The Unaecustomed Quid.

Te Aroha News, Volume I, Issue 32, 12 January 1884, Page 6

The Unaccustomed Quid.

Some time ago the f'New.York Ledger" published the statement that a man in New Hampshire, who had been,, unable to ypeak for five years, Went to' sleep one flight f with a, quid of tojbacco in his mouth, ajm afyjoke the next morning with his voice perfeptly strong, and smooth, andateacty. " '•'" - : Old Mr Jarvis, who lives' inPond,-s|a|eet, is sorely afflicted , with an impediment in his speech, and often says he would' give a hundred dollars if he could only t-t-t-taw^aAv* talk f-f-f-fast enough t-t-ip t-fr-tell' a ; gug-gug-gug-grocer what he <iwa-'w-w-wi wa-'w-w-wa < t»ts üb-bub-bub-before he 'gug-gug-get&'it measured out. He takes" the "Ledger/ and had taken it for twenty years, 1 arid he firmly believed everything he ever read in it — Sylvanus Cobbs stories, Mr Beecher's sermons, Mr Parton's "Lives of' Eminent Americans," the answers to correspondents, &c. Mr Jarvis had taken all' in and believed every word. He thought that probably this quid-of- tobacco treatment might help his voice a little, and he resolvdd to give it a good trial anyhow. The first trouble was that he did not chew, and MrB Jarvis would never allow a bit oi tobacco about the house! But he begged' a big " chaw " of Navy, and when he went to bed he tucked it snugly away in his cheek, and prepared to sleep in hope. He had his misgivings, and they grew in number as the quid began to assist itself and be sociable, and to assimilate itself with its surroundings. Mrs Jarvis asked him if he had fastened the front gate. " Urn," said Mr Jarvia, meaning that he had. "And are you sure you locked the front door," queried his restless spouse. "Urn," replied Mr Jarvis, meaning that he had not, for he was by this time in no condition to open his mouth. "Hey?" she replied. " Urn," persisted Mr Jarvis. "What?" she demanded. 4 * Ura-ra-ra," protested Mr J arvis, "Well," said she, "you can't make me believe you are that near asleep this soon." "Umm-m," said Mr Jarvis, meaning that he would get up and bounce her out of the front door if she didn't hold her clack. "It's under the bed," she screamed. ' { There's a burglar under the bed ! Oh help] ! Fire ! Police ! John Jarvis ! ! !" and she smote Mr Jarvis a furious pelt in the stomach to waken him up. It was a terrific thump, and its first effect was to knock all the atmosphere out of Mr Jarvis's lungs so far that he could only recover his breath by a violent gasp, which first carried the quia of tobacco and all the nicotine preparation that it had been steadily distilling down his throat, and was immediately succeeded by a tremendous cough as he struggled to rise up in bed, which shot the quid squarely into the eye of the shrieking Mrs Jarvis. " Murder! murder!" she screamed, "I'm stabbed ! I'm stabbed !" and John Jarvis choked, and coughed, and spit, and coughed, and choked, and clutched Mrs Jarvis by the throat, and tried to choke off the noise, but he grew so "ill" that he couldn't hold his grip, and Mrs Jarvis, the moment her throat was released from his trembling pressure, rose from the half-strangled gurgles to the sublimity of doubled-edged screams, and made Rome howl with melody. And the neighbours broke into the house and found a bed-room that looked and smelled like a jury-room or a street car, with the sickest man they ever saw lying with his head over the side of the bed groaning at the rate of a mile a minute, and the worst frightened woman since the flood sitting up beside him, screaming faster than he groaned. And that is the way Mr Jarvis came to stop his "Ledger," and denounces it as the most infamous, mendacious pestilent sheet that ever disgraced American journalism.