Laughing Gas by P. G. Wodehouse Read Free Book Online

tryst with I. J. Zizzbaum, the man behind the forceps.
    So here we are again at the point where, if you remember, I originally wanted to start the story, only my literary pal headed me off. There I was, as I told you, sitting in an arm-chair, and across the room in another arm-chair, turning the pages of the National Geographic Magazine, was a kid of the Little Lord Fauntleroy type. His left cheek, like mine, was bulging, and I deduced that we were both awaiting the awful summons.
    He was, I observed, a kid of singular personal beauty. Not even the bulge in h is cheek could conceal that. He had large, expressive eyes and golden ringlets. Long lashes hid these eyes as he gazed down at his National Geographic Magazine.
    I never know what's the correct course to pursue on occasions like this. Should one try to help things along with a friendly word or two, if only about the weather? Or is silence best? I was just debating this question in ray mind, when he opened the conversation himself.
    He lowered his National Geographic Magazine and looked across at me.
    'Where,' he asked, 'are the rest of the boys?'
    Chapter 5
    His meaning eluded me. I didn't get him. A cryptic kid. One of those kids, who, as the expression is, speak in riddles. He was staring at me enquiringly, and I stared back at him, also enquiringly.
    Then I said, going straight to the point and evading all side issues:
    'What boys?'
    'The newspaper boys.'
    'The newspaper boys?'
    An idea seemed to strike him.
    'Aren't you a reporter?'
    'No, not a reporter.'
    'Then what are you doing here?'
    'I've come to have a tooth out.'
    This appeared to surprise and displease him. He said, with marked acerbity:
    'You can't have come to have a tooth out.' 'Yes, I have.'
    'But I've come to have a tooth out.' I spotted a possible solution.
    'Perhaps,' I said, throwing out the suggestion for what it was worth, 'we've both come to have a tooth out, what? I mean to say, you one and me another. Tooth A and Tooth B, as it were.'
    He still seemed ruffled. He eyed me searchingly.
    'When's your appointment?'
    'Three-thirty.'
    'It can't be. Mine is.'
    'So is mine. I. J. Zizzbaum was most definite about that. We arranged it over the phone, and his words left no loophole for misunderstanding. "Three-thirty," said I. J. Zizzbaum, as plain as I see you now.'
    The kid became calmer. His alabaster brow lost its frown, and he ceased to regard me as if I were some hijacker or bandit. It was as if a great light had shone upon him.
    'Oh, I. J. Zizzb mm?' he said. 'B. K. Burwash is doing mine.'
    And, looking about me, I now perceived that on either side of the apartment in which we sat was a door. On one of these doors Was imprinted the legend:
J. ZIZZBAUM
    And on the other:
    B. K. BURWASH
    The mystery was solved. Possibly because they were old dental college chums, or possibly from motives of economy, these two fang-wrenchers shared a common waiting-room.
    Convinced now that no attempt was being made to jump his claim, the kid had become affability itself. Seeing in me no rival for first whack at the operating-chair, but merely a fellow human being up against the facts of life just as he was, he changed his tone to one of kindly interest.
    'Does your tooth hurt?'
    'Like the dickens.'
    'So does mine. Coo!'
    'Coo here, too.'
    'Where does it seem to catch you most?' 'Pretty well all the way down to the toenails.' 'Me, too. This tooth of mine is certainly fierce. Yessir!' 'So is mine.'
    'I'll bet mine's worse than yours.' 'It couldn't be.'
    He made what he evidently considered a telling point.
    'I'm having gas.'
    I came right back at him.
    'So am I.'
    'I'll bet I need more gas than you.'
    ‘I’ll bet you don't.'
    ‘I’ll bet you a trillion dollars I do.'
    It seemed to me that rancour was beginning to creep into the conversation once more, and that pretty soon we would be descending to a common wrangle. So, rather than allow the harmony of the proceedings to be marred by a jarring note, I dropped the