A Slight Indisposition.

Thames Star, Volume XXIII, Issue 7084, 16 January 1892, Page 1

A Slight Indisposition.

•That's better,' groaned Mr Spoopendyke, as his wife arranged the cool pillows under his head ; • now I can die looking out upon the trees and the sky ;' and Mr Spoopendyke assumed a resigned expression of visage, and gazed out of the comer of one eye upon a bare alianthus tree and half a dozen telegraph wires. * Oh! you won't die,' said Mrs Spoopendyke, cheerfully. ' You're only a little sick, and you'll get over it.' ' That's all you know about it," snarled Mr Spoopendyke. 'I'm down sick, I tell ye, and I don't want any fooling about it.* 'Well, well, 1 cooed Mrs Spoopendyke, 'don't excite yourself. Keep quiet and you'll get well.' 4 Much you'd care,' muttered Mr Spoopendyke, turning on his side and resting his cheek on his hand, an attitude generally assumed by martyred spirits on the approach of dissolution. . ■ ' Will you take your drops again, dear?, asked Mrs Spoopendyke. ' It's time for them.' ' No, I won't. They're nasty. I haven't had anything bat drops for a week. From the way you administer drops one would think you were the trap-door of a hanging machine. Gimme some figs.' * But there ain't any figs, dear. I'll go and get you some,' said Mrs Sp >opendyke. 1 That's it,' growled her husband. 'You only want an excuse to leave me to die alone. Why haven't ye got some figs ? You might know I'd want figs. Got any citron V. . * No, I haven't any citron, but I won't be more than a minute away, and I'll get you any fruit you want.' *Oh 1 yes. You'd get it, I've no doubt. What you want is a rail fence around you and a gate off the hinges to be>h orchard. Fetch me some strawberries.' 4 Why, strawberries are out of season. ■ There ain't any in the market now. 1 -' I supposed you'd say that,' moaned Mr Spoopendyke. ' You've always got some excuse. If I should die you'd have an apology ready. Gimme something to take j this taste out of my mouth.' 'What would you like, dear?' asked Mrs Sp jopendyke. ' So' h 1 gimme soap, if ye can't think of ar'/thingelse,' demanded Mr Spoopendyl''.-. ' Mebbe you ain't got any soap. A/ least you wouldn't have if I wanted it. Cot any cherries?' 'No. They are out of season, too. There are conic grapes in the closet.* 'Don't want any grapes. 'If 1 can't have what I want. I don't want it. Wher's those drops ? Why don't you give me my medicine ? Going to let me die for want of a little attention ? Want the life insurance, don't ye ? Going to give me those drops before the next election'?' . Mrs Spoopendyke ladled out The dose, half of which went down Mr Spoopenr dyke's gullet and half over the front of hi 9 night ahiri ' ■: V That's it,' he howled. 'Spill 'em. They're for external application. Put 'em anywhere. Pour 'em up the chimney,' and Mr Spoopendyke fired the spoon across the room. 'Have a piece of orange to take the taste away ?'• aaked Mrs Spoopendyke, jfcleasantly. . ; 'No, I won't,' objected her spouse. • Gimme a piece of muskmelon.' * I don't believp they have muskraelons in KdYember,' sighed Mrs Spoopendyke. vOf-'course they don't,' reasoned Mr Spoopendyke. • They don't have anything when I'm sick. It's a wonder they have houses. It's a miracle that they have beds I'm«astounded to think they have doctors apd drug stores. I've got to, hurry up and die, or they won't have any undertakers, or coffins, or graves. Gimme a piece of orange, will ye ? S'pose I'm going to lie here and chew on the taste of those drops for a month.' 'You'd like these grapes,' suggested his wife. 4 No, I wouldn't either. What do you want me to eat 'em for ? Got any interest in the grape trade ? Gob any commission oh those grapes ? Anybody pay ye to make me eat 'em ?, One would think you only wanted an iron arbor and four small boys clitabiug over you to be * grape-vine Where's,iny pill?' \ You took your pill, dear,' replied hia patient wife. ' Oh, oi course I A pill is but of season now. Can't even have a pill when I feel like it,;' aud Mi- Spoopendyke groaned in.

spirit and looked dismal. ' Now sit down and don't move. I want to sleep. Don't you make a bit of noise if you want me to live.'

And Mrs Spoopendyke held her "breath and never rustled a feather while her husband lay and glared out of the window for an hour and a half.