B. B. [sadly] Walpole has no intellect.  A mere surgeon.  Wonderful operator; but, after all, what is operating?  Only manual labor.  Brain—­brain remains master of the situation.  The nuciform sac is utter nonsense:  theres no such organ.  It’s a mere accidental kink in the membrane, occurring in perhaps two-and-a-half per cent of the population.  Of course I’m glad for Walpole’s sake that the operation is fashionable; for he’s a dear good fellow; and after all, as I always tell people, the operation will do them no harm:  indeed, Ive known the nervous shake-up and the fortnight in bed do people a lot of good after a hard London season; but still it’s a shocking fraud. [Rising] Well, I must be toddling.  Good-bye, Paddy [Sir Patrick grunts] good-bye, goodbye.  Good-bye, my dear Blenkinsop, good-bye!  Goodbye, Ridgeon.  Dont fret about your health:  you know what to do:  if your liver is sluggish, a little mercury never does any harm.  If you feel restless, try bromide, If that doesnt answer, a stimulant, you know:  a little phosphorus and strychnine.  If you cant sleep, trional, trional, trion—­

Sir Patrick [drily] But no drugs, Colly, remember that.

B. B. [firmly] Certainly not.  Quite right, Sir Patrick.  As temporary expedients, of course; but as treatment, no, No.  Keep away from the chemist’s shop, my dear Ridgeon, whatever you do.

Ridgeon [going to the door with him] I will.  And thank you for the knighthood.  Good-bye.

B. B. [stopping at the door, with the beam in his eye twinkling a little] By the way, who’s your patient?

Ridgeon.  Who?

B. B. Downstairs.  Charming woman.  Tuberculous husband.

Ridgeon.  Is she there still?

Emmy [looking in] Come on, Sir Ralph:  your wife’s waiting in the carriage.

B. B. [suddenly sobered] Oh!  Good-bye. [He goes out almost precipitately].

Ridgeon.  Emmy:  is that woman there still?  If so, tell her once for all that I cant and wont see her.  Do you hear?

Emmy.  Oh, she aint in a hurry:  she doesnt mind how long she waits. [She goes out].

Blenkinsop.  I must be off, too:  every half-hour I spend away from my work costs me eighteenpence.  Good-bye, Sir Patrick.

Sir Patrick.  Good-bye.  Good-bye.

Ridgeon.  Come to lunch with me some day this week.

Blenkinsop.  I cant afford it, dear boy; and it would put me off my own food for a week.  Thank you all the same.

Ridgeon [uneasy at Blenkinsop’s poverty] Can I do nothing for you?

Blenkinsop.  Well, if you have an old frock-coat to spare? you see what would be an old one for you would be a new one for me; so remember the next time you turn out your wardrobe.  Good-bye. [He hurries out].

Ridgeon [looking after him] Poor chap! [Turning to Sir Patrick] So thats why they made me a knight!  And thats the medical profession!