en, without reading it, Elmer folded the paper up again
and restored it to his patient's pocket.

The patient revived. He put his hand in his mouth. The tooth was still
there.

"Why, you didn't touch it?"

"No. I was delayed a bit. Take the gas again."

The man submitted, and inhaled more gas. At the instant he slumbered the
forceps were deftly plied and the tooth removed. Bathing the man's face
with water, the young dentist watched him closely till he revived again.

"Do you feel better?"

"Better! Why, I'm not hurt! Is it really out?"

"Yes. There it is in the washbowl."

"You did very well, young man. Excellently. I'm sure I'm much obliged."

"You're welcome," replied Mr. Franklin. "It was a trifling affair."

Repeating his thanks, the visitor put on his hat with its two ribbons
and retired.

For an hour or more the youthful son of science worked over his new
negatives, and then he quietly closed the shutters and lighted his
stereopticon. The first picture he threw upon the wall greatly pleased
him. With half-parted lips, a placid smile, and closed eyes, the
sleeping Alma lived in shadowy beauty before him.

"Queer such a charming girl should belong to such a fool!"

Not choice language for a son of pure-eyed science, but history is
history, and the truth must be told.

"Now for the paper."

He took Alma's stolen picture from the lantern, and inserted in its
place a positive copy of the paper he had captured from her lover.
Suddenly there flashed upon the wall a document of the most startling
and extraordinary character. He read it through several times before he
could bring himself to understand the peculiar nature of the important
discovery he had made. Long and earnestly he gazed upon the gigantic
writing on the wall, and then he slowly opened one of the shutters, and
the magic writing faded away in the rosy light of the setting sun.

A moment after, the tea-bell rang. This over, young Mr. Franklin said
he, must go out for his evening constitutional. He wished to be alone.
The events of the day, the discoveries he had made, and, more than all,
Alma's grief and silence at the supper-table, disturbed him. He wished
more air, more freedom to think over these things and to devise some
plan for future action.

Alma. What of her? Was he not growing to like her--perhaps love her? And
she was engaged to that--that--he could not think of him with patience.
The chimney, the two in the photo, and the str