Walking up and down the floor of his house, holding his afflicted jaw with both hands, the poor man endeavoured to endure it with fortitude; but when the quivering nerve began, as it were, to dance a hornpipe inside of his tooth, irrepressible groans burst from him and awed the community.
“Is it very bad, John?” asked his sympathetic wife, who was cleaning up the house at the time.
“Ho–o–o–rible!” answered John.
“I’m very sorry, John,” said the wife.
“Oh–o–o–o-oh!” groaned the husband.
When it became known in the village that Adams was suffering from some mysterious complaint that nearly drove him mad, two or three of the children, unable to restrain their curiosity, ran to his house and peeped in at the open door and windows. The sufferer either disregarded or did not see them.
In a few minutes the poor man’s steps became more frantic, and another groan burst from him. Then he stopped in the middle of the room, uttered a deep growl, and stamped.
At this the heads of the peeping children disappeared. They gazed at each other in solemn wonder. They had never seen the like of this before. To stamp on the floor without an apparent reason, and without being done in fun, was beyond their comprehension.
“Where’s the tool-box, lass?” gasped Adams suddenly.
His helpmate brought to him an old hand-box for nails and small tools, which had once done service in the Bounty.