e, and no mistake. She must have hung up there three or four minutes
too, before she quits, without sayin' a word.

At the end of half an hour I was feelin' some better; but when I'd got
into my tailor made, I didn't have any great enthusiasm for tacklin'
food.

"Guess I'll appoint this a special fast day for mine," says I to Sadie.

"Why, Shorty!" says she. "Whatever is the matter?" And she has no sooner
heard about the touchy tusk than she says, "Oh, pooh! Just say there
isn't any such thing as toothache. Pain, you know, is only a false mental
photograph, an error of the mind, and----"

"Ah, back up, Sadie!" says I. "Do you dream I don't know whether this
jump is in my brain or my jaw? This is no halftone; it's the real
thing."

"Nonsense!" says she. "You come right downstairs and see Dr. Toodle.
He'll fix it in no time."

Seems this Toodle was the one the party had been arranged for, and Sadie
has to hunt him up. It didn't take long to trail him down; for pretty
soon she comes towin' him into the drawin'-room, where I'm camped down on
a sofa, holdin' on with both hands.

"Dr. Toodle," says she, "I want to present Mr. McCabe."

Now, I don't claim any seventh-son powers; but I only has to take one
look at Toodle to guess that he's some sort of a phony article. No
reg'lar pill distributor would wear around that mushy look that he has
on. He's a good sized, wide shouldered duck, with a thick crop of long
hair that just clears his coat collar, and one of these smooth, soft,
sentimental faces the women folks go nutty over,--you know, big nose,
heavy chin, and sagged mouth corners. His get-up is something between a
priest's and an actor's,--frock coat, smooth front black vest, and a
collar buttoned behind. He gurgles out that he's charmed to meet Mr.
McCabe, and wants to know what's wrong.

"Nothin' but a specked tooth," says I. "But I can stand it."

"My de-e-ear brother," says Toodle, puttin' his fingers together and
gazin' down at me like a prison chaplain givin' a talk to murderers' row,
"you are possessed of mental error. Your brain focus has been disturbed,
and a blurred image has been cast on the sensitive retina of the----"

"Ah, say, Doc.," says I, "cut out the preamble! If you've got a cocaine
gun in your pocket, dig it up!"

Then he goes off again with another string of gibberish, about pain bein'
nothin' but thought, and thought bein' something we could steer to suit
ourselves. I can't give you the