IluvABbeef
Well-known member
- Joined
- Mar 29, 2006
- Messages
- 3,630
A most extraordinary occurrence took place in one of Calgary’s hospitals last Tuesday. It appears that a well-known man about town who had been suffering from decaying teeth, decided to have his upper row removed by a dentist and a plate substituted. Arrangements were made accordingly for an operation under chloroform, and in due course the dentist, a couple of doctors and the man with the bum teeth met in the operating [room] of the hospital. A French Canadian sister who could not talk English, though she understood it when spoken, was also present.
The victim was tastefully attired in a long nightie and sat jauntily on the edge of the operating table swinging his legs and watching the preparations. The dentist produced a little case of steel instruments and created a pleasant diversion by pretending to extract a tooth from the sister’s head. Finally one of the doctors said: “All set?” And being assured that everything was ready, added: “Well, old cockalorum, throw away that cigarette and stretch yourself out on the slab. That’s right! By gum, you look just like a fellow I saw the other day laid out in the morgue. By the way, how’s your heart?”
“Oh cut that out, Doc! My heart’s all right. Clap on that chloroform and get busy.”
“Well, in any case, Dr. Slaughter will watch your heart while I do the chloroform act. Now let me get this dingus over your nose. Inhale gently and—Oh, I say Slaughter, did you ever sell those Elbow Park lots of yours?”
“No, McMurder, I have ‘em yet. Scrunchem here has been trying to get them on an even trade for some lots on the corner of Seventh Avenue and fourteenth Street West, but I dunno, I dunno, that’s pretty far out.”
“Well,” said Scrunchem tartly, “I refused an offer of $20 000 for that Seventh Avenue stuff. If those Elbow Park lots were only a little nearer to the street car terminus they might be worth what you think they are, but they are away to hellan—“
“Say, Scrunchem, I’ll tell you what I’ll do with you. I’ll bet you $50 my Elbow Park lots are not over two blocks from where the street car turns. I’ve a blueprint in my overcoat pocket down in the waiting room and I can show you in two minutes.”
“All right. You’re on. Fifty goes. Come on down stairs right now and show me. I’m from Missouri.”
And off went Dr. McMurder and Dr. Scrunchem to settle their bet.
“Le Malade, il dort bein,” said the sister, bending over the patient on the table.
“Wot’s that?” said Slaughter. “Between you and me sister, I believe McMurder will lose that bet. I know where those lots are and they must be at least fifteen blocks from where the car turns. I don’t see why Scrunchem doesn’t tackle some of that south-east of the town. I could let him have a nice block not much over nine miles from the post off—“
“Mais, le malade!” cried the sister. “Pourguod ne faites-vous pas l’operation!”
“L’operation?” said the doctor, musingly. “I suppose she means the operation. By George, I came near forgetting this stiff on the table. I wonder if I have given him an overdose of chloroform? Lemme have a look?”
Dr. Slaughter put his ear down against the patient’s heart and gave a relieved laugh.
“Well sister, those other fellows will probably take time going over that blueprint, so I’ll just operate myself. Let’s see. He’s here to get his teeth taken out, and I’ll just while away the time removing his appendix. McMurder and I can tell him afterwards that on examining his mouth we discovered that he had appendicitis and that an operation was absolutely necessary to save his life. That’s $250 and will help some on a second payment.”
Fumbling in his vest pocket, Dr. Slaughter produced a lancet and having duly ascertained the sharpness by plucking a hair off his head and carefully bisecting it, proceeded to prod around the victim’s stomach to locate the appendix.
“Attendez, monsieur, attendez!” cried the sister in alarm. “C’est pour avoir ses dents arraches que le malade est ici!”
“Oh, that’s all right sister. If he shows signs of coming to, just pour another bucket of chloroform over him.”
With that, Slaughter gave a magical flourish of his lancet and plunged it into the stomach of the unconscious victim.
“Now I come to think of it,” said Dr. Slaughter, thoughtfully, probing around with his forefinger in search of the appendix, “Mc Murder did pick up some Elbow Park lots closer in quite recently. McMurder’s pretty foxy. I’ll bet these are the lots he meant when he went that fifty. I wonder what’s become of this blighter’s appendix? Oh, hullo, here you are you two! Well, who won?”
“McMurder brought home the bacon,” said Scrunchem. “I thought he meant those lots out near the bridge. I didn’t know he had any closer in.”
“That’s all right,” said McMurder, “but those close-in lots only go for cash. No trade or no 3, 6, and 9 stunts go with that stuff. It’s guilt edged. Say, Slaughter, what on earth are you doing cutting up our patient like that for?”
“Oh, ha ha. I thought I’d take out his appendix as a slight token of my esteem. I need $250 anyway, to meet the second payment on my Altadore lots.”
“But Slaughter, my dear fellow,” cried McMurder, laughing heartily, “you’ve cut him open on the wrong side. It’s the right side always, not the left.”
“By jove it is!” said Slaughter, with a broad grin. “Do you know, I got to thinking about those Elbow Park lots and was not paying much attention. Oh well, let’s sew him up and get on with the teeth.”
“How long has he been under the chloroform?” said Scrunchem, taking up a pair of forceps and opening and shutting them with series of ghastly clicks.
“About an hour, I fancy,” said Slaughter, who was busy stitching up the gash in the unfortunate man’s stomach.
“Well, I guess we better give him some more dope. I’ll tell you what I’ll do with you McMurder. I think I’ve got a buyer for my Seventh Avenue stuff and if he comes through I’ll take a couple of those lots, though you’re asking more than they are worth.”
“More than they are worth? Great Scott man, you’ll be able to double your money in six weeks. You will, for a fact. Say Slaughter, hurry up with those stitches. I want to take Scrunchem out and show him the lots, so that he can satisfy himself. Scrunchem, couldn’t you be yanking out his teeth in the meantime?”
“Why sure,” said Scrunchem, obligingly. “Just watch my smoke!”
Prying open the victim’s mouth, Scrunchem inserted the forceps and jerked the teeth out with such astonishing rapidity that he kept one in the air all the time.
“Bet you’re a ten-spot, Slaughter, I’ll have the teeth all out before you’re done stitching.”
“You’re on,” said Slaughter, without looking up.
Then ensued a most exciting race, Scrunchem keeping the air filled with flying teeth, while Slaughter stitched away for dear life. The gentle nurse stood by in horror, wringing her hands and crying: “Mon dieu! Mon Dieu!”
Finally, Scrunchem won by a tooth and Slaughter paid over his ten.
“Well, that settles that,” remarked McMurder, putting on his coat and glancing casually at the patient on the table. “I guess you’ll be able to set ‘em up out of that ten, Scrunchem. We pass the Albion on our way to Elbow Park.”
“Sure thing,” said Scrunchem.
Half an hour later the patient awoke in a bed in a ward, feeling terribly rocky. The sister was sitting beside him with a rather anxious look on her face.
“Et comment vouz portez vous, Monsieur?”
“Pretty tough sister, pretty tough.”
“Et votre bouche, sa fait mal?”
“I don’t understand you sister, but I’ve an awful pain in my stomach.”
“Oh, cela se passera,” said the sister, with a faint smile.
“Say sister, I feel a bit weak and would like a drop of whisky—not for boozological motives—strictly medicinal, strictly medicinal.”
“Bein! Je comprends.”
And away hurried the sister, returning in a few minutes with a freshly opened bottle of Seagram and a small glass. Pouring out a thimbleful, she gave it to the patient.
“Ah, that’s the stuff!” said he, sinking back among the pillows. “Now, sister, I’m alright. Just you leave the bottle on that table, and when I need a small decoction, I can help myself.”
The sister hesitated.
“Oh, that’s all right sister. I only want it for medicinal purposes. You needn’t be afraid.”
“Eh, bein,” cautioned the sister, “n’en prenez pas trop.”
“Call again,” said the patient, cheerfully, as the sister disappeared. The moment the door closed, Mr. Patient lost no time in pouring himself out a stiff hooker. Then her smacked his lips in deep satisfaction.
An hour or two later, one of the lay nurses, dressed in white, with a jaunty little cap perched on her curls, who happened to be walking briskly down the corridor, was not a little surprised to hear somebody caroling a beautiful ditty about a lady who wore rings on her fingers and bells on her toes. Pausing to locate the ward whence the warbling came, she gently opened the door of our patient’s room and looked in. There he was, sitting up in bed with a glass in his hand, singing away for all he was worth. Catching site of the nurse, he suddenly stopped and said: “You’ll ‘scushe me, nurse, but I was just trying out my mouth. I’ve no teeth—fact no teeth. I’m in ter’ble predic’ment, ter’ble predic’ment. Dentis’ mushavbeen drunk, tried to pull teeth out of my stomach. I’ve no teeth there. Well nurse, how are you coming anyhow? Purry lucky? Here’s looking at you. Shay, nurse, would you like to hear the story of my life? Shay, you couldn’t rushle me ‘nother bottle, could you?”
“No,” said the pretty nurse, disappearing into space.
“Well, I think I’ll have a schnooze. A schnooze will do me good. Nothing like a good schnooze…”
The victim was tastefully attired in a long nightie and sat jauntily on the edge of the operating table swinging his legs and watching the preparations. The dentist produced a little case of steel instruments and created a pleasant diversion by pretending to extract a tooth from the sister’s head. Finally one of the doctors said: “All set?” And being assured that everything was ready, added: “Well, old cockalorum, throw away that cigarette and stretch yourself out on the slab. That’s right! By gum, you look just like a fellow I saw the other day laid out in the morgue. By the way, how’s your heart?”
“Oh cut that out, Doc! My heart’s all right. Clap on that chloroform and get busy.”
“Well, in any case, Dr. Slaughter will watch your heart while I do the chloroform act. Now let me get this dingus over your nose. Inhale gently and—Oh, I say Slaughter, did you ever sell those Elbow Park lots of yours?”
“No, McMurder, I have ‘em yet. Scrunchem here has been trying to get them on an even trade for some lots on the corner of Seventh Avenue and fourteenth Street West, but I dunno, I dunno, that’s pretty far out.”
“Well,” said Scrunchem tartly, “I refused an offer of $20 000 for that Seventh Avenue stuff. If those Elbow Park lots were only a little nearer to the street car terminus they might be worth what you think they are, but they are away to hellan—“
“Say, Scrunchem, I’ll tell you what I’ll do with you. I’ll bet you $50 my Elbow Park lots are not over two blocks from where the street car turns. I’ve a blueprint in my overcoat pocket down in the waiting room and I can show you in two minutes.”
“All right. You’re on. Fifty goes. Come on down stairs right now and show me. I’m from Missouri.”
And off went Dr. McMurder and Dr. Scrunchem to settle their bet.
“Le Malade, il dort bein,” said the sister, bending over the patient on the table.
“Wot’s that?” said Slaughter. “Between you and me sister, I believe McMurder will lose that bet. I know where those lots are and they must be at least fifteen blocks from where the car turns. I don’t see why Scrunchem doesn’t tackle some of that south-east of the town. I could let him have a nice block not much over nine miles from the post off—“
“Mais, le malade!” cried the sister. “Pourguod ne faites-vous pas l’operation!”
“L’operation?” said the doctor, musingly. “I suppose she means the operation. By George, I came near forgetting this stiff on the table. I wonder if I have given him an overdose of chloroform? Lemme have a look?”
Dr. Slaughter put his ear down against the patient’s heart and gave a relieved laugh.
“Well sister, those other fellows will probably take time going over that blueprint, so I’ll just operate myself. Let’s see. He’s here to get his teeth taken out, and I’ll just while away the time removing his appendix. McMurder and I can tell him afterwards that on examining his mouth we discovered that he had appendicitis and that an operation was absolutely necessary to save his life. That’s $250 and will help some on a second payment.”
Fumbling in his vest pocket, Dr. Slaughter produced a lancet and having duly ascertained the sharpness by plucking a hair off his head and carefully bisecting it, proceeded to prod around the victim’s stomach to locate the appendix.
“Attendez, monsieur, attendez!” cried the sister in alarm. “C’est pour avoir ses dents arraches que le malade est ici!”
“Oh, that’s all right sister. If he shows signs of coming to, just pour another bucket of chloroform over him.”
With that, Slaughter gave a magical flourish of his lancet and plunged it into the stomach of the unconscious victim.
“Now I come to think of it,” said Dr. Slaughter, thoughtfully, probing around with his forefinger in search of the appendix, “Mc Murder did pick up some Elbow Park lots closer in quite recently. McMurder’s pretty foxy. I’ll bet these are the lots he meant when he went that fifty. I wonder what’s become of this blighter’s appendix? Oh, hullo, here you are you two! Well, who won?”
“McMurder brought home the bacon,” said Scrunchem. “I thought he meant those lots out near the bridge. I didn’t know he had any closer in.”
“That’s all right,” said McMurder, “but those close-in lots only go for cash. No trade or no 3, 6, and 9 stunts go with that stuff. It’s guilt edged. Say, Slaughter, what on earth are you doing cutting up our patient like that for?”
“Oh, ha ha. I thought I’d take out his appendix as a slight token of my esteem. I need $250 anyway, to meet the second payment on my Altadore lots.”
“But Slaughter, my dear fellow,” cried McMurder, laughing heartily, “you’ve cut him open on the wrong side. It’s the right side always, not the left.”
“By jove it is!” said Slaughter, with a broad grin. “Do you know, I got to thinking about those Elbow Park lots and was not paying much attention. Oh well, let’s sew him up and get on with the teeth.”
“How long has he been under the chloroform?” said Scrunchem, taking up a pair of forceps and opening and shutting them with series of ghastly clicks.
“About an hour, I fancy,” said Slaughter, who was busy stitching up the gash in the unfortunate man’s stomach.
“Well, I guess we better give him some more dope. I’ll tell you what I’ll do with you McMurder. I think I’ve got a buyer for my Seventh Avenue stuff and if he comes through I’ll take a couple of those lots, though you’re asking more than they are worth.”
“More than they are worth? Great Scott man, you’ll be able to double your money in six weeks. You will, for a fact. Say Slaughter, hurry up with those stitches. I want to take Scrunchem out and show him the lots, so that he can satisfy himself. Scrunchem, couldn’t you be yanking out his teeth in the meantime?”
“Why sure,” said Scrunchem, obligingly. “Just watch my smoke!”
Prying open the victim’s mouth, Scrunchem inserted the forceps and jerked the teeth out with such astonishing rapidity that he kept one in the air all the time.
“Bet you’re a ten-spot, Slaughter, I’ll have the teeth all out before you’re done stitching.”
“You’re on,” said Slaughter, without looking up.
Then ensued a most exciting race, Scrunchem keeping the air filled with flying teeth, while Slaughter stitched away for dear life. The gentle nurse stood by in horror, wringing her hands and crying: “Mon dieu! Mon Dieu!”
Finally, Scrunchem won by a tooth and Slaughter paid over his ten.
“Well, that settles that,” remarked McMurder, putting on his coat and glancing casually at the patient on the table. “I guess you’ll be able to set ‘em up out of that ten, Scrunchem. We pass the Albion on our way to Elbow Park.”
“Sure thing,” said Scrunchem.
Half an hour later the patient awoke in a bed in a ward, feeling terribly rocky. The sister was sitting beside him with a rather anxious look on her face.
“Et comment vouz portez vous, Monsieur?”
“Pretty tough sister, pretty tough.”
“Et votre bouche, sa fait mal?”
“I don’t understand you sister, but I’ve an awful pain in my stomach.”
“Oh, cela se passera,” said the sister, with a faint smile.
“Say sister, I feel a bit weak and would like a drop of whisky—not for boozological motives—strictly medicinal, strictly medicinal.”
“Bein! Je comprends.”
And away hurried the sister, returning in a few minutes with a freshly opened bottle of Seagram and a small glass. Pouring out a thimbleful, she gave it to the patient.
“Ah, that’s the stuff!” said he, sinking back among the pillows. “Now, sister, I’m alright. Just you leave the bottle on that table, and when I need a small decoction, I can help myself.”
The sister hesitated.
“Oh, that’s all right sister. I only want it for medicinal purposes. You needn’t be afraid.”
“Eh, bein,” cautioned the sister, “n’en prenez pas trop.”
“Call again,” said the patient, cheerfully, as the sister disappeared. The moment the door closed, Mr. Patient lost no time in pouring himself out a stiff hooker. Then her smacked his lips in deep satisfaction.
An hour or two later, one of the lay nurses, dressed in white, with a jaunty little cap perched on her curls, who happened to be walking briskly down the corridor, was not a little surprised to hear somebody caroling a beautiful ditty about a lady who wore rings on her fingers and bells on her toes. Pausing to locate the ward whence the warbling came, she gently opened the door of our patient’s room and looked in. There he was, sitting up in bed with a glass in his hand, singing away for all he was worth. Catching site of the nurse, he suddenly stopped and said: “You’ll ‘scushe me, nurse, but I was just trying out my mouth. I’ve no teeth—fact no teeth. I’m in ter’ble predic’ment, ter’ble predic’ment. Dentis’ mushavbeen drunk, tried to pull teeth out of my stomach. I’ve no teeth there. Well nurse, how are you coming anyhow? Purry lucky? Here’s looking at you. Shay, nurse, would you like to hear the story of my life? Shay, you couldn’t rushle me ‘nother bottle, could you?”
“No,” said the pretty nurse, disappearing into space.
“Well, I think I’ll have a schnooze. A schnooze will do me good. Nothing like a good schnooze…”
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