Sir Patrick.  And a very good profession, too, my lad.  When you know as much as I know of the ignorance and superstition of the patients, youll wonder that we’re half as good as we are.

Ridgeon.  We’re not a profession:  we’re a conspiracy.

Sir Patrick.  All professions are conspiracies against the laity.  And we cant all be geniuses like you.  Every fool can get ill; but every fool cant be a good doctor:  there are not enough good ones to go round.  And for all you know, Bloomfield Bonington kills less people than you do.

Ridgeon.  Oh, very likely.  But he really ought to know the difference between a vaccine and an anti-toxin.  Stimulate the phagocytes!  The vaccine doesnt affect the phagocytes at all.  He’s all wrong:  hopelessly, dangerously wrong.  To put a tube of serum into his hands is murder:  simple murder.

Emmy [returning] Now, Sir Patrick.  How long more are you going to keep them horses standing in the draught?

Sir Patrick.  Whats that to you, you old catamaran?

Emmy.  Come, come, now! none of your temper to me.  And it’s time for Colly to get to his work.

Ridgeon.  Behave yourself, Emmy.  Get out.

Emmy.  Oh, I learnt how to behave myself before I learnt you to do it.  I know what doctors are:  sitting talking together about themselves when they ought to be with their poor patients.  And I know what horses are, Sir Patrick.  I was brought up in the country.  Now be good; and come along.

Sir Patrick [rising] Very well, very well, very well.  Good-bye, Colly. [He pats Ridgeon on the shoulder and goes out, turning for a moment at the door to look meditatively at Emmy and say, with grave conviction] You are an ugly old devil, and no mistake.

Emmy [highly indignant, calling after him] Youre no beauty yourself. [To Ridgeon, much flustered] Theyve no manners:  they think they can say what they like to me; and you set them on, you do.  I’ll teach them their places.  Here now:  are you going to see that poor thing or are you not?

Ridgeon.  I tell you for the fiftieth time I wont see anybody.  Send her away.

Emmy.  Oh, I’m tired of being told to send her away.  What good will that do her?

Ridgeon.  Must I get angry with you, Emmy?

Emmy [coaxing] Come now:  just see her for a minute to please me:  theres a good boy.  She’s given me half-a-crown.  She thinks it’s life and death to her husband for her to see you.

Ridgeon.  Values her husband’s life at half-a-crown!

Emmy.  Well, it’s all she can afford, poor lamb.  Them others think nothing of half-a-sovereign just to talk about themselves to you, the sluts!  Besides, she’ll put you in a good temper for the day, because it’s a good deed to see her; and she’s the sort that gets round you.