"Hold the light down here, missis--a little lower. You gentlemen" (to Canty and Dave) "look after his legs and arms. Now, let your head come back--right back, and open your mouth--wide as you can." Dad obeyed, groaning the whole time. It was a bottom-tooth, and the dentist stood behind Dad and bent over him to fasten the sinew round it. Then, twisting it on his wrist, he began to "hang on" with both hands. Dad struggled and groaned--then broke into a bellow and roared like a wild beast. But the dentist only said, "Keep him down!" and the others kept him down.
Dad's neck was stretching like a gander's, and it looked as if his head would come off. The dentist threw his shoulders into it like a crack oarsman--there was a crack, a rip, a tear, and, like a young tree leaving the ground, two huge, ugly old teeth left Dad's jaw on the end of that sinew.
"Holy!" cried the dentist, surprised, and we stared. Little Bill made for the teeth; so did Joe, and there was a fight under the table.
Dad sat in a lump on the floor propping himself up with his hands; his head dropped forward, and he spat feebly on the floor.
The pressman laughed and slapped Dad on the back, and asked "How do you feel, old boy?" Dad shook his head and spat and spat. But presently he wiped his eyes with his shirt-sleeve and looked up. The pressman told Mother she ought to be proud of Dad. Dad struggled to his feet then, pale but smiling. The pressman shook hands with him, and in no time Dad was laughing and joking over the operation. A pleased look was in Mother's face; happiness filled the home again, and we grew quite fond of that pressman--he was so jolly and affable, and made himself so much at home, Mother said.
"Now, sit over, and we'll have supper," said Dad, proud of having some fried steak to offer the visitors. We had killed a cow the evening before--one that was always getting bogged in the dam and taking up much of Dad's time dragging her out and cutting greenstuff to keep her alive.
The visitors enjoyed her. The pressman wanted salt. None was on the table. Dad told Joe to run and get some--to be quick. Joe went out, but in a while returned. He stood at the door with the hammer in his hand and said:
"Did you shift the r-r-r-rock-salt from where S-Spotty was lickin' it this evenin', Dave?"Dave reached for the bread.
"Don't bother--don't bother about it," said the pressman. "Sit down, youngster, and finish your supper.""No bother at all," Dad said; but Joe sat down, and Dad scowled at him.
Then Dad got talking about wheat and wallabies--when, all at once, the pressman gave a jump that rattled the things on the table.
"Oh-h-h!...I'VE got it now!" he said, dropping his knife and fork and clapping his hands over his mouth. "Ooh!"We looked at him. "Got what?" Dad asked, a gleam of satisfaction appearing in his eyes.
"The toothache!--the d----d toothache!...Oh-h!""Ha! ha! Hoo! hoo! hoo!" Dad roared. In fact, we all roared--all but the pressman. "OH-H!" he said, and went to the fire. Dad laughed some more.
We ate on. The pressman continued to moan.
Dad turned on his seat. "What paper, mister, do you say you come from?""OH-H!...Oh-h, Lord!"
"Well, let me see; I'll have in altogether, I daresay, this year, about thirty-five acres of wheat--I suppose as good a wheat----""Damn the wheat!...OOH!"
"Eh!" said Dad, "why, I never thought toothache was THET bad! You reminds me of this old cow we be eatin'. SHE moaned just like thet all the time she was layin' in the gully, afore I knocked 'er on the head."Canty, the storekeeper, looked up quickly, and the pressman looked round slowly--both at Dad.
"Here," continued Dad--"let's have a look at yer tooth, old man!"The pressman rose. His face was flushed and wild-looking. "Come on out of this--for God's sake!" he said to Canty--"if you're ready.""What," said Dad, hospitably, "y're not going, surely!" But they were.
"Well, then--thirty-five acres of wheat, I have, and" (putting his head out the door and calling after them) "NEXT year--next year, all being well, please God, I'll have SIXTY!"
