CATCHING A BURGLAR.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2174, 12 February 1881, Page 3

CATCHING A BURGLAR.

“Say my dear,” ejaculated Mr Spoopendyke, sitting bold upright in bed with a sudden jerk ; “ say, my dear, wake up • I hear burglars in the house ?” “ Who ? What burglars P” demanded Mrs Spoopendyke, as she popped up beside her husband. “ Who’s in tho house P” “Hush! Quiet, will ye? I don’t know which burglar, but I hear »»mo one moving around.”

“Oh! my! What shall we do?” inquired Mrs Spoopendyke. “ Let’s cover up our heads.” “ Why don’t you get up and light_ the gas?” propounded Mr Spoopendyke in a hoarse whisper. “ S’pose you can see who it is in tho dark ? Strike a light, can’t ye ? If you had your way we’d both be murdered in bed. Going to light np before we’re killed?”

“I’m afraid,” whispered Mrs Spoopondyke, sticking one foot out of bed and hauling it in as if she had caught a fish with it. “Going to sit there like a shot tower and have our throats out ?” interrogated Mr Spoopendyke. “ How’m I going to find a burglar without a light ? Find a match and light that measly gas, now, quick !” Mrs Spoopendyke crawled out of bod and hunted around for a skirt.

“ What’s the matter with you ? Can’t y«u find a match? Why don’t you move?” hissed Mr Spoopendyke. “ I am as fast as I can, ” replied his wife, her teeth chattering. “ I’m looking for a pin.” “ Oh, you’re moving like a railroad, ain’t ye ? I never saw anything fly like you do. All you want is to be done up in white and blue papers to be a seidlitz powder. What d’ye want of a pin ? Going to stick a pin in the burglar ? Why don’t you light that gas ?” Mrs Spoopendyke broke half a dozen matches and finally got a light. “ That’s something like it,” continued Mr Spoopendyke. “ Now hand me my pantaloons.” “ You won’t go down where they are, will you ? ” anxiously inquired Mrs Spoopendyke, handing over the garment. Mr Spoopendyke vouohafod no reply, but donned the habiliments. “Now, you open the door,” said he, “and go to the head of the stairs and ask who’s there, while I find my stick. Hurry up, or they’ll get away. “ Suppose they are there. What’ll I do then?” “ Tell ’em I’m coming. Go ask 'em, will ye ? What’s the matter with you ? ” Mrs Spoopendyke opened the door about an inch, squealed “Who’s there ?” slammed the door again and popped into bed. “ What oils yo ?” demanded her husband. “ What d'ye think you are, anyway a conical shot? Got up, can’t yo, and look out. Where’s my big stick ? What have you done with it ? Sent it to school, haven’t ye ? Get out and ask who’s there, will ye, before they come up and slaughter us ?” Once more Mrs Spoopendyke approached tho door and tremulously demanded what was going on —there was no response, to her incalculable relief, and she went to tho head of the stairs. “See anybody?” whispered Mr Spoopendyke, looking over her shoulder, “Who’s there?” squealed Mrs Spoopondyke. . “Go right away, because my husband is here.” “Oh, you’ve done it!” exclaimed Mr Spoopendyke, as he hauled her back into the room. “ Now, how d’ye s’poso I’m going to catch ’em ? What’d you say anything about me for. Think this is a nominating convention ? What made you leave the house open ? Come on down with me, and I’ll show you how to lock up.” Down they went, and a careful scrutiny demonstrated that everything was fast. “I don’t believe there was anybody there,” said Mrs Spoopendyke, as they returned to their chamber. “lb wasn’t yonr fault,” retorted Mr Spoopendyke. “If you’d got up when I told you, and kept your mouth shut, we’d have got ’em.” “ But you said for me ” “ Didn't say anything of the sort,” howled Mr Spoopendyke—“ never mentioned your name. We might have been killed the way you went to work.” “ I think we’d caught thorn if they’d been there,” said Mrs Spoopendyke, taking down her hair, and proceeding to put it up again. “ Oh, you’d caught ’em!” sneered Mr Spoopendyke. " All you want is some chloride of lime and your accounts short to be a penitentiary. Another time a burglar gets in the house you stay abed, and don’t you wake me up again. I won’t havo any dod gasted woman routing me out this time of night, je hoar ?”

“ Yes, dear,” and Mrs Spoopandyie wound her hand in the collar of her liege lord’s nightshirt, and went to sleep, secure in his protection,—“ Brooklyn Eagle,”