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Show SPOOPENDYKE'S SUSPENDERS. "Now, my dear," said Mr. Spoopendyke, as he stretched himself and drew on his pantaloons, "you've cleaned these trousers up first rate. This is what I call economy. It saves money. If I'd taken ‘em to the tailor's it would have cost a couple of dollars at least, and you've saved just that amount," and Mr. Spoopendyke went to his ablutions and then pulled on his shirt. "I'll clean your coat too, if you like," said Mrs. Spoopendyke. Leave it at home some day, and I'll take this spot out of the sleeve," and Mrs. Spoopendyke bustled around and looked delighted with the idea of pleasing her husband. "Where's my suspenders?" asked Mr. Spoopendyke, screwing himself around and looking down his back. "You didn't clean the suspenders clear out of sight, did you?" "They were there when you put on your pants," said Mrs. Spoopendyke, "I haven't touched them. What did you do with them?" "Oh, yes, certainly, I did something with them? What d'ye ‘spose I did with them? Think I set ‘em up in business, don't ye? Got an idea I gave ‘em a vacation to go fishing haven't ye? Well, I didn't, and more'n that I didn't send ‘em away to be educated for the ministry. Where's my suspenders? Where'd you put ‘em? ‘Spose I'm going around holding these pants up all day? Think I got no business interests besides holding on my breeches with both hands? What ‘id you do with the measly things? "I know I didn't take them off the pants," said Mrs. Spoopendyke, pulling open the bureau drawers and bustling things ‘round in a vain endeavor to find the missing articles. "Maybe I can fix your pants so you won't need suspenders today, and I'll find them before night," suggested Mrs. Spoopendyke. "That's it. You've got it," raved Mr. Spoopendyke. "How are you going to fix ‘em? Going to tie them with a shoestring, like you do your bustle? Going to walk ‘round behind me all day and hold ‘em on? P'raps you can pull ‘em up and button ‘em around my neck! How d'ye propose to fix ‘em? Going to put ‘em on me upside down so if they'll fall they'll fall up? If I had your head I'd go out to service as a file. Fix ‘em, why don't ye? Why don't ye fix ‘em? These trousers are getting sick at the stomach, waiting to be fixed!" and Mr. Spoopendyke shot across the room and dove under the wardrobe in search of his lost suspenders. "They must be somewhere." "Show ‘em to me then!" demanded Mr. Spoopendyke, "take a stick and point ‘em out to me! Of course, they're here somewhere, only just put your thumb on ‘em! What have ye done with ‘em? Can't ye recollect whether ye made ‘em up into hat bands for the heather like you did my dressing-gown, or whether you planted them to see if they would grow, like you did my straw hat? S'pose these suspenders have taken their girl to a picnic? What kind of housekeeping d'ye call this anyhow? Where's my suspenders?" howled Mr. Spoopendyke, poking around in the soiled clothes-bag. "Where's those suspenders?" and he pulled the books off the shelf and rummaged around behind the case with a broom-handle for a diving-rod. "Just let me buckle them tight behind," said Mrs. Spoopendyke; "the strap will hold them." "That's the scheme," shrieked Mr. Spoopendyke; "something's got to hold them! If I was as sharp as you I'd get rich hiring out for an oyster-knife. All you want is to have somebody sit cross-legged on you and come home two weeks after you're expected to be a tailorshop! Going to find those dog-gasted suspenders between now and the next war?" "I know they were on his pants when he put them on," mused Mrs. Spoopendyke entering upon a little inductive reasoning. "He didn't take them off and so they must be there now," and the good woman approached her husband with a smile. "Oh! Now they're going to be fixed," said Mr. Spoopendyke, with a horrible grin. "P'raps you're going to cut button-holes in your hands and feet, and hang over my shoulders, ain't ye? Want me to put ‘em on over my head, like a measly shirt with two tucks and a flounce to it, don't ye? Maybe you think those suspenders hurried down to breakfast, so's to get the first crack at the morning paper, don't you?" But Mrs. Spoopendyke made no response. Opening the back of her husband's fluttering shirt, she saw the missing suspenders. He had slipped them over his shoulders before assuming the muslin, and had forgotten all about them. "Smart as a whip, ain't ye?" growled Mr. Spoopendyke, as he drew off his shirt and let the suspenders down. "If my head was as clear as your's I'd hire out for the church bell. You only need four lenses and a drop of rain-water to be a microscope." And Spoopendyke hurried on his clothes and scuttled down stairs to get the morning newspaper before his wife could make a clutch at it - Brooklyn Eagle. |