"I don't know....Oh-h—it's awful!"
Another silence.
"Did n't think toothache so bad as THAT," said the man of news, airily, addressing Mother. "Never had it much myself, you see!"
He looked at Dad again; then winked slyly at Canty, and said to Dad, in an altered tone: "Whisky's a good thing for it, old man, if you've got any."
Nothing but a groan came from Dad, but Mother shook her head sadly in the negative.
"Any oil of tar?"
Mother brightened up. "There's a little oil in the house," she said, "but I don't know if we've any tar. Is there, Joe—in that old drum?"
"Nurh."
The Press looked out the window. Dad commenced to butcher his gums with the pocket-knife, and threatened to put the fire out with blood and saliva.
"Let's have a look at the tooth, old man," the pressman said, approaching Dad.