. Now, Thompson’s better half is very near s ; ghted, and, owing to catarrh, is almost entirely devoid of smell. These two facts combined were the cause of great tribulation recently, and in a way in which I shall endeavour to relate. The head of the house came home the other noon feeling in no very good humor, which was very natural, seeing that he had tested the hardness of the flagging with the back of his head a few minutes previously with ahlegree of force which was not exactly comfortable.

He came into the house and inquired if his dinner wasn’t ready yet ? On being informed that it had been waiting for fifteen minutes, he demanded to know “ Why in thunder they left it get cold ?” He was told that it was not cold, and moreover that he was to have apple sauce. Upon hearing this latter statement he was considerably molitied, and smilingly sat down to his meal. Ho said grace with great solemnity, and then fell to work lustily. After he had satisfied his hunger, he sung out for “that apple-sass.” It was set before him, and he put about half a pint of it inlo his mouth at once, and was munching it with evident relish, when suddenly his face assumed a purple hue, his eyes seemed starting from their sockets, and he exhibited all the symptoms of an eliptic fit. His wife, in great alarm, cried, “John, for mercy’s sake, what’s the matter ?” “ Gosh darn all to Jerusalem,” he roared, “d’ye think i’m made of cast-iron? Oh, Lordy, Lordy,” he shrieked. “ Oh, my mouth ; darn your old apple-sass, it is burning me up.” During this explosion his wife’s temperhad been rising, and his remarks relative to apple sauce clapped the climax. When he had finished, she bawled out, “ Look a-here, John Thompson, don’t yer call my apple-sass old. I made it this mornin’ an’ I do all I ken for yer, an’ slave all day, but one might as well throw pearls to the hogs, you ungrateful, cantankerous old humbug.” “ Now’ see here, Matildy Jane,” he yelled, “ don’t you make no comparison about hogs when I’m around or I’ll know the reason why, d’ye hear ? An’ I won’t eat none _of your tarnation ole apple-sass, nor anything else |yer ?cook, ef yer try to poison a feller with his vittcls, and—”

What was coming next remains undiscovered, for just at that point his wife arose in her wrath, and fell upon his neck (not kissed ;him) {seized him by the hair, and annointed him severally with apple-sass, bean soup, and tomato catsup, until in feeble accent he cried for quarter. After Mrs Thompson had recovered her breath, she said, “Yes, yer may well holler ‘stop,’you toothless old idiot. I’ve half a mind to stuff the rest of the sass down yer throat, an’ see if it will learn yer not to quarrel with wholesome victuals.” And the cause of all this disturbance was, that Mrs Thompson, owing to her defective eyesight and her catarrah, had put about two ounces of cayenne pepper in the apple sauce, mistaking it for cinnamon. For about a week after that eventful night Thompson crept round with a subdued air, and has only just recovered his usual elasticity of spirits. Now that house is noted for the domestic quiet that reigns therein, and for the absence of apple sauce.