have taken his
firstborn, and laid it gently to rest on his cabinet. Then he pushed the
gas-bracket so that the light came through the large crystal sphere, and
made the Mayoress blink.

"Now," he said soothingly, "kindly open your mouth--wide."

Like all women of strong and generous character, Mrs Simeon Clowes had a
large mouth. She obediently extended it to dimensions which must be
described as august, at the same time pointing with her gloved and
chubby finger to a particular part of it.

"Yes, yes," murmured Mr Cowlishaw, assuming a tranquillity which he did
not feel. This was the first time that he had ever looked into the mouth
of a Mayoress, and the prospect troubled him.

He put his little ivory-handled mirror into that mouth and studied its
secrets.

"I see," he said, withdrawing the mirror. "Exposed nerve. Quite simple.
Merely wants stopping. When I've done with it the tooth will be as sound
as ever it was. All your other teeth are excellent."

Mrs Clowes arose violently out of the chair.

"Now just listen to me, please," she said. "I don't want any stopping; I
won't have any stopping; I want that tooth out. I've already quarrelled
with one dentist this afternoon because he refused to take it out. I
came to you because you're young, and I thought you'd be more
reasonable. Surely a body can decide whether she'll have a tooth out or
not! It's my tooth. What's a dentist for? In my young days dentists
never did anything else but take teeth out. All I wish to know is, will
you take it out or will you not?"

"It's really a pity--"

"That's my affair, isn't it?" she stopped him, and moved towards her
bonnet.

"If you insist," he said quickly, "I will extract."

"Well," she said, "if you don't call this insisting, what do you call
insisting? Let me tell you I didn't have a wink of sleep last night!"

"Neither did I, in your confounded hotel!" he nearly retorted; but
thought better of it.

The Mayoress resumed her seat, taking her gloves off.

"It's decided then?" she questioned.

"Certainly," said he. "Is your heart good?"

"Is my heart good?" she repeated. "Young man, what business is that of
yours? It's my tooth I want you to deal with, not my heart."

"I must give you gas," said Mr Cowlishaw, faintly.

"Gas!" she exclaimed. "You'll give me no gas, young man. No! My heart is
not good. I should die under gas. I couldn't bear the idea of gas. You
must take it out without gas, and you mustn't h