"Does it hurt much, Doctor?" was Bill's cautious inquiry.
"Very little, indeed; it's sometimes rather agreeable, sir, than otherwise," said the Doctor.
"Then go at it, Doctor! Here's the dosh," and forking over three dollars, down sits William Whiffletree in a high-backed chair, and the Doctor's assistant—a sturdy young Irishman—clamping Bill's head to the back of the chair, to keep it steady, as the Doctor remarked, the latter began to "bore and file."
"O! ah! ho-ho-hold on, hold on!" cries Bill, at the first gouge the Doctor gave the huge tooth.
"O! be me soul! be aizy, zur," says the Irishman, "it's mesilf as untherstands it—I'll howld on till yees!"
"O—O-h-h-h!" roars Bill, as the Doctor proceeds.
"Be quiet, sir; the pain won't signify!" says the Doctor.
"Go-goo-good Lord-d-d! Ho-ho-hol-hold on!"
"O, yeez needn't be afeared of that—I'm howldin' yeez tight as a divil!" cries Paddy, and sure enough he was holding, for in vain Bill screwed and twisted and squirmed around; Pat held him like a cider-press.
