he retained his presence of mind, and said to himself that
of course it could not possibly be a client. Even dentists who bought a
practice ready-made never had a client on their first day. He heard the
attendant answer the ring, and then he heard the attendant saying, "I'll
see, sir."

It was, in fact, a patient. The servant, having asked Mr Cowlishaw if Mr
Cowlishaw was at liberty, introduced the patient to the Presence, and
the Presence trembled.

The patient was a tall, stiff, fair man of about thirty, with a tousled
head and inelegant but durable clothing. He had a drooping moustache,
which prevented Mr Cowlishaw from adding his teeth up instantly.

"Good afternoon, mister," said the patient, abruptly.

"Good afternoon," said Mr Cowlishaw. "Have you ... Can I ..."

Strange; in the dental hospital and school there had been no course of
study in the art of pattering to patients!

"It's like this," said the patient, putting his hand in his waistcoat
pocket.

"Will you kindly sit down," said Mr Cowlishaw, turning up the gas, and
pointing to the chair of chairs.

"It's like this," repeated the patient, doggedly. "You see these three
teeth?"

He displayed three very real teeth in a piece of reddened paper. As a
spectacle, they were decidedly not appetizing, but Mr Cowlishaw was
hardened.

"Really!" said Mr Cowlishaw, impartially, gazing on them.

"They're my teeth," said the patient. And thereupon he opened his mouth
wide, and displayed, not without vanity, a widowed gum. "'Ont 'eeth," he
exclaimed, keeping his mouth open and omitting preliminary consonants.

"Yes," said Mr Cowlishaw, with a dry inflection. "I saw that they were
upper incisors. How did this come about? An accident, I suppose?"

"Well," said the man, "you may call it an accident; I don't. My name's
Rannoch; centre-forward. Ye see? Were ye at the match?"

Mr Cowlishaw understood. He had no need of further explanation; he had
read it all in the _Signal_. And so the chief victim of Tottenham
Hotspur had come to him, just him! This was luck! For Rannoch was, of
course, the most celebrated man in the Five Towns, and the idol of the
populace. He might have been M.P. had he chosen.

"Dear me!" Mr Cowlishaw sympathized, and he said again, pointing more
firmly to the chair of chairs, "Will you sit down?"

"I had 'em all picked up," Mr Rannoch proceeded, ignoring the
suggestion. "Because a bit of a scheme came into my head. And that's why
I've