(Exit.)

Carve.  Shawn, my poor fellow, he takes you for the illustrious Ilam Carve.  This is what comes of me rushing out in shirt sleeves. (Gesture of despair.) I can’t explain it to him.

Shawn.  But——­

Carve.  It’s all right.  You’ll be infinitely better looked after, you know, and I shall be saved from their infernal curiosity.

Shawn.  It’s only this, sir.  I was half-expecting a young lady to-night, sir (very feebly).  At least, I believe she’s young.

Carve.  Shawn, I’ve always suspected you were a bad lot.  Now I know.  I also know why you were so devilish anxious to put me to bed early.  What am I to say to this young lady on your behalf?

     (Shawn worse, too ill to answer.  Pause.  Re-enter Dr. Pascoe,
     very rapidly, with a large tumbler half-full of hot liquid.)

Pascoe.  You may say I’ve been quick. (As he bends down to Shawn, addressing carve.) Get me a wine glass of clean cold water. (To Shawn.) Now, please.  I want you to drink a little brandy and water.  (Shawn makes no response.) By Jove! (The doctor pours some of the brandy and water down Shawn’s throat.)

Carve. (Who has been wandering about vaguely.) I don’t think we’ve got a wine glass.  There’s a cup, but I suppose that isn’t medical enough.

Pascoe. (Taking a syringe from his pocket and unscrewing it.) Pour some water in it. (Carve obeys.) Now, hold it.

Carve. (Indicating syringe.) What is this device?  Pascoe.  This device?  I’m going to get some strychnine into him by injection.  Steady with that cup, now!

(Pascoe drops a tablet into the syringe and screws it up again, draws a little water up into the syringe and shakes the syringe.  Then he goes to Shawn to make the injection, on the top side of the patient’s forearm.  Carve still holds the cup out mechanically.)

Pascoe.  I’ve done with that cup.

Carve. (Putting the cup down.) Might I ask what’s the matter with him?

Pascoe.  Pneumonia is the matter.

     (Noise of some one in the hall.)

Carve. (Startled.) Surely that’s some one in the hall.

Pascoe.  Keep perfectly calm, my man.  It’s my assistant.  I left the door open on purpose for him.  He’s got the poultice and things. (In a loud voice as he finishes the injection.) Come along, come along there.  This way.

     (Enter Edward Horning with poultice, lint, bandages, etc.)
 Pascoe.  Found the antiphlogistine?

Edward.  Yes. (He looks at patient, and exchanges a glance with Pascoe.)

Pascoe.  Where’s the bedroom?

Carve.  There’s one there. (Pointing to double doors.)