There was an old man of Tarentum,

Who gnashed his false teeth till he bent 'em:

And when asked for the cost

Of what he had lost,

Said, "I really can't tell for I rent 'em!"

--_Gilbert K. Chesterton_.

Pat came to the office with his jaw very much swollen from a tooth he

desired to have pulled. But when the suffering son of Erin got into the

dentist's chair and saw the gleaming pair of forceps approaching his

face, he positively refused to open his mouth.

The dentist quietly told his office boy to prick his patient with a pin,

and when Pat opened his mouth to yell the dentist seized the tooth, and

out it came.

"It didn't hurt as much as you expected it would, did it?" the dentist

asked smiling.

"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.