"The dentist will know what to do." So James drove Patsy to town, where they arrived about nine o'clock this Monday morning.

The only dentist at Elmwood was Dr.Squiers, so the girl ran up the flight of stairs to his office, which was located over the hardware store.
The pain had eased on the journey, and now the thought of having the offending tooth pulled was weighing heavily upon Patsy's mind.

The door of Dr.Squiers's office stood ajar, and she hesitated whether to enter or not.
The dentist's reception room was divided from his operating room by a thin wooden partition, and as Patsy was deciding whether to employ Dr.
Squiers's services or not she heard high words coming from behind the partition, and the voice was that of the Honorable Erastus Hopkins.
Softly she slid into the outer room and sank into a chair.
"But you're the clerk of the election, Squiers; you can't deny that," Hopkins was saying in a blustering, imperious voice.
"That's true enough," answered the dentist, more calmly.
"Then you've got the registration books in your possession." "I admit that," was the reply.

"But you're asking me to incriminate myself, 'Rast.

If the thing was discovered it would mean prison for both of us." "Fiddlesticks!" cried the irascible Hopkins.