The Wrong Word
A young Methodist missionary who had been stationed in Brazil long enough to acquire familiarity with Brazilian Spanish, after a brief absence in the United States, returned with his bride. She, anticipating the need of learning the Spanish language, studied diligently, and, for a time, there was some hesitation and embarrassment, but no trouble. Thinking she was getting along famously, she soon gained more confidence.
So all went well till the young couple set up an establishment and secured a man-servant with the fine manners of a Spanish grandee. The reverend gentleman’s wife stood in awe of him from the start. And her greatest trial was when her husband would be detained from home during the dinner hour, when she had to dine alone, except for that grand man-servant. One day that functionary was standing elegant and impressive, when she had occasion to ask him to hand her the cheese. The man stood immovable like a lay figure in a clothing-house. She felt sure that he had heard her, and she became angry when he made no move to do her bidding.
She repeated her command, as she thought, “Give me the cheese,” This time the grandee of a man-servant perceptibly laughed, but was immovable. In indignation, supposing him to be impertinent, or worse still, crazy, she rushed to the front door to call assistance, when she met the belated missionary, her husband, and promptly explained the situation.
“What did you say, my dear,” was his smiling query.
“‘Give me the cheese,’ was what I said.”
“Yes, but the word,” he insisted. ·
“I said beso,” replied the wife, still puzzled.
Then the unfeeling missionary fairly roared with laughter. His wife had begun to think that he, too, had gone mad, when he managed to keep calm long enough to explain. It was only a mistake in the sound of one letter that she had made, but it was a funnily fatal one that time. She should have said “queso” instead of “beso.” And instead of asking the man-servant for the “cheese” she had asked him without any qualification for a “kiss.”