Bill. Well, den, pull it out. Oh, my toof! how it aches! Oh, my toof!
[Cato gets the rusty turnkeys.
Cato. Now lay down on your back.
Bill. What for?
Cato. Dat’s de way massa does.
Bill. Oh, my toof! Well, den, come on. [Lies down, Cato gets astraddle of Bill’s breast, puts the turnkeys on the wrong tooth, and pulls—Bill kicks, and cries out]—Oh, do stop! Oh! oh! oh!
[Cato pulls the wrong tooth—Bill jumps up.
Cato. Dar, now, I tole you I could pull your toof for you.
Bill. Oh, dear me! Oh, it aches yet! Oh me! Oh, Lor-e-massy! You dun pull de wrong toof. Drat your skin! ef I don’t pay you for this, you brack cuss!
[They fight, and turn over table, chairs and bench—Pete and Ned look on.