_Cato._ What you come in dat door widout knockin’ for?
_Bill._ My toof ache so, I didn’t tink to knock. Oh, my toof! my toof! Whar is de doctor?
_Bill._ What! you de doctor, you brack cuss! You looks like a doctor! Oh, my toof! my toof! Whar is de doctor?
_Cato._ I tells you I is de doctor. Ef you don’t believe me, ax dese men. I can pull your toof in a minnit.
_Bill._ Well, den, pull it out. Oh, my toof! how it aches! Oh, my toof!
_Bill._ Oh, my toof! Well, den, come on. [_Lies down, Cato gets astraddle of Bill’s breast, puts the turnkeys on the wrong tooth, and pulls—Bill kicks, and cries out_]—Oh, do stop! Oh! oh! oh!
[_Cato pulls the wrong tooth—Bill jumps up._
_Cato._ Dar, now, I tole you I could pull your toof for you.
_Bill._ Oh, dear me! Oh, it aches yet! Oh me! Oh, Lor-e-massy! You dun pull de wrong toof. Drat your skin! ef I don’t pay you for this, you brack cuss!
[_They fight, and turn over table, chairs and bench—Pete and Ned look on._
_Dr. G._ Why, dear me, what’s the matter? What’s all this about? I’ll teach you a lesson, that I will.
[_The doctor goes at them with his cane._
_Cato._ Oh, massa! he’s to blame, sir. He’s to blame. He struck me fuss.
_Bill._ No, sir; he’s to blame; he pull de wrong toof. Oh, my toof! oh, my toof!
_Dr. G._ Let me see your tooth. Open your mouth. As I live, you’ve taken out the wrong tooth. I am amazed. I’ll whip you for this; I’ll whip you well. You’re a pretty doctor. Now lie down, Bill, and let him take out the right tooth; and if he makes a mistake this time, I’ll cowhide him well. Lie down, Bill. [_Bill lies down, and Cato pulls the tooth._] There now, why didn’t you do that in the first place?
_Dr. G._ You’ve made a pretty muss of it, in my absence. Look at the table! Never mind, Cato; I’ll whip you well for this conduct of yours to-day. Go to work now, and clear up the office.
_Cato._ Confound dat nigger! I wish he was in Ginny. He bite my finger and scratch my face. But didn’t I give it to him? Well, den, I reckon I did. [_He goes to the mirror, and discovers that his coat is torn—weeps._] Oh, dear me! Oh, my coat—my coat is tore! Dat nigger has tore my coat. [_He gets angry, and rushes about the room frantic._] Cuss dat nigger! Ef I could lay my hands on him, I’d tare him all to pieces,—dat I would. An’ de ole boss hit me wid his cane after dat nigger tore my coat. By golly, I wants to fight somebody. Ef ole massa should come in now, I’d fight him. [_Rolls up his sleeves._] Let ’em come now, ef dey dare—ole massa, or any body else; I’m ready for ’em.