Kindly the dentist was, for he
Had obviously sought
To keep his waiting victims free
From apprehensive thought,
Providing for those souls in fear
The Comic Press of yesteryear.
I read those jests of days agone,
Those jibes at folly flown,
And wondered should I light upon
Some trifle of my own,
A par well pointed in its time
Or fragment of reputed rhyme.
Could I retrieve some sparkling fytte
Bedecked with _jeux de mots_,
I fancied that the sight of it
Might soothe my present woe,
Reminding me how once I had
Been quite a jocund kind of lad.
Lo, what a foolish hope was this!
I realised too soon
The special form of Nemesis
That waits on the buffoon:
_The joke I found concerned the gloom
Inside a dentist's waiting-room_.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "HE HADN'T BEEN DEAD A WEEK WHEN THEY STARTED
QUARRELLING OVER HIS ESTATE."
"DID HE LEAVE MUCH?" "NO--ONLY THREE GALLONS."]
* * * * *