Are you Mr. Hobson?
JIM (_quickly_). Certainly not. I'm not ill.
DOCTOR. Hum. Not much to choose between you. You've both got your
fate written on your faces.
JIM. Do you mean that I--? (_Rises_.)
DOCTOR. I mean he has and you will.
HOBSON. Doctor, will you attend to me?
(JIM _moves round_ HOBSON'S _arm-chair to up stage and
then to_ L. _of table_.)
DOCTOR. Yes. Now, sir. (_He sits by him and holds his wrist_.)
HOBSON. I've never been in a bad way before this morning. Never
wanted a doctor in my life.
DOCTOR. You've needed. But you've not sent.
HOBSON. But this morning--
DOCTOR. I ken--well.
HOBSON. What! You know!
DOCTOR. Any fool would ken.
HOBSON. Eh?
DOCTOR. Any fool but one fool and that's yourself.
HOBSON. You're damned polite.
DOCTOR. If ye want flattery, I dare say ye can get it from your
friend. I'm giving you ma medical opinion.
HOBSON. I want your opinion on my complaint, not on my character.
DOCTOR. Your complaint and your character are the same.
HOBSON. Then you'll kindly separate them and you'll tell me--
DOCTOR (_rising and taking up hat_). I'll tell you nothing,
sir. I don't diagnose as my patients wish, but as my intellect
and sagacity direct. Good morning to you.
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