I thought you had. (_Sits again_.)
DOCTOR (_up to_ HOBSON, R.). Do ye ken that ye're defying
me? Ye'll die fighting, will ye? Aye, it's a gay, high-sounding
sentiment, ma mannie, but ye'll no dae it, do ye hear? Ye'll no
slip from me now. I've got ma grip on ye. Ye'll die sober, and
ye'll live the longest time ye can before ye die. Have ye a wife,
Mr. Hobson?
(HOBSON _points upwards_.)
In bed?
HOBSON. Higher than that.
DOCTOR. It's a pity. A man like you should keep a wife handy.
HOBSON. I'm not so partial to women.
DOCTOR. Women are a necessity, sir. Have ye no female relative
that can manage ye?
HOBSON. Manage?
DOCTOR. Keep her thumb firm on ye?
HOBSON. I've got three daughters, Doctor MacFarlane, and they
tried to keep their thumbs on me.
DOCTOR. Well? Where are they?
HOBSON. Married--and queerly married.
DOCTOR. You drove them to it.
HOBSON. They all grew uppish. Maggie worst of all.
DOCTOR. Maggie? Then I'll tell ye what ye'll do, Mr. Hobson. You
will get Maggie back. At any price. At all costs to your pride,
as your medical man I order you to get Maggie back. (_Movement
from_ HOBSON.) I don't know Maggie, but I prescribe her, and--
damn ye, sir, are ye going to defy me again?
HOBSON.
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