(_Turns_ L.)
JIM (_meeting him below table_). But you have not diagnosed.
DOCTOR. Sir, if I am to interview a patient in the presence of a
third party, the least that third party can do is to keep his
mouth shut.
JIM. After that, there's only one thing for it. He shifts or I
do.
HOBSON. You'd better go, Jim.
JIM. There are other doctors, Henry.
HOBSON. I'll keep this one. I've got to teach him a lesson.
Scotchmen can't come over Salford lads this road.
JIM. If that's it, I'll leave you.
HOBSON. That's it. I can bully as well as a foreigner.
(JIM _goes out_ L.)
DOCTOR. That's better, Mr. Hobson. (_He puts hat down and comes
back_ R.)
HOBSON. If I'm better, you've not had much to do with it.
DOCTOR. I think my calculated rudeness--
HOBSON. If you calculate your fees at the same rate as your
rudeness, they'll be high.
DOCTOR. I calculate by time, Mr. Hobson, so we'd better get to
business. Will you unbutton your shirt?
HOBSON (_doing it_). No hanky-panky now.
DOCTOR (_ignoring his remark and examining_). Aye. It just
confirms ma first opinion. Ye've had a breakdown this A.M.?
HOBSON. You might say so.
DOCTOR. Melancholic? Depressed?
HOBSON (_buttoning shirt_). Question was whether the razor
would beat me, or I'd beat razor.
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