I've thrown my razor through the window.
Had to or I'd have cut my throat.
JIM. Oh, come, come.
HOBSON. It's awful. I'll never trust myself again. I'm going to
grow a beard--if I live.
JIM. You'll cheat the undertaker, Henry, but I fancy a doctor
could improve you. What do you reckon is the cause of it now?
HOBSON. "Moonraker's."
JIM. You don't think--
HOBSON. I don't think. I know. I've seen it happen to others, but
I never thought that it would come to me.
JIM. Nor me, neither. You're not a toper, Henry. I grant you're
regular, but you don't exceed. It's a hard thing if a man can't
take a drop of ale without its getting back at him like this.
Why, it might be my turn next.
(TUBBY _enters_ L., _showing in_ DOCTOR MACFARLANE,
_a domineering Scotsman of fifty_.)
TUBBY. Here's Doctor MacFarlane. (_Exit_ TUBBY.)
DOCTOR. Good morning, gentlemen. Where's my patient? (_He puts
hat on table_.)
JIM (_speaking without indicating_ HOBSON). Here. (_He does
not rise_.)
DOCTOR. Here? Up?
HOBSON. Looks like it.
DOCTOR. And for a patient who's downstairs I'm made to rise from
my bed at this hour?
JIM. It's not so early as all that.
DOCTOR. But I've been up all night, sir. Young woman with her
first.
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