The Mustard Plaster Misadventure

Mr. and Mrs. Whiffle were on their way to the Hot Springs, where he intended to get relief from his rheumatism in the baths. At a way station a drunken traveling man boarded the train and was put to bed in the berth next to Mr. and Mrs. W. by the porter. Shortly after Mr. W. woke up with a dreadful stitch in his side. Like a good dutiful wife, Mrs. W. arose and went to the lavatory to make a strong, extra strong mustard plaster with which to relieve the pain of her liege lord. On her return she pulled the wrong curtain aside and placed the plaster upon the stomach of the senseless, drunken drummer. Then she went to the lavatory, washed her hands and returned to her berth, getting into the right section and finding Mr. W. asleep. Finally a loud groan was heard, then these words, 'Oh, my stomach, my s-t-o-m-a-c-h, oh-h-h!' This was followed by 'I'll never touch another drop as long as I live. Oh, it's burning a hole in me, oh-h-h!' By this time heads were peeping out from behind curtains and the porter was on his way to the traveling man’s berth. Of a sudden out came the bed clothes from the T. M.’s berth, and a cry of 'Oh, my, there is my stomach! I’m dead!' The exclamation was topped off by the mustard plaster being thrown out on the aisle of the car. The porter then grabbed the drummer and shook him until awake. During the first stages of sensibility he muttered: 'Oh, my stomach is gone, gone!'