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19 THE CHAMPION SNORER
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From the “Burlington Hawkeye”
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The CHAMPION SNORER, by an anonymous writer, taken from the Burlington Hawkeye .
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It was the Cedar Rapids sleeper. Outside, it was as dark as the inside of an ink-bottle. In the sleeping car people slept. Or tried it.
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Some of them slept like Christian men and women, peacefully, sweetly, and quietly.
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Others slept like demons, malignantly, hideously, fiendishly, as though it was their mission to keep everybody else awake.
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Of these the man in lower number three was the worst.
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We never heard anything snore like him. It was the most systematic snoring that was ever done, even on one of these tournaments of snoring, a sleeping car. He didn’t begin as soon as the lamps were turned down and everybody was in bed. O, no! There was more cold-blooded diabolism in his system than that. He waited until everybody had had a taste of sleep, just to see how nice and pleasant it was; and then he broke in on their slumbers like a winged, breathing demon, and they never knew what peace was again that night.
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He started out with a terrific
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“Gu-r-r-rt!”
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that opened every eye in the car. We all hoped it was an accident, however; and, trusting that he wouldn’t do it again, we all forgave him. Then he blasted our hopes and curdled the sweet serenity of our forgiveness by a long-drawn
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“Gw-a-h-h-hah!”
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that sounded too much like business to be accidental. Then every head in that sleepless sleeper was held off the pillow for a minute, waiting in breathless suspense to hear the worst; and the sleeper in “lower three” went on in long-drawn, regular cadences that indicated good staying qualities,
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“Gwa-a-a-h! Gwa-a-a-h! Gahwayway! Gahway-wah! Gahwa-a-ah!”
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Evidently it was going to last all night; and the weary heads dropped back on the sleepless pillows, and the swearing began. It mumbled along in low, muttering tones, like the distant echoes of a profane thunderstorm. Pretty soon “lower three” gave us a little variation. He shot off a spiteful
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“Gwook!”
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which sounded as though his nose had got mad at him and was going to strike. Then there was a pause, and we began to hope he had either awakened from sleep or strangled to death, —nobody cared very particularly which. But he disappointed everybody with a guttural
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“Gurroch!”
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Then he paused again for breath; and when he had accumulated enough for his purpose he resumed business with a stentorious
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“Kowpff!”
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that nearly shot the roof off the car. Then he went on playing such fantastic tricks with his nose, and breathing things that would make the immortal gods weep, if they did but hear him. It seemed an utter, preposterous impossibility that any human being could make the monstrous, hideous noises with its breathing machine that the fellow in “lower three” was making with his. He then ran through all the ranges of the nasal gamut; he went up and down a very chromatic scale of snores; he ran through intricate and fearful variations until it seemed that his nose must be out of joint in a thousand places. All the night and all the day through he told his story:
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“Gawoh! gurrah! gu-r-r-! Kowpff! Gawaw-wah! gawah-hah! gwock! gwart! gwah-h-h-h woof!”
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Just as the other passengers had consulted together how they might slay him, morning dawned, and “lower number three” awoke. Everybody watched the curtain to see what manner of man it was that made the sleeping car a pandemonium. Presently the toilet was completed, the curtains parted, and “lower number three” stood revealed. Great Heavens!
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It was a fair young girl, with golden hair, and timid, pleading eyes, like a hunted fawn.
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Notes
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