Rensselaer Union, Volume 7, Number 34, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 13 May 1875 — How Mr. Coffin Spelled It. [ARTICLE]

How Mr. Coffin Spelled It.

The other evening old Mr. and Mrs. Coflin, who live on Brush street, sat in their cosy back parlor, he reading his paper and she knitting, and the family cat stretched out under the stove and sighed and felt sorry for cats not so well fixed. It was a happy, contented household, and there was love in his heart as Mr. Coffin put down his newspaper and remarked: “ I see that the whole country is becoming excited about spelling-schools.” “ Well, it’sgood to know how .to spell,” replied the wife. “I didn't have the chance somegirls had, but I pride myself that I can spell almost any word that comes along.”-. s ——— “I’ll see about that,” be laughed; “come, now, spell ‘buggy.”” “Humph! that’s nothing—b-u-g-g-y, buggy,” she replied. “Missed tire first time —ha! ha!” he roared, slapping his leg. “Not much—that was right.” “It was, eh? Well,Tdlike to see anybody get two g’s in buggy, I would.” “ But it is spelled with two g’s, and any schoolboy will tell you so,” she persisted. “ Well, I know a blamed sight better than that!” he exclaimed, striking the table his fist. “ I don’t • care what you know!” she squeaked.-. “J know that there are two g’s in ‘buggy!’” “ Do you mean to tell me that I’ve forgotten how to spell?” he asked. “ It looks that way.” “It does, eh ? Well, I want you and all ypur relations to understand that I' know more about spelling than the whole caboodle of you strung on a wire!” “And I want you to understand, Jonathan Coffin, that you are an ignorant old blockhead when you don’t put two g’s in the word buggy—yes, you are!” “ Don’t talk that way to me!” he warned. “ And don’t shake your fist at me!”she replied. “Who’s a-shaking his fist?” “ You were!” “ That’s a lie—an infernal lie!” “ Don’t call.me a liar, you old bazaar! I’ve put up with your meanness for forty years past, but don’t call me a liar, and don’t lay a hand on me!” “D® you want a divorce?” he shouted, springing up; “.you can go now, this minute!” “ Don’t spit in my face—don’t you dare do it or I’ll make a dead man of you!” she warned. “ I haven’t spit in your freckled old visage yet, but I may if you provoke me farther!” “ Who’s got a freckled face, you old turkey-buzzard?” That was a little too much. He made *a motion as if he would strike, and she seized him by the necktie. Then he reached out and grabbed her right ear and tried to lift her off her feet, but she twisted up on the necktie until his tongue ran out. of me, you old fiend!” she screamed. “Git down on yer knees and..beg my pardon, you old wiki-cat!” he replied. They surged and swayed and struggled and the peaceful cat was struck by the overturning table and had her back broken, while the clock fell down and the pictures danced around. The woman finally shut her husband’s supply of air off and flopped him, and as she bumped his head up and down on the floor and scattered his gray hairs she shouted: “ You want to get up another spellingschool with me, don’t you?” He was seen limping around the yard yesterday, a stocking pinned around' his throat, and .she had court-piaster on her nose and one finger tied up. He wore the look of a martyr, while she had the bearing of a victor, and from this time out “buggy” will be spelled with two g’s in that nouse.— JDetroit Free Press.