Three Episodes in the Life of Mr Cowlishaw, Dentist

by Arnold Bennett

IThey all happened on the same day. And that day was a Saturday, the redSaturday on which, in the unforgettable football match between TottenhamHotspur and the Hanbridge F.C. (formed regardless of expense in thematter of professionals to take the place of the bankrupt Knype F.C.),the referee would certainly have been murdered had not a Five Townscrowd observed its usual miraculous self-restraint.Mr Cowlishaw--aged twenty-four, a fair-haired bachelor with a weakmoustache--had bought the practice of the retired Mr Rapper, a dentistof the very old school. He was not a native of the Five Towns. He camefrom St Albans, and had done the deal through an advertisement in theDentists' Guardian, a weekly journal full of exciting interest todentists. Save such knowledge as he had gained during two preliminaryvisits to the centre of the world's earthenware manufacture, he knewnothing of the Five Towns; practically, he had everything to learn. Andone may say that the Five Towns is not a subject that can be "got up" ina day.His place of business--or whatever high-class dentists choose to callit--in Crown Square was quite ready for him when he arrived on theFriday night: specimen "uppers" and "lowers" and odd teeth shining intheir glass case, the new black-and-gold door-plate on the door, andthe electric filing apparatus which he had purchased, in theoperating-room. Nothing lacked there. But his private lodgings were notready; at least, they were not what he, with his finicking Albaniannotions, called ready, and, after a brief altercation with his landlady,he went off with a bag to spend the night at the Turk's Head Hotel. TheTurk's Head is the best hotel in Hanbridge, not excepting the new HotelMetropole (Limited, and German-Swiss waiters). The proof of itsexcellence is that the proprietor, Mr Simeon Clowes, was then the Mayorof Hanbridge, and Mrs Clowes one of the acknowledged leaders ofHanbridge society.Mr Cowlishaw went to bed. He was a good sleeper; at least, he was whatis deemed a good sleeper in St Albans. He retired about eleven o'clock,and requested one of the barmaids to instruct the boots to arouse him at7 a.m. She faithfully promised to do so.He had not been in bed five minutes before he heard and felt anearthquake. This earthquake seemed to have been born towards thenorth-east, in the direction of Crown Square, and the shock seemed topass southwards in the direction of Knype. The bed shook; the basin andewer rattled together like imperfect false teeth in the mouth of anarrant coward; the walls of the hotel shook. Then silence! No cries ofalarm, no cries for help, no lamentations of ruin! Doubtless, thoughearthquakes are rare in England, the whole town had been overthrown andengulfed, and only Mr Cowlishaw's bed left standing. Conquering histerror, Mr Cowlishaw put his head under the clothes and waited.He had not been in bed ten minutes before he heard and felt anotherearthquake. This earthquake seemed to have been born towards thenorth-east, in the direction of Crown Square, and to be travellingsouthwards; and Mr Cowlishaw noticed that it was accompanied by astrange sound of heavy bumping. He sprang courageously out of bed andrushed to the window. And it so happened that he caught the earthquakein the very act of flight. It was one of the new cars of the Five TownsElectric Traction Company, Limited, guaranteed to carry fifty-twopassengers. The bumping was due to the fact that the driver, by a tooviolent application of the brake, had changed the form of two of itswheels from circular to oval. Such accidents do happen, even to thenewest cars, and the inhabitants of the Five Towns laugh when they heara bumpy car as they laugh at Charley's Aunt. The car shot past,flashing sparks from its overhead wire and flaming red and green lightsof warning, and vanished down the main thoroughfare. And gradually theewer and basin ceased their colloquy. The night being the night of the29th December, and exceedingly cold, Mr Cowlishaw went back to bed."Well," he muttered, "this is a bit thick, this is!" (They use suchlanguage in cathedral towns.) "However, let's hope it's the last."It was not the last. Exactly, it was the last but twenty-three.Regularly at intervals of five minutes the Five Towns Electric TractionCompany, Limited, sent one of their dreadful engines down the street,apparently with the object of disintegrating all the real property inthe neighbourhood into its original bricks. At the seventeenth time MrCowlishaw trembled to hear a renewal of the bump-bump-bump. It was theoval-wheeled car, which had been to Longshaw and back. He recognized itas an old friend. He wondered whether he must expect it to pass a thirdtime. However, it did not pass a third time. After several clocks in andout of the hotel had more or less agreed on the fact that it was oneo'clock, there was a surcease of earthquakes. Mr Cowlishaw dared nothope that earthquakes were over. He waited in strained attention duringquite half an hour, expectant of the next earthquake. But it did notcome. Earthquakes were, indeed, done with till the morrow.It was about two o'clock when his nerves were sufficientlytranquillized to enable him to envisage the possibility of going tosleep. And he was just slipping, gliding, floating off when he wasbrought back to realities by a terrific explosion of laughter at thehead of the stairs outside his bedroom door. The building rang like theinside of a piano when you strike a wire directly. The explosion wasfollowed by low rumblings of laughter and then by a series of jolly,hearty "Good-nights." He recognized the voices as being those of agroup of commercial travellers and two actors (of the Hanbridge TheatreRoyal's specially selected London Pantomime Company), who had beenpointed out to him with awe and joy by the aforesaid barmaid. They weretelling each other stories in the private bar, and apparently they hadbeen telling each other stories ever since. And the truth is that theatmosphere of the Turk's Head, where commercial travellers and actorsforgather every night except perhaps Sundays, contains more good storiesto the cubic inch than any other resort in the county of Staffordshire.A few seconds after the explosion there was a dropping fusillade--thecommercial travellers and the actors shutting their doors. And aboutfive minutes later there was another and more complicated droppingfusillade--the commercial travellers and actors opening their doors,depositing their boots (two to each soul), and shutting their doors.Then silence.And then out of the silence the terrified Mr Cowlishaw heard arising andarising a vast and fearful breathing, as of some immense prehistoricmonster in pain. At first he thought he was asleep and dreaming. But hewas not. This gigantic sighing continued regularly, and Mr Cowlishaw hadnever heard anything like it before. It banished sleep.After about two hours of its awful uncanniness, Mr Cowlishaw caught thesound of creeping footsteps in the corridor and fumbling noises. He gotup again. He was determined, though he should have to interrogateburglars and assassins, to discover the meaning of that horriblesighing. He courageously pulled his door open, and saw an aproned manwith a candle marking boots with chalk, and putting them into a box."I say!" said Mr Cowlishaw."Beg yer pardon, sir," the man whispered. "I'm getting forward with mywork so as I can go to th' fut-baw match this afternoon. I hope I didn'twake ye, sir.""Look here!" said Mr Cowlishaw. "What's that appalling noise that'sgoing on all the time?""Noise, sir?" whispered the man, astonished."Yes," Mr Cowlishaw insisted. "Like something breathing. Can't you hearit?"The man cocked his ears attentively. The noise veritably boomed in MrCowlishaw's ears."Oh! That!" said the man at length. "That's th' blast furnaces atCauldon Bar Ironworks. Never heard that afore, sir? Why, it's like thatevery night. Now you mention it, I do hear it! It's a good couple o'miles off, though, that is!"Mr Cowlishaw closed his door.At five o'clock, when he had nearly, but not quite, forgotten thesighing, his lifelong friend, the oval-wheeled electric car, bumped andquaked through the street, and the ewer and basin chattered togetherbusily, and the seismic phenomena definitely recommenced. The night wasstill black, but the industrial day had dawned in the Five Towns. Longseries of carts without springs began to jolt past under the window ofMr Cowlishaw, and then there was a regular multitudinous clacking ofclogs and boots on the pavement. A little later the air was rent byfirst one steam-whistle, and then another, and then another, in diverstones announcing that it was six o'clock, or five minutes past, orhalf-past, or anything. The periodicity of earthquakes had by this timequickened to five minutes, as at midnight. A motor-car emerged underthe archway of the hotel, and remained stationary outside with itsengine racing. And amid the earthquakes, the motor-car, the carts, theclogs and boots, and the steam muezzins calling the faithful to work, MrCowlishaw could still distinguish the tireless, monstrous sighing of theCauldon Bar blast furnaces. And, finally, he heard another sound. Itcame from the room next to his, and, when he heard it, exhausted thoughhe was, exasperated though he was, he burst into laughter, so comicallydid it strike him.It was an alarm-clock going off in the next room.And, further, when he arrived downstairs, the barmaid, sweet,conscientious little thing, came up to him and said, "I'm so sorry, sir.I quite forgot to tell the boots to call you!"IIThat afternoon he sat in his beautiful new surgery and waited for dentalsufferers to come to him from all quarters of the Five Towns. It needsnot to be said that nobody came. The mere fact that a new dentist has"set up" in a district is enough to cure all the toothache for milesaround. The one martyr who might, perhaps, have paid him a visit and afee did not show herself. This martyr was Mrs Simeon Clowes, themayoress. By a curious chance, he had observed, during his short sojournat the Turk's Head, that the landlady thereof was obviously in pain fromher teeth, or from a particular tooth. She must certainly have informedherself as to his name and condition, and Mr Cowlishaw thought that itwould have been a graceful act on her part to patronize him, as he hadpatronized the Turk's Head. But no! Mayoresses, even the most tactful,do not always do the right thing at the right moment.Besides, she had doubtless gone, despite toothache, to the footballmatch with the Mayor, the new club being under the immediate patronageof his Worship. All the potting world had gone to the football match.Mr Cowlishaw would have liked to go, but it would have been madness toquit the surgery on his opening day. So he sat and yawned, and peeped atthe crowd crowding to the match at two o'clock, and crowding back in thegloom at four o'clock; and at a quarter past five he was reading a fulldescription of the carnage and the heroism in the football edition ofthe Signal. Though Hanbridge had been defeated, it appeared from theSignal that Hanbridge was the better team, and that Rannoch, the newScotch centre-forward, had fought nobly for the town which had boughthim so dear.Mr Cowlishaw was just dozing over the Signal when there happened aring at his door. He did not precipitate himself upon the door. Withbeating heart he retained his presence of mind, and said to himself thatof course it could not possibly be a client. Even dentists who bought apractice ready-made never had a client on their first day. He heard theattendant answer the ring, and then he heard the attendant saying, "I'llsee, sir."It was, in fact, a patient. The servant, having asked Mr Cowlishaw if MrCowlishaw was at liberty, introduced the patient to the Presence, andthe Presence trembled.The patient was a tall, stiff, fair man of about thirty, with a tousledhead and inelegant but durable clothing. He had a drooping moustache,which prevented Mr Cowlishaw from adding his teeth up instantly."Good afternoon, mister," said the patient, abruptly."Good afternoon," said Mr Cowlishaw. "Have you ... Can I ..."Strange; in the dental hospital and school there had been no course ofstudy in the art of pattering to patients!"It's like this," said the patient, putting his hand in his waistcoatpocket."Will you kindly sit down," said Mr Cowlishaw, turning up the gas, andpointing to the chair of chairs."It's like this," repeated the patient, doggedly. "You see these threeteeth?"He displayed three very real teeth in a piece of reddened paper. As aspectacle, they were decidedly not appetizing, but Mr Cowlishaw washardened."Really!" said Mr Cowlishaw, impartially, gazing on them."They're my teeth," said the patient. And thereupon he opened his mouthwide, and displayed, not without vanity, a widowed gum. "'Ont 'eeth," heexclaimed, keeping his mouth open and omitting preliminary consonants."Yes," said Mr Cowlishaw, with a dry inflection. "I saw that they wereupper incisors. How did this come about? An accident, I suppose?""Well," said the man, "you may call it an accident; I don't. My name'sRannoch; centre-forward. Ye see? Were ye at the match?"Mr Cowlishaw understood. He had no need of further explanation; he hadread it all in the Signal. And so the chief victim of TottenhamHotspur had come to him, just him! This was luck! For Rannoch was, ofcourse, the most celebrated man in the Five Towns, and the idol of thepopulace. He might have been M.P. had he chosen."Dear me!" Mr Cowlishaw sympathized, and he said again, pointing morefirmly to the chair of chairs, "Will you sit down?""I had 'em all picked up," Mr Rannoch proceeded, ignoring thesuggestion. "Because a bit of a scheme came into my head. And that's whyI've come to you, as you're just commencing dentist. Supposing you putthese teeth on a bit of green velvet in the case in your window, with abig card to say as they're guaranteed to be my genuine teeth, knockedout by that blighter of a Tottenham half-back, you'll have such a crowdas was never seen around your door. All the Five Towns'll come to see'em. It'll be the biggest advertisement that either you or any otherdentist ever had. And you might put a little notice in the Signalsaying that my teeth are on view at your premises; it would only cost yea shilling.... I should expect ye to furnish me with new teeth fornothing, ye see."In his travels throughout England Mr Rannoch had lost most of his Scotchaccent, but he had not lost his Scotch skill in the art and craft oftrying to pay less than other folks for whatever he might happen towant.Assuredly the idea was an idea of genius. As an advertisement it wouldbe indeed colossal and unique. Tens of thousands would gaze spellboundfor hours at those relics of their idol, and every gazer wouldinevitably be familiarized with the name and address of Mr Cowlishaw,and with the fact that Mr Cowlishaw was dentist-in-chief to the heroicalRannoch. Unfortunately, in dentistry there is etiquette. And theetiquette of dentistry is as terrible, as unbending, as the etiquette ofthe Court of Austria.Mr Cowlishaw knew that he could not do this thing without sinningagainst etiquette."I'm sorry I can't fall in with your scheme," said he, "but I can't.""But, man!" protested the Scotchman, "it's the greatest scheme thatever was.""Yes," said Mr Cowlishaw, "but it would be unprofessional."Mr Rannoch was himself a professional. "Oh, well," he saidsarcastically, "if you're one of those amateurs--""I'll put you the job in as low as possible," said Mr Cowlishaw,persuasively.But Scotchmen are not to be persuaded like that.Mr Rannoch wrapped up his teeth and left.What finally happened to those teeth Mr Cowlishaw never knew. But hesatisfied himself that they were not advertised in the Signal.IIINow, just as Mr Cowlishaw was personally conducting to the door thegreatest goal-getter that the Five Towns had ever seen there happenedanother ring, and thus it fell out that Mr Cowlishaw found himself inthe double difficulty of speeding his first visitor and welcoming hissecond all in the same breath. It is true that the second might imaginethat the first was a client, but then the aspect of Mr Rannoch's mouth,had it caught the eye of the second, was not reassuring. However, MrRannoch's mouth happily did not catch the eye of the second.The second was a visitor beyond Mr Cowlishaw's hopes, no other than MrsSimeon Clowes, landlady of the Turk's Head and Mayoress of Hanbridge; atall and well-built, handsome, downright woman, of something more thanfifty and something less than sixty; the mother of five marrieddaughters, the aunt of fourteen nephews and nieces, the grandam ofseven, or it might be eight, assorted babies; in short, a lady of vastinfluence. After all, then, she had come to him! If only he could pleaseher, he regarded his succession to his predecessor as definitelyestablished and his fortune made. No person in Hanbridge with anyyearnings for style would dream, he trusted, of going to any otherdentist than the dentist patronized by Mrs Clowes.She eyed him interrogatively and firmly. She probed into his character,and he felt himself pierced."You are Mr Cowlishaw?" she began."Good afternoon, Mrs Clowes," he replied. "Yes, I am. Can I be ofservice to you?""That depends," she said.He asked her to step in, and in she stepped."Have you had any experience in taking teeth out?" she asked in thesurgery. Her hand stroked her left cheek."Oh yes," he said eagerly. "But, of course, we try to avoid extractionas much as possible.""If you're going to talk like that," she said coldly, and even bitterly,"I'd better go."He wondered what she was driving at."Naturally," he said, summoning all his latent powers of diplomacy,"there are cases in which extraction is unfortunately necessary.""How many teeth have you extracted?" she inquired."I really couldn't say," he lied. "Very many.""Because," she said, "you don't look as if you could say 'Bo!' to agoose."He observed a gleam in her eye."I think I can say 'Bo!' to a goose," he said. She laughed."Don't fancy, Mr Cowlishaw, that if I laugh I'm not in the most horriblepain. I am. When I tell you I couldn't go with Mr Clowes to the match--""Will you take this seat?" he said, indicating the chair of chairs;"then I can examine."She obeyed. "I do hate the horrid, velvety feeling of these chairs," shesaid; "it's most creepy.""I shall have to trouble you to take your bonnet off."So she removed her bonnet, and he took it as he might have taken hisfirstborn, and laid it gently to rest on his cabinet. Then he pushed thegas-bracket so that the light came through the large crystal sphere, andmade the Mayoress blink."Now," he said soothingly, "kindly open your mouth--wide."Like all women of strong and generous character, Mrs Simeon Clowes had alarge mouth. She obediently extended it to dimensions which must bedescribed as august, at the same time pointing with her gloved andchubby finger to a particular part of it."Yes, yes," murmured Mr Cowlishaw, assuming a tranquillity which he didnot feel. This was the first time that he had ever looked into the mouthof a Mayoress, and the prospect troubled him.He put his little ivory-handled mirror into that mouth and studied itssecrets."I see," he said, withdrawing the mirror. "Exposed nerve. Quite simple.Merely wants stopping. When I've done with it the tooth will be as soundas ever it was. All your other teeth are excellent."Mrs Clowes arose violently out of the chair."Now just listen to me, please," she said. "I don't want any stopping; Iwon't have any stopping; I want that tooth out. I've already quarrelledwith one dentist this afternoon because he refused to take it out. Icame to you because you're young, and I thought you'd be morereasonable. Surely a body can decide whether she'll have a tooth out ornot! It's my tooth. What's a dentist for? In my young days dentistsnever did anything else but take teeth out. All I wish to know is, willyou take it out or will you not?""It's really a pity--""That's my affair, isn't it?" she stopped him, and moved towards herbonnet."If you insist," he said quickly, "I will extract.""Well," she said, "if you don't call this insisting, what do you callinsisting? Let me tell you I didn't have a wink of sleep last night!""Neither did I, in your confounded hotel!" he nearly retorted; butthought better of it.The Mayoress resumed her seat, taking her gloves off."It's decided then?" she questioned."Certainly," said he. "Is your heart good?""Is my heart good?" she repeated. "Young man, what business is that ofyours? It's my tooth I want you to deal with, not my heart.""I must give you gas," said Mr Cowlishaw, faintly."Gas!" she exclaimed. "You'll give me no gas, young man. No! My heart isnot good. I should die under gas. I couldn't bear the idea of gas. Youmust take it out without gas, and you mustn't hurt me. I'm a perfectbaby, and you mustn't on any account hurt me." The moment was crucial.Supposing that he refused--a promising career might be nipped in thebud; would, undoubtedly, be nipped in the bud. Whereas, if he acceptedthe task, the patronage of the aristocracy of Hanbridge was within hisgrasp. But the tooth was colossal, monumental. He estimated the lengthof its triple root at not less than 0.75 inch."Very well, madam," he said, for he was a brave youngster.But he was in a panic. He felt as though he were about to lead thecharge of the Light Brigade. He wanted a stiff drink. (But dentists maynot drink.) If he failed to wrench the monument out at the first pullthe result would be absolute disaster; in an instant he would haveruined the practice which had cost him so dear. And could he hope not tofail with the first pull? At best he would hurt her indescribably.However, having consented, he was obliged to go through with the affair.He took every possible precaution. He chose his most vicious instrument.He applied to the vicinity of the tooth the very latest substitute forcocaine; he prepared cotton wool and warm water in a glass. And atlength, when he could delay the fatal essay no longer, he said:"Now, I think we are ready.""You won't hurt me?" she asked anxiously."Not a bit," he replied, with an admirable simulation of gaiety."Because if you do--"He laughed. But it was a hysterical laugh. All his nerves were on end.And he was very conscious of having had no sleep during the previousnight. He had a sick feeling. The room swam. He collected himself with aterrific effort."When I count one," he said, "I shall take hold; when I count two youmust hold very tight to the chair; and when I count three, out it willcome."Then he encircled her head with his left arm--brutally, as dentistsalways are brutal in the thrilling crisis. "Wider!" he shouted.And he took possession of that tooth with his fiendish contrivance ofsteel."One--two--"He didn't know what he was doing.There was no three. There was a slight shriek and a thud on the floor.Mrs Simeon Clowes jumped up and briskly rang a bell. The attendantrushed in. The attendant saw Mrs Clowes gurgling into a handkerchief,which she pressed to her mouth with one hand, while with the other, inwhich she held her bonnet, she was fanning the face of Mr Cowlishaw. MrCowlishaw had fainted from nervous excitement under fatigue. But hisunconscious hand held the forceps; and the forceps, victorious, held themonumental tooth."O-o-pen the window," spluttered Mrs Clowes to the attendant. "He's goneoff; he'll come to in a minute."She was flattered. Mr Cowlishaw was for ever endeared to Mrs Clowes bythis singular proof of her impressiveness. And a woman like that canmake the fortune of half a dozen dentists.

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