“Nonsense! They’re only first teeth,” said
Grandma Sharpless vigorously. “What does a doctor know about teeth?”
“Lots, if he knows his business. There would be fewer dyspeptics if physicians in general sent their patients to the dentist more promptly, and kept them in condition to chew their food.”
“That’s all very well, when people have their real, lasting teeth,” returned the grandmother. “But Betty’s first set will be gone in a few years. Then it will be time enough to bother the poor child.”
“Apparently, Mrs. Sharpless,” said Dr. Strong mildly, “you consider that teeth come in crops, like berries; one crop now, a second and distinct crop later. That isn’t the way growth takes place in the human mouth. The first teeth are to the second almost what the blossom is to the fruit. I shall want immediately to take Betty to the dentist, and have him keep watch over her mouth with the understanding that he may charge a bonus on every tooth he keeps in after its time. The longer the first lot lasts, the better the second lot are. But there is no use making the minor repairs unless the main structure is put right first.”
“I must see Betty,” said Mrs. Clyde abruptly, and left the room. Mrs. Sharpless followed. “Now comes the first real split.” Dr. Strong turned to Mr. Clyde. “They’re going to vote me down.”
“If it comes to a pinch,” said Mr. Clyde quietly, “my wife will accept my decision.”
“That is what I want to avoid. Where would my influence with her be, if I were obliged to appeal to you on the very first test of professional authority? No, I shall try to carry this through myself, even at the risk of having to seem a little brutal.”
Mr. Clyde lifted his eyebrows, but he only nodded, as the door opened and the two women reentered.
“Doctor,” said Mrs. Clyde, “if, in a year from now, Betty hasn’t outgrown the mouth-breathing, I—I—you may take what measures you think best.”