An Irishman with one side of his face badly swollen stepped into Dr. Wicten's office and inquired if the dentist was in. "I am the dentist," said the doctor.
"Well, then, I want ye to see what's the matter wid me tooth."
The doctor examined the offending molar, and explained: "The nerve is dead; that's what's the matter."
"Thin, be the powers," the Irishman exclaimed, "the other teeth must be houldin' a wake over it!"
Pat came to the office with his jaw very much swollen from a tooth he desired to have pulled. But when the suffering son of Erin got into the dentist's chair and saw the gleaming pair of forceps approaching his face, he positively refused to open his mouth.
The dentist quietly told his office boy to prick his patient with a pin, and when Pat opened his mouth to yell the dentist seized the tooth, and out it came.
"It didn't hurt as much as you expected it would, did it?" the dentist asked smiling.
"Well, no," replied Pat hesitatingly, as if doubting the truthfulness of his admission. "But," he added, placing his hand on the spot where the boy jabbed him with the pin, "begorra, little did I think the roots would reach down like that."
In China when the subscriber rings up exchange the operator may be expected to ask:
"What number does the honorable son of the moon and stars desire?"
"Hohi, two-three."
Silence. Then the exchange resumes.
"Will the honorable person graciously forgive the inadequacy of the insignificant service and permit this humbled slave of the wire to inform him that the never-to-be-sufficiently censured line is busy?"
A German woman called up Central and instructed her as follows:
"Ist dis de mittle? Veil dis is Lena. Hang my hustband on dis line. I vant to speak mit him."
OPERATOR—"Number, please."
SUBSCRIBER—"I vas talking mit my husband und now I don't hear him any more. You must of pushed him off de vire."
