Now Bill, being, as we aforestated, a muscularly-developed youth, got up in the most sturdy New Hampshire style, _his_ teeth _were_ teeth, in every way calculated to perform long and strong; but Bill was fast imbibing counter-jumper notions, dabbling in stiff dickeys, greased soap-locks, and other fancy "flab-dabs," supposed to be essential in cutting a swarth among ye fair sex. So that when Dr. Wangbanger once had an audience with Mr. William Whiffletree in regard to one of Mr. Whiffletree's molars which Bill thought had a "speck" on it, he soon convinced the victim that the said molar not only was specked, but out of the dead plumb of its nearest neighbor at least the 84th part of an inch! "O, shocking!" says the remorseless _hum_; "it is well I saw it in time, Mr. Whiffletree. Why, in the course of a few weeks, that tooth, sir, would have exfoliated, calcareous supperation would have ensued, the gum would have ossified, while the nerve of the tooth becoming apostrophized, the roots would have concatenated in their hiatuses, and the jaw-bone, no longer acting upon their fossil exoduses, would necessarily have led to the entire suspension of the capillary organs of your stomach and brain, and--_death would supervene in two hours!_" Poor Bill! he scarcely knew what fainting was, but a queer sensation settled in his "ossis frontis," while his ossis legso almost bent double under him, at the awful prospect of things before him! He took a long breath, however, and in a voice tremulous with emotion, inquired-- "Good Lord, Doctor! what's to be done for a feller?" "Plug and file," calmly said the Doctor. "Plug and file what?" "The second molar," said the Doctor; though the treacherous monster _meant_ Bill's wallet, of course! "What'll it cost, Doctor?" says Bill. "Done in my very best manner, upon the new and splendid system invented by myself, sir, and practiced upon all the crowned heads of Europe, London, and Washington City, it will cost you three dollars." "Does it hurt much, Doctor?" was Bill's cautious inquiry. "Very little, indeed; it's sometimes rather agreeable, sir, than otherwise," said the Doctor. "Then go at it, Doctor! Here's the _dosh_," and forking over three dollars, down sits William Whiffletree in a high-backed chair, and the Doctor's assistant--a sturdy young Irishman--clamping Bill's head to the back of the chair, to keep it steady, as the Doctor remarked, the latter began to "bore and file." "O! ah! ho-ho-hold on, _hold on!_" cries Bill, at the first _gouge_ the Doctor gave the huge tooth. "O! be me soul! be aizy, zur," says the Irishman, "it's mesilf as untherstands it--_I'll howld on till yees!_" "O--O-h-h-h!" roars Bill, as the Doctor proceeds. "Be quiet, sir; the pain won't signify!" says the Doctor. "Go-goo-good Lord-d-d! Ho-ho-hol-hold on!"