A fragment of one is given.
The dentist went to work, and in three days he invented an instrument which he was confident would pull anything. It was a combination of the lever, pulley, wheel and axle, inclined plane, wedge, and screw. The castings were made, and the machine put up in the office, over an iron chair rendered perfectly stationary by iron rods going down into the foundations of the granite building. In a week old Byles returned; he was clamped into the iron chair, the forceps connected with the machine attached firmly to the tooth, and Tushmaker, stationing himself in the rear, took hold of a lever four feet in length. He turned it slightly. Old Byles gave a groan and lifted his right leg. Another turn, another groan, and up went the leg again.
“What do you raise your leg for?” asked the Doctor.
“I can’t help it,” said the patient.
“Well,” rejoined Tushmaker, “that tooth is bound to come out now.”
He turned the lever clear round with a sudden jerk, and snapped old Byles’ head clean and clear from his shoulders, leaving a space of four inches between the severed parts!
They had a post-mortem examination—the roots of the tooth were found extending down the right side, through the right leg, and turning up in two prongs under the sole of the right foot!
“No wonder,” said Tushmaker, “he raised his right leg.”
The jury thought so, too, but they found the roots much decayed; and five surgeons swearing that mortification would have ensued in a few months, Tushmaker was clear on a verdict of “justifiable homicide.”