"Well, Mr. Rudd," the pressman commenced (he was young and fresh-looking), "I'm from the (something-or-other) office. I'm--er--after information about the crops round here. I suppose--er----"

"Oh-h-h!" Dad groaned, opening his mouth over the fire, and pressing the tooth hard with his thumb.

The pressman stared at him for awhile; then grinned at the storekeeper, and made a derisive face at Dad's back. Then--"What have you got in this season, Mr. Rudd? Wheat?"

"I don't know....Oh-h--it's awful!"

"Did n't think toothache so bad as THAT," said the man of news, airily, addressing Mother. "Never had it much myself, you see!"

He looked at Dad again; then winked slyly at Canty, and said to Dad, in an altered tone: "Whisky's a good thing for it, old man, if you've got any."

Nothing but a groan came from Dad, but Mother shook her head sadly in the negative.

Mother brightened up. "There's a little oil in the house," she said, "but I don't know if we've any tar. Is there, Joe--in that old drum?"

(Editor：television)