“You needn't get riled, young doc, I meant no insult, sarten, for my teeth are too sore to 'low your boots to jar' them as I swallered you down. I want a tooth pulled, can you manage the job? Ouch! criminy, but it hurts!”
“Yes, sir, I can pull your tooth. Is it an incisor, or a dens sapientiæ? one of the decidua, or a permanent grinder?”
“It's a sizer, I reckon. It's the largest tooth in my jaw, anyhow, you can see for yourself,” and the Kentuckian opening the lower half of his face, disclosed a set of teeth that clearly showed that his half of the alligator lay above.
“A molar requires extraction,” said I, as he laid his finger on the aching fang.
“A molar! well, I'll be cus't but you doctors have queer names for things! I reckon the next time I want a money-puss a molear will be extracted too; ouch! What do you ax for pulling teeth, doc? I want to git rid of the pesky thing.”
“A dollar, sir,” said I, pulling out the case of instruments and placing a chair for him.
“A dollar! dollar h—ll! do you think the Yazoo Pass is full of kegs of speshy? I'd see you mashed under a hogshead of pork 'fore I'd give you a dollar to pull the thing,” and picking up his hat, which he had dashed on the floor on his first entrance, off he started.
Seeing some fun in store, I winked at the rest of the students, whom the loudness of our conversation had called from the other rooms of the capacious office, and requested the subject to return.
“It's no use, stranger; I'd squirm all day fust 'fore I'd give you a dollar to pull every tooth in my head,” said he.
“Well, Mister, times are hard, and I'll pull your tooth for half a dollar,” said I, determined, if necessary, to give him pay before I would lose the pulling of his tooth.