Grandmother's Loss "They ain't on the bureau and they ain't on the washstand, and I disremember takin' 'em out last night when I went to bed, so I must have swallered 'em." Grandmother's speech was somewhat blurred but her meaning was distinct.
"Well," returned Matilda, with aggravating calmness, "if you have swallowed 'em, you have, so what of it?"
"Matilda Starr! I should think you'd have some human feelin's about you somewheres. Here your mother's gone and swallered her false teeth and you set there, not tryin' to do anything for her."
"What can I do? I can't stand on a chair and swing you by your feet, same as Mis' Bates did when her little Henry choked on a marble, can I? Besides, you couldn't have swallowed 'em. You'll find 'em somewheres."
"Maybe I couldn't have swallered 'em, but I have," Grandmother mumbled. "What's more, I feel 'em workin' now inside me. They're chewing on the linin' of my stomach, and it hurts."
What's the Matter?
"I didn't know there was any linin' in your stomach."
"There is. It said so in the paper."
"Did it say anything about hooks and eyes and whalebones? What kind of a linin' is it--cambric, or drillin'?"
"I don't see how you can set there, Matilda, and make fun of your poor old mother, when she's bein' eaten alive by her own teeth. I wouldn't treat a dog like that, much less my own flesh and blood."
"I've never heard of dogs bein' et by their own teeth," commented Matilda, missing the point.
Ostentatiously lame, Grandmother limped to the decrepit sofa and lay down with a groan. Rosemary came in from the kitchen with the oatmeal, and was about to go back for the coffee when another groan arrested her attention.
"What's the matter?" she asked.
"I'm dyin', Rosemary," Grandmother mumbled, hoarsely. "I've swallered my teeth, and I am dyin' in agony."
"Nonsense! You couldn't have swallowed your teeth!"
"That's what I told her," said Miss Matilda, triumphantly.
"But I have," Grandmother retorted, feebly. "I can feel 'em--here." She placed her hand upon her ill-defined waist line, and groaned again.
Rosemary to the Rescue
Rosemary ran up-stairs, inspired to unusual speed by the heartrending sounds that came from below. When she returned, Grandmother seemed to be in a final spasm, and even Matilda was frightened, though she would not have admitted it.
"Here," said Rosemary. "Now come to breakfast."