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"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 hurt me, I'm a perfect baby, and you mustn't on any account hurt me."
The moment was crucial. Supposing that he refused - a promising career, might be nipped in the bud. Whereas, if he accepted the task, the patronage of the aristocracy of Hanbridge was within his grasp. But the tooth was colossal, monumental.
"Very well, Madam," he said, for he was a brave young man.
But he was in panic. He wanted a stiff drink. If he failed to wrench the monument out at the first pull, the result would be absolute disaster; in an instant he would have ruined the practice which had cost him so dear. However, having consented, he was obliged to go through with the affair.
He took every precaution. He chose the most vicious instrument. He applied to the vicinity of the tooth the very latest substitute for cocaine; he prepared cotton wool and warm water in a glass. And at length, when he could delay the fatal essay no longer, he said:
"Now I think we are ready."
"You won't hurt me?" she asked anxiously.
"Not a bit," he replied, with an admirable simulation of gaiety.
"Because if you do -"
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