"
The Other Man: "Well, I swow."
The One Man: "Well, this Widder Widdecombe, she put up a big
funeral for the deceased. She hed Wilkins, and thet ondertaker
just laid hisself out. Just spread hisself. Onfort'natly,--
perhaps fort'natly in the ways of Providence,--one of Widdecombe's
old friends, a doctor up thar in Chicago, comes down to the
funeral. He goes up with the friends to look at the deceased,
smilin' a peaceful sort o' heavinly smile, and everybody sayin'
he's gone to meet his reward, and this yer friend turns round,
short and sudden on the widder settin' in her pew, and kinder
enjoyin, as wimen will, all the compliments paid the corpse, and he
says, says he:--
"'What did you say your husband died of, marm?'
"'Consumption,' she says, wiping her eyes, poor critter.
'Consumption--gallopin' consumption.'
"'Consumption be d--d,' sez he, bein' a profane kind of Chicago
doctor, and not bein' ever under conviction. 'Thet man died of
strychnine. Look at thet face. Look at thet contortion of them
fashal muscles.
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