Puck — August 29, 1877 — page 4: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

STIC SKE (Boucicaulted from the Easton Free Press.) A DOME ch! Doctor been here. he give you?” And the pale, weak partner of his toils, hi feelings, and his pocket-book, meekly responds “No, pet, I don’t feel very well this morn in Well, what are you doing for it?” “The doctor was here yesterday afternoon and gave me some powders “Did you take them?” bureau.” grav and put up.” “Oh, pet! don’t swear so, please. one of those powders, won't you?” “Why, certainly, my child, why didn’t you say so before ?” Then that man goes over in the dark and finds the box containing the powders and car- ries it over to the washstand. ‘Then he sud- denly recollects that he has his boots on, and seeing the shadow of the rocking-chair against the wall in the dim moonlight, sits down on it with the utmost confidence, and has a difficulty with the floor that bounces the old snags in his mouth around like a keg of nails rolling down- stairs, and startles his wife out of an uneasy doze, and she says in her most aggravating cool tone: “What in the world are you trying to do, pet? ‘The powders are right there -on the bureau.” “Yes, I've no doubt they are,” and he rubs the portion of him that hurts the worst, with much assiduity. “What in the lippety, clickety, slam, bang is the blankety blank reason that that girl can’t bring some ice-water up here at night?” Give me Then there is silence for about two minutes, after which the midnight air is rent with a crash and a red-handed murder of the United States glish, and in the dimness of the room a man may be seen carrying his left foot around under his ‘arm, and his language is copious and fre- quent, and the tenor of his story appears to be that he has tried to make his way from the chair, where he pulled his boots off to the stand where the ice-water is, but the rocking-chair has stubbed itself against his right big toe, and in putting that foot up in the chair, to examine it, he brought the rocker down on the pet corn on the little toe of his left hoof, and in stepping back, to gather breath for a comprehensive anathema, he puts his foot on a tack that was left when they tacked down the carpet the last time. ‘Then that miserable man finds his way to the window, sits down in the rocking-chair, and pulls the tack out of his foot with a long ‘The awful silence that ensues wakes up the patient, who languidly inquires : “Pet, did you find it?” ‘This fires the ambition in that man’s soul. He can’t swear, but he just wishes he was a fog-horn for about a minute, so that he could explain his wrongs. He registers a solemn and vindictive affidavit that if ever he goes prowl- ing about his wife’s room again he wants a base ball club to interview him on the spot. L, dear, not well again, to-day, What did | No; but they are all right there on the “Great click — click — click —what in all creation is the use in me buying pill-factories and sending unfortunate druggists to untimely if you don’t take what they waste their time, talent, and alleged brains, to prescribe “Why, pet,” goes that exasperating cool invalid voice; “ there is the pitcher of ice-water | on the stand, right in front of you, wherever you are. to find that powder and that ice-water and be | fellaw done with the thing and go to bed. | He gets the powder all right ; but as he starts vehemently across the floor after the water, one of the short posts at the foot of the bedstead takes him a left-hander in the watermelon he ate for supper, and he sits down to groan, while that cold, exasperating voice remarks : “T feel better now, dear. It isn’t worth while to bother about the powder any more. I guess I forgot it and put it in the top drawer.” ‘Then he jams his feet down against the foot- board, grits his teeth, and wants:to know what | she will have for marketing. n talk to these fellaws without wunning ny wisk of associating wegularly with a wetired | swoon, or butcher, or twadesman, or lawyer, or merchant, or wholesale dwaper, or bwoker, or a judge, or tailor, or manufacturwer, or peo- ple of such classes—which is doosid conveni- ent. We have been everwywhere and seen everwything in Newport. Indeed, I wather think I've aw allowed myself to be bawed too much by obliging people and going out so often; but they do w worwy Jack and me with invitations, that it is weally less twouble to accept than wefuse; besides, the dinnahs are not at all bad, the wines fair and the women pwetty, and put on the appearwance of good | bweeding wemarkably well. me fellaws he-ah dwive four-in-hand; other fellaws bwing their yachts. By the way, I ought to take a cwuise. ‘There is polo he-ah. Jack FITZNOODLE IN AMERIC XXUHI. NEWPORT, | played. But I don’t think I've seen my friend Ya-as, we'd aw | Bobbins. A fellaw named Parwy Wilmot, or arwanged to go to | Billmot, shoots verwy well at pigeons. His Nooport, and some | father, I believe, keeps a shop in New York, merwican fellaws and is aw wich, and sells gweenbacks and old had pwocurwed for coins. I could manage to put up with these and me what fellaws quite tolerwably, if aw they wouldn’t be call he-ah a} so unnaturwally wefined and arwistocwatic, cottage. It is not Some of them have twaveled and, by Jove! are considerwed the | quite clevah; but they twy to be so verwy much corwect thing to live in a hotel in Nooport, or Newport—for Jack says it’s only vulgar Amerwicans who call it Nooport--then there must be a pwetty fair spwinkling of vul- gar Amerwicans. Newport is wather more Bwitish in charwac- ter than any other waterwing-place. t's weally aw quite wespectable. ‘Ihe fellaws here dwive verwy decent teams, and don’t wide lik fantwy adjutants, and they dwess almost aswell | as Jack and I, and even at times look tolerwa- bly well-bwed in their clothes, which I don’t think they buy weady-made. The women, too, wear pwoper hats and dwesses and things when they go out dwiving and widing. Aw people apparwently know what's wight in Nooport. Jack says it’s because it’s on an island, and England is an island. Verwy likely; that must be the weason. All the cweam of the Amerwican arwistocwacy have houses here, and some of them are neatly furnished. I’ve | had my twaps and some aw horses he-ah, and have dwiven about a gweat deal; and the woads are pwetty and wemind me of aw of Wich- , mond or some countwy place, where snobs and Anp now there is another young Rothschild twadesmen and pwofessional people don’t make | going to marry his cousin. ‘These Rothschilds themselves obtwusive and bother pwoper peo- | seem to be a bashful lot. It’s a long time since ple. There are fellaws he-ah who wepwesent | one of these has mustered up cheek enough to thecorwect Bwitish thing that they often wather overdo it, and show the orwiginal bad form of their pwogenitors. One of these wich twademen’s sons said to me, “ How do you like my turnout?” “ Verwy neat,” I weplied; ‘but I wather think there’s something wong.” “Impossible; 1 paid four thousand dollars for it.” “ Ya-as; but your gwoom has a moustache.” “Humax nature is curious,” he said, “it is natural that the inquisitive mind of | youth should delight in watching the ecstatic abandonment of true love; and I do not object to all the boys of the neighborhood gathering in the bushes, when 1 meet my Sophronisba under the chaste gleams of the watery moon. | But I do object, and I think with reason, to their indulging in too free and unrestrained comments on our actions, especially when such comments take the form of an unmeaning and nexpressive repetition of the syllables ‘yum, yum,’ ‘Then I kick.” “Oh! hang the thing,” and he determines forweign countwics, yer know, and of course a | brace up and go for a strange girl. comicbooks.com