Punch, or the London Charivari

Volume 105, September 23rd 1893

edited by Sir Francis Burnand

"PAINLESS DENTISTRY."

(A Story for the Long Vacation.)

Although professional engagements (not wholly unconnected with the holding of high judicial office in the Tropics) have recently prevented me from contributing to the paper which specially represents Bench and Bar, I have never lost sight of the fact that when I have a duty to perform, the pages of Punch are open to me. Under these circumstances I find myself once again writing to the familiar address, and signing myself, as of yore, with the old name, and the ancient head-quarters. I must confess that although I date this communication from Pump-Handle Court, I am, as a matter of fact, staying at Callerherring, a health resort greatly patronised by all patients of that eminent doctor Sir Peter Twitwillow.

It is unnecessary to describe a place so well known to all lovers of the picturesque. I may hint that the far-famed view of twelve Scotch, Irish, and Welsh counties, and the Channel and the Atlantic Ocean, can still be enjoyed by those who ascend Mount MacHaggis, and that the table-d'hôte at the Royal Hibernian Hotel yet costs, with its seven courses, five-and-sixpence. And now to perform my duty.

My son, George Lewis Bolton Rollit (he is christened after some professional friends of mine, in the hope that at some distant date he may be assisted by them in the characters of good fairy godfathers in the profession to which it is hoped he may ornamentally belong), is extremely partial to sweetstuff. He is a habitual glutton of a sticky comestible known, I believe, in the confectionery trade as "Chicago Honey Shells." This toothsome (I have his word for the appropriateness of the epithet) edible he devours in large quantities, spending at times as much as five shillings to secure an ample store of an article of commerce generally bought in quantities estimated at the usually convenient rate of "two ounces for three halfpence."

It was after a long gastronomic debauch connected with Chicago Honey Shells that I noticed that George Lewis Bolton Rollit was suffering from a swollen face. My son, although evidently in great pain, declared that there was nothing the matter with him. However, as for three successive days he took only two helpings of meat and refused his pudding, I, in consultation with his mother, came to the conclusion that it was necessary to seek the advice of a local medical man. George Lewis Bolton Rollit raised objections to this course, but they were overruled.

"No, Sir, the doctor is not in. He's out for the day."

Such was the answer to my question put twice at the doors of two medical-looking houses with brass plates to match. On the second occasion I expressed so much annoyance that the servant quite sympathised with me.

"Perhaps Master Sammy might do, Sir?" suggested the kind-hearted janitor.

On finding that "Master Sammy" was a nephew of the owner of the house and a qualified medical man, I consented, and "Master Sammy" was sent for. There was some little delay in his appearance, as, although the morning was fairly well advanced, he was not up. However, after making a possibly hasty toilette, he soon appeared. No doubt he was much older, but he looked about eighteen. He was very pleasant, and listened to my history of the case. He seemed, so it appeared to me, to recognise the Chicago Honey Shells as old acquaintances. It may have been my fancy, but I think he smacked his lips when I suggested that George Lewis Bolton Rollit had probably eaten five shillings' worth at a sitting.

"You see," I said, "he has had a bad face ever since; and as our dentist in town told us about a fortnight ago that sooner or later he must have a tooth out, I think this must be the one to which he referred. Won't you see?"

When, after some persuasion, George Lewis Bolton Rollit had been induced to open his mouth, "Master Sammy" did see.

"Yes," observed the budding doctor, after he had looked into my lad's mouth as if it were a sort of curiosity from India that he was regarding for the first time, "yes, I think it ought to come out."

And armed with this opinion I asked my medical friend if he knew any one in Callerherring capable of performing the operation.

"Well, yes," he replied, after some consideration; "there's a nice little dentist round the corner. He's called Mr. Leo Armstrong."

Then "Master Sammy" smiled, and I felt sure that he and "the nice little dentist" must have quite recently been playing marbles together. Next came the question of the fee. "Master Sammy" was disinclined to accept anything, evidently taking a low estimate of the value of his professional services. However, he ultimately said "Three-and-sixpence," and got the money. I would willingly have increased it to a crown had I not feared that the moment my back was turned "Master Sammy" would have followed the example of George Lewis Bolton Rollit, and himself indulged in five shillings' worth of Chicago Honey Shells.

Mr. Leo Armstrong lived in a rather fine-looking house, ornamented with an aged brass plate, suggesting that he had been established for very many years. A buttons opened the door, and, on my inquiring as to whether Mr. Leo Armstrong was at home, promptly answered "Yes."

From the venerable appearance of the brass plate I had expected to see a rather elderly dentist, with possibly white hair and certainly spectacles; so I was rather taken aback when a dapper young fellow, who seemed about the age of "Master Sammy," entered the waiting-room. The juvenile new-comer made himself master of the situation. He seized upon the jaw of poor trembling George Lewis Bolton Rollit, and declared that "it must come out."

"He'd better have gas," he observed. "But as I am full of engagements this morning, you really must let me fix a time."

Then he took out a pocket-book which I could not help noticing contained such items as "Soda-water—3s.," "Washing—5s.," and "Church collection—6d.," and placed our name and time amidst the other entries.

We kept our appointment. The buttons was in a state of excitement. Mr. Leo Armstrong received us, and pointed to the gas apparatus with an air of triumph, as if he had had some difficulty in getting it entrusted to him in consequence of his youth. Then "Master Sammy" made his appearance. He was going to administer the gas. It was a pleasant family party, and I felt quite parental. Had it not been for poor George Lewis Bolton Rollit's swollen face, I should have said to Mr. Leo Armstrong, "Master Sammy," my boy, and the buttons, "Here, lads, let us make a day of it. I will take you all to Madame Tussaud's and the Zoological Gardens."

"You have had the gas, haven't you?" said "Master Sammy," who had been fumbling with the apparatus. "How do you put it on?"

Poor George Lewis Bolton Rollit, under protest, described the modus operandi. Then the mouth was