The Russellville Democrat., 1885-06-18
Mr. and mrs. spoopsndyke in TroubIe.


 "Mydear, z whimpcred Mir. Spoopcn- dyke, hobbling inc his wife's room and throwing himsef into achair with ades- olate expression of despair on his visagc, < My dear, there is something the matter with my foot, and can't make out what the trouble is.
 May be is's stone bruise, suggest ed Mrs. Spookendyke.
 That's all you know about it, Y grunted MT. Spoopendyke, who was not to be put cT with so small disaster as stone brtsise. ssI tell you that have got some trouble with my foot that threatens my life, and you stand around there like a cork in bottle and talk about it as if l hadn't got one leg in my colin as far as my hip
 s.Are you sure it isn't cornP' haz- ardcd Mrs Spoopendyke, timidly. Sometimes corn hurts worse than anything else; but never heard of peo- pie dying of them.''
 "No, 1t isn't cornr' howlcd Mir Spoopendyke, nursing his foot and glar- ing at his wife with a mingled expres- sion of rage and pain. When did you ever hear of corn that reached from the heel to the kneep Which of your friends ever had corn that hurt clear to the ear?" and Mir. Spoopendyke touched his foot carefully to the floor and eyed his wife narrowly to see if she noticed the expression of agony on ais face
 If it acts that way it must be a bun ionr' exclaimed Mrs. Spoopendyke, tri- umphantly. ..All you have got to do is to take your boot of and put your slip pers on.'
 That's it,n yelled Mir. Spoopen- dyke, hauling of his boot and firing 1t across the room. When man IS dy- ing of inilammatory 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 q bunion Show me the bun ionln he continued. sticking his leg ou! straight and pointing his finger at the offending foot. ..Takc this digit in your lily white hand and place it ten derly on the dod-g -gasted bunion before I die and forget what killed me! Pick it out of the surrounding anatomy" he yelled, wriggling his foot and bouncing up and down in his chair in delirium of rage ''Pluck the bunion from it's mountain fastness on the hoof of Spoopendyke and hold it up to the gaze of the same.
 s.Does it hurt P'' commenced Mrs, Spoopendyke, soothngly.
 Hurt roared Mr. Spoopendykc. springing from his chair and dancing around the room like flea "Of course it don't. It 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 q stock of bunions for our health and recreation! Hurtr' he shrieked, breaking out in a new spot. Hurt It feels like band of music That's what it is, bunionl It took you to hit it. When get time to fix you up with full beard and a bottle of whisky I'm going to start dSpensary with yon. If you'd only improve your mind until you reached the standard of intelligence of mod ern donkey you'd only need a stolen corpse and bad smell to be first class medical college.' y
 '.Say, dear,' observed Mrs. Spoop endyke. who had been exploring care fully her husband boot, say dear. think l have found out what the trouble is. It isn't bunion, after all. Here's peg sticking out here about a quarter of an inch. If you have that taken out I don't believe you will suffer any more "
 Mr. Spoopendyke jammed his hat oyer his eyes, showed his feet into his slippers, grabbed the obnoxious boot and started for the door with w.ther- ing look at his wife as he went out.
 "I don't care.n murmured Mrs Spoopendyke, as the front door slammed vlndictively; II don't care. If he has it out he has to admit that l was right, and if he doesn t it will hurt him Il ht dies don't know which will be the worst for him, but he will have to do one or the other. .'-B Brooklyn Eagle.