Rensselaer Republican, Volume 16, Number 40, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 12 June 1884 — Dictating a Letter. [ARTICLE]

Dictating a Letter.

“Noyr, my dear,” said Mr. Spoopendyke, when his wisp had propped him np in bed and stuffed some extra pil- • lowsunder his shoulders; “now, my dear, | take younpen and ink qnd I, will dictate a letter to Specklewottle. If you will | play amanuensis I don’t see why I can’t be sick just as welt as not.” Mrs. Spoopendyke puttered around and Arranged her writing materials. “Shall I write on a eg,rd with gilt edge, or shall I take note paper?” she asked. “You’d better use paper,” replied Mr. Spoopendyke, severely. “When I want to convey my ideas on a shingle I’ll carve ’em in with a knife. Now get ready, for I’m going to start, and don’t you interrupt me dr you will put me out.” “All ready, dear,” murmured Mrs. Spoopendyke, dipping her pen into the ink and contemplating her husband anxiottsly; -— lll “Mr. Peter B. Specklewottle,” commenced Mr. Spoopendyke. “Is his middle name ‘B?’ ’’ asked Mrs. Spoopendyke, resting her elbow on the table, her head on her hand, and testing her pen on her blotter. “I don’t think I like his name anyway. Peter isn’t nice.” “If any other name occurs to you put it in,” observed Mr. Spoopendyke, with a growl. “You don’t need to have a man’s right name in a letter. Put it J anything and hurry up, will you? Go- , ing to keep me in suspense all day about who thisTetter is going to?” Mrs. Spoopendyke plungefl into her : work and wrote hurriedly for a momentT “Now I’ve got him in, dear.” “Got who in? Anybody I know? Am I dictating a private letter to a stranger ? Got some particular friend you want this note to go to unbeknown to me? Who’s in there ? I’m going to know who’s at the top, before I put my name at t ho bottom '’ “Why, Mr. Specklewottle, of course,” said she, looking at him with wide-open eyes. “That’s what you said. Now go on with the rest.” “Have you got the date and ‘dear sir’ in, too?” asked Mr. Spoopendyke, peevishly, for he was trying to think how he should start his letter. “No, dear; you didn’t say anything about those,” replied his wife. “You only said the name, but I’ll put the others in.” “Will, will ye?” croaked Mr. Spoopendyke. “Sticking on a great deal of credit to yourself for your kindness to the sick ain’t ye? Willing to yield your own preferences in favor of your sufferring husband! Well you can’t fool me that much. Don’t put ’em in, hear me ?” “But I’ve got ’em in,” pleaded Mrs. Spoopendyke. “Then strike ’em out!” roared her husband. “S’pose I’m going to let you put those things in and let you throw ’ein up in my face from the moment I get well till the day I die ? Scratch ’em out, I tell you. I don’t propose to have my life made miserable by reminders of your kindness when I was fishing around in the grave with one leg! Now what have you got?” “Peter B. Specklewottle,” said Mrs. Spoopendyke, mentally satisfied there could be no mistake in that. “Anything to show whether he’s a man or a woman?” demanded Mr. Spoopendyke. “Any ‘Mrs.’ or ‘Esq.’ hanging to it anywhere ?” “Certainly,” replied Mrs. Spoopendyke. “It says ‘Mr. Peter B. Specklewottle.’ That’s the way you told me to write it, didn’t you? Now go on with the letter.” “Then put: ‘I am dying, and wish you ’ ” “Great gracious!” ejaculated Mrs. Spoopendyke, dropping her pen. “You are not dying, dear; you don’t want the man to think that!” “Why not?” squealed Ml. Spoopendyke. “S’j ate a man is going fourteen blocks out of his way to get tho mail for a man who only has a cold in his head ? You put in that I’m dying or I’ll drop over into that corner and write the whole letter with one application of the inkstand.” “Go on, dear,” cooed Mrs. Spoopendyke. “I’ve got it so; only he may think it strange that a dying man should write to him.” “Then say, ‘I want yon to get my mail from the office, and tell them I will be over in a day or two.’ Got that?” “Yes,” giggled Mrs. Spoopendyke. “Anything else?” “What are you laughing at?” howled Mr. Spoopenkyke, on whom the incongruities of his letter had begun to dawn. “What have you got that measly mouth of yours stretched out like a dodgasted graveyard for? Think I’m dictating a comic almanac? Got a notion that this letter is some kind of a rebus? Well, it ain’t and it ain’t a minstrel entertainment with a funny man at each end! What’re you laughing at? Anybody in thisjeountry know.’’ “I wasn’t laughing, dear,” murmured Mrs. Spoopendyke, with a marvelously straight faee. “I was only sympathizing with you.” “Was, eh?” grunted Mr. Spoopendyke. “Well, when it takes the form of a visage like you screwed up a minute ago, I want to be hung instead of sympathized with. Another time you open your mouth like that I’m going to put seats in and start a church.” And cogitating on this vast improvement in his wife’s anatomy, Mr. Spoopendyke, forgetting all about his letter, rolled over and went to sleep.—Brooklyn Eagle. The relations of woman are undoubtedly broadening when many are devoting themselves with energy to the higher education and professional tracing. Jt is well that this is so, for there are Women who have no “call” to marry, and are happier alone. Easily troubled people are sometimes Duplexed at t is stite of things, and wonder what will be done for wives and mothers in the future; but there is really no occasion for a arm. The old ideal of the ha pv home and purely womanly duties will always lead all ot' er*’, until the very nature of woman has changed.— New York Port. “Hope springs eternal in the Irumani breast,” but it never realizes mu h on the investment unle s a fellow gate square down to business and earns what he works for.