sub-maxillary from side to side. But about then you wake up with
a violent start and decide that any sympathy you may have in stock
should be reserved for personal use exclusively, because at this
moment the dog trees the woodchuck at the base of that cherished
tooth of yours and starts to dig him out. He is a very determined
dog and very active, but he needs a manicure. You are struck by
that fact almost immediately.

Uttering some of those trite and commonplace remarks that are
customary for use under such circumstances and yet are so futile
to express one's real sentiments, you arise and undertake to
pacify the infuriated creature with household remedies. You try
to lure him away with a wad of medicated cotton stuck on the end
of a parlor match. But arnica is evidently an acquired taste
with him. He doesn't seem to care for it any more than you do.
You begin to dress, using one hand to put your clothes on with and
the other to hold the top of your head on. At this important
juncture, the dog tears down the last remaining partitions and
nails the woodchuck. The woodchuck is game--say what you will
about the habits and customs of the woodchuck you have to hand it
to him there--he's game as a lion. He fights back desperately.
Intense excitement reigns throughout the vicinity. While the
struggle wages you get your clothes on and wait for daylight to
come, which it does in from eight to ten weeks. Norway is not the
only place where the nights are six months long.

There is nobody waiting at the dentist's when you get there, it
being early. You are willing to wait. At a barber shop it may
be different but at a dentist's you are always willing to wait,
like a gentleman. But the sinewy young man who is sitting in