Barbour County index. [volume] (Medicine Lodge, Kan.) 1880-current, 1883-12-21
Mr.. and Mrs. spoopendyke in Trouble.

"My DEAR" whimpered Mr. Spoopen-
dyke, hobbling into his wife's room and
throwing himself into chair with a des-
olate expression of despair on his visage.
MY dear. there is something the matter
with my foot, and can't make out what
the trouble is"
"May be it's stone bruise," suggest
ed Mrs. Spookendyke.
THAT'S all you know about it"
grunted MIR. Spoopendyke. who was not
to be put off with so small disaster as
n stone bruise. 81 tell YOU that | have
got some trouble with nv foot that
threatens my life, and you stand
around there like cork in bottle
and talk about it as if / hadn't got one
leg in my coffin as far as my hip"
''Are you sure it isn't corn?" haz-
arded Mrs. Spoopendyke, timidly.
Sometimes corn hurts worse than
anything else; but never heard of peo-
pie dying of them"
"No, it isn't cornr' howled Mr..
Spoopendyke, nursing his foot and glar-
ing at his wife with mingled express
sion of rage and pain. when did YOU
ever hear of a corn that reached from
the heel to the knee? Which of your
friends ever had corn that hurt clear
TO the ear?'' and Mr.. Spoopendyke
touched his foot carefully to the floor
and eyed his wife narrowly TO see if
she noticed the expression of agony on
his face.
eff it acts that way it must be bun
ion!" exclaimed Mrs. Spoopendyke, tri-
lmphantly. "All you have got to do is
20 take your boot off and put your slip
pers on"
That's it." yelled Mr. Spoopen-
1yke, hauling off his boot and firing it
across the room. "When n man is dy-
ng of inHammatory rheumatism. it's a
bunion! You've got it! A pain that
starts in the toe, runs to the back of the
neck and ties in hard knot over the
spine, is bunioni Show me the bun
ion!'' he continued, sticking his leg out
straight and pointing his finger at the
offending foot. Take this digit in
your lily white hand and place it ten
1erly on the dod-gasted bunion before
die and forget what killed me! Pick
il out of the surrounding anatomy" he
yelled, wriggling his foot and bouncing
up and down in his chair in Il delrium
If rage. "Pluck the bunion from its
mountain fastness on the hoof of
Spoopendyke and hold it up to the
gaze of the same.
"Does it hurt-P'' commenced Mrs.
SpoOpendyke. soothingly.
Hurt" roared Mr. Spoopendyke.
springing from his chair and dancing
around the room like n flea. "'Of
course it don't. Ii tickles. Hurt It's
picnic. Say, my DEAR" and his
voice was low and tender. "Say, my
dear. instead of going into the country
next summer we'll lay in n stock of
bunions for our health and recreation!
durtr he shrieked, breaking out in a
new SPOT. Hurt! 1t feels like band
If music! That's what it is, bunion!
Il took you to hi; it. When l get time
TO fix you up with full beard and
bottle of whisky I'm going to start a
hispensary with you. If you'd only
improve your mind until you reached
the standard of intelligence of mod
ern donkey you'd only need n stolen
corpse and a bad smell to be a first
class medical college"
Say, dear" observed Mrs. Spoop-
sndyke, who had been exploring care
lully her husbands boot, SAY dear. l
.hink / have found out what the trouble
is. 1t isn't bunion, after all Here's
lpeg sticking out here about a quarter
IF an inch. II you have that taken out
[ don't believe you will suffer any
more"
Mr.. Spoopendyke jammed his hat
over his eyes, showed his feet into his
slippers. grabbed the obnoxious boot
and started for the door with wither-
ing look at his wife as he went out.
Il don't care murmured Mrs.
Spoopendyke, rs the front door slammed
vindictiv"ly; Il don't care. If he has
IL out he has to admit that | was right,
and if he doesn't it will hurt him t II he
dies. don't know which will be the
worst for him, but he will have to do
one or the other. y BrO0kiyR EGgle.