Little Tommie’s First Smoke.I’ve been sick.Mamma said ’mokin’ was a nasty, dirty, disgraceful habit, and bad for the window curtains.Papa said it wasn’t. He said all wise men ’moked, and that it was good for rheumatism, and that he didn’t care for the window curtains, not a—that thing what busts and drowns people; I forgot its name. And he said women didn’t know much anyway, and that they couldn’t reason like men.So next day papa wasn’t nice a bit—that day I frew over the accawarium, and papa ’panked me—and I felt as if I had the rheumatism ever’ time I went to sit down, and so I just got papa’s pipe and loaded it and ’moked it, to cure rheumatism where papa ’panked me.And they put mustard plaster on my tummick till they most burned a hole in it, I guess.I fink they fought I was going to die.I fought so too.Mamma said I was goin’ to be a little cherub, but I fought I was goin’ to be awful sick. Nurse said I was goin’ to be a cherub, too—then she went to put a nuzzar mustard plaster on. I didn’t want her to, and she called me somefing else. I guess that was ’cause I frew the mustard plaster in her face.I don’t want to be a cherub anyway; I’d rather be little Tommie for a while yet.But I wont ’moke any more.I guess mamma was right. Maybe I’m sumfin’ like a window curtain. ’Mokin’ isn’t good for me.
I’ve been sick.
Mamma said ’mokin’ was a nasty, dirty, disgraceful habit, and bad for the window curtains.
Papa said it wasn’t. He said all wise men ’moked, and that it was good for rheumatism, and that he didn’t care for the window curtains, not a—that thing what busts and drowns people; I forgot its name. And he said women didn’t know much anyway, and that they couldn’t reason like men.
So next day papa wasn’t nice a bit—that day I frew over the accawarium, and papa ’panked me—and I felt as if I had the rheumatism ever’ time I went to sit down, and so I just got papa’s pipe and loaded it and ’moked it, to cure rheumatism where papa ’panked me.
And they put mustard plaster on my tummick till they most burned a hole in it, I guess.
I fink they fought I was going to die.
I fought so too.
Mamma said I was goin’ to be a little cherub, but I fought I was goin’ to be awful sick. Nurse said I was goin’ to be a cherub, too—then she went to put a nuzzar mustard plaster on. I didn’t want her to, and she called me somefing else. I guess that was ’cause I frew the mustard plaster in her face.
I don’t want to be a cherub anyway; I’d rather be little Tommie for a while yet.
But I wont ’moke any more.
I guess mamma was right. Maybe I’m sumfin’ like a window curtain. ’Mokin’ isn’t good for me.