ing at all. A-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Nothing at all.

You suddenly develop a particular friendship for the dentist. A splendid
fellow, really. You ask him questions about his instruments. What does
he use this thing for, for instance? Well, well, to think, of a little
thing like that making all that trouble. A-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!... And the
dentist's family, how are they? Isn't that fine!

Gaily you shake hands with him and straighten your tie. Forgotten is the
fact that you have another appointment with him for Monday. There is no
such thing as Monday. You are through for today, and all's right with
the world.

As you pass out through the waiting-room, you leer at the others
unpleasantly. The poor fishes! Why can't they take their medicine like
grown people and not sit there moping as if they were going to be shot?

Heigh-ho! Here's the elevator-man! A charming fellow! You wonder if he
knows that you have just had a tooth filled. You feel tempted to tell
him and slap him on the back. You feel tempted to tell everyone out in
the bright, cheery street. And what a wonderful street it is too! All
full of nice, black snow and water. After all, Life is sweet!

And then you go and find the first person whom you can accost without
being arrested and explain to him just what it was that the dentist did
to you, and how you felt, and what you have got to have done next time.

Which brings us right back to where we were in the beginning, and
perhaps accounts for everyone's liking to divulge their dental secrets
to others. It may be a sort of hysterical relief that, for the time
being, it is all over with.

XXVIII

MALIGNANT MIRRORS

As a rule, I try not to look into mirrors any more than is absolutely
necessary. Things are depressing enough as they are without my going out
of my way to make myself miserable.

But every once in a while it is unavoidable. There are certain mirrors
in town with which I am brought face to face on occasion and there is
nothing to do but make the best of it. I have come to classify them
according to the harshness with which they fling the truth into my face.

I am unquestionably at my worst in the mirror before which I try on
hats. I may have been going along all winter thinking of other things,
dwelling on what people tell me is really a splendid spiritual side to
my nature, thinking of myself as rather a fine sort of person, not
dashing perhaps, but one from whose countenance shines a great l