_Persons of the dialogue_: Arthur Pillwell, M.D., _a
fashionable physician;_ Henry Swallow, _a patient. The scene
is laid in_ Dr. Pillwell's _consulting-room--a solid room,
heavily furnished. A large writing-table occupies the centre
of the scene. There are a few prints on the walls; two
bookcases are solidly filled with medical books._ Dr. Pillwell
_is seated at the writing-table. He rises to greet his
patient._
_Dr. P._ Good morning, Mr. ---- (_He looks furtively at a notebook
lying open on the table_) Mr.--ah--Swallow.
_Mr. S._ (_thinking to himself: Ought I to call this Johnnie "Doctor,"
or not? I'm told they're very particular about a thing like that.
Like a fool, I never gave it a thought. Still, I can't go so very far
wrong if I call him "Doctor." Besides, he's got to be called "Doctor"
whether he likes it or not. Here goes._) (_Aloud_) Good morning, Dr.
Pillwell. I've been troubled with some symptoms which I can't quite
make out. I think I described them in my letter. (_To himself: They
made several doctors Knights of the British Empire, and I'm almost
certain Pillwell was one of them. Sir John Pillwell. Yes, it sounds
all right; but I shan't call him "Sir John" because if he isn't a
knight he might think I was trying to make fun of him and then he
might retaliate by calling me "Sir Henry," and I should hate that_).
(_Aloud_) The chief symptoms are a steady loss of appetite and a
disinclination to work. I was recommended to consult you by my friend,
Mr. Bolter, as I think I explained in my letter.
_Dr. P._ It's curious how prevalent these symptoms are at the present
moment. I think, if you don't mind, I will begin by taking your
temperature.
[_Produces clinical thermometer and gives it three good
jerks._
_Mr. S._ (_to himself: There--I knew he'd want to put one of those
infernal machines in my mouth. I simply loathe the feeling of them,
and I'm always on the verge of crunching them up. Perhaps I ought to
warn him._) (_Aloud_) I'm afraid I'm not much good as a thermometer
man.
_Dr. P._ Oh, it's a mere trifle. All you've got to do is just to hold
it under your tongue. There--it's in.
_Mr. S._ (_talking with difficulty_). Ish i' in 'e ri' plashe?
_Dr. P._ Yes. But don't try to talk while it's in your mouth. I've had
patients who've bitten it in two. There--that's enough. (_Extracts it
deftly from patient's mouth and examines it._) Hum, hum, yes. A point
below normal. Nothing violently wrong _there_. (_He now performs the
usual rites and mysteries._) I'll make you out a little prescription
which ought to put you all right. And if you can spare a week, and
spend it at Eastbourne, I don't think it will do you any harm.
_Mr. S._ (_To himself: I like this man. He doesn't waste any time.
It's a curious coincidence that I should have been thinking this
very morning of arranging a visit to the seaside. Now of course I've
absolutely got to go. Can't disobey my new doctor, and wouldn't if I
could. By Jove, I'd all but forgotten about the two guineas fee. Yes,
the cheque's in my breast-pocket. Two guineas for the first visit.
The rule is not to give it too openly, but to slip it on to a desk
or table as if you were half ashamed of it. Where shall I put it so
as to make sure he spots it out of the corner of his eye? Ha! on the
blotting-pad, which I can just reach. Does it with his left hand, and
feels a man once more._)
_Dr. P._ And here's your prescription.
_Mr. S._ Thank you a thousand times. (_To himself: He's edging up to
the blotting-pad, and he'll have the cheque in another second._)
* * * * *