"Well, no," replied Pat hesitatingly, as if doubting the truthfulness of his admission. "But," he added, placing his hand on the spot where the boy jabbed him with the pin, "begorra, little did I think the roots would reach down like that."
An Irishman with one side of his face badly swollen stepped into Dr. Wicten's office and inquired if the dentist was in. "I am the dentist," said the doctor.
"Well, then, I want ye to see what's the matter wid me tooth."
The doctor examined the offending molar, and explained: "The nerve is dead; that's what's the matter."
"Thin, be the powers," the Irishman exclaimed, "the other teeth must be houldin' a wake over it!"
For there was never yet philosopher
That could endure the toothache patiently.
—Shakespeare.