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The fact that the writer of this column has two brothers who are dentists has positively not influenced him in making the suggestions that will appear somewhere in the course of today’s Day Book.

One of the interesting stories of the week concerns the case of a Mount Gilead, Ohio, citizen who is afflicted with a strange malady known as encephalitis. The particular type of this mental disease with which young Donald Campbell is suffering is characterized by one outstanding symptom. Campbell talks incessantly, against his will. He is literally “talking himself to death.” At least he appeared to be talking himself into an early grave in the opinion of many physicians. But the other day a glimmer of hope appeared.

Campbell was examined by two specialists. They decided that there was a chance of saving him. Infected teeth, they said, might be partially responsible for the encephalitis which is, in plain English, inflammation of the lower brain. If the teeth were extracted, these experts hold, a cure might result.

Now where, we rise to demand, have these two specialists been hiding all these years?

We ask the question in high dudgeon because, unless they are hermits, they must certainly know that in many parts of the world today there are chaps who have for many months been suffering from galloping encephalitis.

Among the most prominent sufferers from this malady are the following:

Oswald (Blackshirt) Mosley of England. Sir Oswald, before you talk yourself into a wooden kimono, take the advice of those two specialists. Have your third molars extracted. If that doesn’t relieve the pressure on the lower part of your anti-Semitic brain, and stop that irrational flow of words which is slowly wasting you away into a mere shadow of yourself, then the dentist probably pulled the wrong ivories. Sit down again, Sir Oswald. It won’t take but a moment. Close your eyes. Open your mouth. Wider. There! That didn’t hurt a bit, did it? Sir Oswald, here’s your canine. Just a moment, now, and I’ll have that bicuspid out for you.

Representative Louis T. McFadden of Pennsylvania. Congressman, at last you have been discovered. Do you realize that at the rate you are going, Louis, you’ll talk yourself into an “Aryan” heaven in less time than it takes to purge seventy-seven Nazis ? Louis, for the sake of the America that needs you so desperately in her hour of crisis; for the sake of the printers who are employed on the Congressional Record and who would surely be made jobless if you were to kick the bucket; for the sake of the Pelleys, the Gissibls, the Christians’s and all those others who look to you for leadership, please do not delay. Go see your dentist at once. Have him extract your wisdom teeth. We can tell from here that they’re decaying badly. If you don’t know a good dentist, we’ll gladly introduce you to our brothers.

Professor Alexander Cuza of Rumania. Somehow or another, Professor, you have managed to escape the wrath and the satire of the Day Bookers. But, having escaped thus far, this writer has no desire to impale you on his shafts. Rather, he has nothing but your best interests at heart. After all, Cuza old socks, Rumania without an anti-Semite would be like salami without bicarbonate of soda. Wouldn’t it? And since we can’t eat salami without the bicarb, no more can we envision Rumania without her Cuza. Therefore, since you are obviously in such dire straits—or don’t you think talking yourself to death isn’t dire enough —we wish to extend you a helping hand. In the hand, you will note, is a pair of chromium plated forceps. Open wide, Professor. There, that’s the old geezer. One, two, button your shoe, and it’s out. My, my, what a nasty old incisor that was. See that white spot on the tip of the root there? That’s an abscess. One more day and you would have been a gone goose. How Rumania would have wept. How the world would have mourned your passing. And what a fine funeral you would have had, professor. But you wouldn’t have enjoyed it one bit, professor. That extraction will cost you five dollars, please. On the cuff, did you say, professor?

And, of course, the most prominent sufferers of them all: Hitler, Goering, Goebbels. Imagine what relief these three poor lads could get if they but took our advice and consulted a Zahnarzt.

But, judging from the aggravated state of their case, brought on by long neglect, it is doubtful whether removing one or two or three molars would be of material aid in effecting a cure. It is entirely probable that in the case of Hitler, Goering and Goebbels, a major operation is indicated. X-rays show that each of the three has a full set of upper and lower impacted teeth. Only their strong pagan constitutions have enabled them, evidently, to pull through one of the worst attacks of encephalitis any mortal ever withstood.

To overcome such far-gone cases of the talking sickness, drastic measures will have to be taken. Doctors when they’re out, fashion for their mouths special sets of plates that will lock their jaws forever. For it is seriously to be feared that with them the encephalitis has taken such root that not even removing all the teeth will have the desired effect of stopping their insensate prattle.

H. W.

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