MYSTERY OF THE GOB.

Horowhenua Chronicle, 17 August 1925, Page 2

MYSTERY OF THE GOB.

CHEWING GUM IN THE LAND OF KAURI GUM. (Palmerston Times). The piessmaii was nonplussed. The American sailors had arrived in Palmerston North, and although he had given them a close scrutiny, the scribe could see no reason vyhatever Why they should be called “gobs.” As such were they known, but nobody seemed to know why, and so it was with grim determination that the reporter had set out that morning to discover what “gobs” meant. Quickly were the new arrivals borne away by motor vehicles, and the non-plussed one wended his way in the direction of the Showgrounds to look for clues. “Gobs.” It sounded vulgar, sploshy, mysterious. But this thing must be tracked down relentlessly. By twelve o’clock the sailor boys had returned, and began to prepare for lunch. A band of Maoris lined up and went through the fearsome haka to the accompaniment of weird cries. The sailors looked on with awe and then applauded vigorously as the frenzied gyrations crescendoed to a mighty climax, guessing that it was not too dusty. The reporter stood by and pondered upon the meaning of “gob.” "Whal, friend, will you have a real American cigarette?” The reporter came to himself with a start and turned to find himself with a white-capped, l?aggy-trous*red companion who was extending an inviting packet of the fragrant weed. “Ah, yes. Thanks—thanks awfully.” The reporter wreathed himself in smoke and wondered what “gob” meant. And then he realised that here,, right by his side, was the opportunity. He approached it gently. “How did you like the haka, sailor?” he asked, “Waal,” said the other reflectively, “I’ll tell the world that if I’d come on* that little hallabaloo suddenly on my own I’d have run.” The reporter wondered if the sailors were called gobs because they were/ amateur Nurmis. He couldn’t see the connection, however, except that they were fleet men. “What’s a gob, anyway?” he asked suddenly. “Watsagobanyway?” the other stared, and then retorted with a proud air, “Ommeru, Timmeroo, Wymuckeround.” ■, “Eh?” “Well, if you think you can swing American Indian on me, I can do just as well with Meeowree." “But, really, what is a gob?” The sailor’s genial “expression changed: “Are you calling me that?” he asked truculently. “You • are called such, I believe. But why?” “Look here, if you call me that again I will be sure coihpelledmuch as I dislike being an offensive guest in this little burg—to smack vou in the gob.” Gobi G-o-bl The reporter dropped his real American cigarette in his elation. “Gob” meant mouth—-jaw-eating arrangement. He had triumphed. The mystery of the gob was a mystery no longer. An American sailor was called a gob because gob meant mouth. But why? In ills enthusiasm the reporter had forgotten to ask why, and the sailor had passed on, like a ship in the night. His roomy breeches flapped round the corner out of sight. . And so, after all, the reason why a gob is called a gob must remain a mystery. Possibly it is because an American gob is such a noticeable and active feature through the re putedly national practice of chewing gum. , •