"The dentist said," Miss Featherpenny persisted, "that he could pull a whale's tooth as easily and smoothly as he pulled mine."
"You had to have it pulled? Too bad." Andy made a face at the full mug of Throatduster on the barrel beside him. "The Felicians won't change their minds about the shoes, and they won't try tourists again. I can't think of anything else. And they can claim the guarantee. I was bluffing."
"I know," Miss Featherpenny said. She tried again. "The dentist claims even the tiniest species could do dental work on the biggest species." She paused, hoping it would sink in. "Providing the tiny species had sufficient dexterity."
"Blasted Felicians," Andy muttered. "Stubborn little pigs."
"That's part of their trouble, I think," Miss Featherpenny said. "Being little, I mean. But it doesn't always work against them. When they're doing delicate work...."
"Like those shoes," Andy agreed. "'Best possible shapes already,'" he imitated Blahrog.
"They're one of the smallest intelligent species," Miss Featherpenny said in desperation. "And their manual dexterity rating is one of the highest. Why, a Felician could get both hands inside an Earther's mouth."
"And steal his fillings...." Andy started. "Wait a minute. You've given me an idea."
Miss Featherpenny breathed relief. "I have? What is it?"
"Dentists! They can all be dentists."