... Sheriff Cleary stuffs a clump of the shredded tobacco into his mouth. The chaw bulges one cheek to deformity, as if a goose egg fills his jaw. He begins chewing the wad while talking.
“Did your brother have a stop along the way?”
The clarity of his speech is amazing, considering how much foreign matter fills his mouth.
“I am aware of no stops other than Charleston. He was to meet with the King Street export merchants. I canvassed many yesterday with no results.”
The sheriff turns his head sideways, and takes aim at a spittoon positioned on the floor near the desk. His nostrils exert a quick inhale, and his lips pucker. With a sharp exhale he delivers a forceful spitball. The brown stained saliva sails through the air and lands accurately within the wide copper reservoir. A slight echo reverberates from the hollow core, alerting us to a successful hit. He cracks a prideful smile that he has shot on target. Of course, the splattered surface of the spittoon and surrounding floor mark many
