They Don't Know It

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · May 28, 1885

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 11, No. 21.

They Don't Know It.

He is a genial and cultured gentleman. There is not a sunnier face in the village, and I have never seen him ruffled in temper. One of New England's best colleges graduated him. Since his graduation, he has been engaged in a business that has kept him familiar with current literature and with questions of public interest.

At the railway station he has often passed me, and I noticed that he always carried his lighted cigar in his left hand, and as much out of view as conveniently he could, as, going to the smoking-car, he made his way through the throng on the narrow platform. I judge that his cigars are of the very best, for, in passing, the fragrance was very pleasant. I hold common strong tobacco in great abomination, but many persons, who, like myself, never use tobacco, have no dislike for the choicest kinds when burned in the open air.

One day I met my friend at the station without a cigar. I have no recollection of doing so before. We entered the car together, and I gladly made a place for him by my side. We talked of current events, and of matters personal to himself, but I am glad he did not know how offensive was the smell of old tobacco in his clothing and in his breath. I believe that I can successfully disguise the disgust I feel at such annoyances. Had he suspected the aversion I felt, he would have been troubled. He has the instincts of a gentleman. He knows that no man has a right to be, in such ways, an offense. I have reason to think that a great many persons who smoke choice brands of tobacco, and who are honestly told by ladies that the fragrance is agreeable to them, fail to know that old tobacco smoke is everywhere and always a nuisance.

A young gentleman made, not long ago, a business call on me in the evening. We concluded the matter in hand in a very few minutes, and he went away. The housekeeper came in soon afterward, and instantly threw open the windows to rid the house of the odor of old tobacco smoke. Would the young man have felt proud of having made such a purification necessary? He, probably, has never surmised that his presence in the drawing-room is offensive.

I had business at the money-order office. I waited my turn in line. There were some ladies waiting with the rest. The man in front of me continued smoking. A lady was before him. I ventured, at length, to suggest, in as mild a way as I could, that it was hard that ladies must be exposed to tobacco fumes or abandon the money-order office. His answer came, "This is a free country." As I made some additional remark, he courteously (?) replied that "if I did not like tobacco smoke I might stick my head the other way." Of course this character was of the coarser sort, but I fear there is something in the habit of tobacco-using that makes men forgetful of others and selfish in practice.—Nelson, in Congregationalist.