EMMY. He cant wait, Sir Ralph. The carriage will be into the area if he dont come. WALPOLE. I'm coming. [To B. B.] Theres nothing in your point: phagocytosis is pure rot: the cases are all blood-poisoning; and the knife is the real remedy. Bye-bye, Sir Paddy. Happy to have met you, Mr. Blenkinsop. Now, Emmy. [He goes out, followed by Emmy]. B. B. [sadly] Walpole has no intellect. A mere surgeon. Wonderful operator; but, after all, what is operating? Only manual labor. Brain--BRAIN remains master of the situation. The nuciform sac is utter nonsense: theres no such organ. It's a mere accidental kink in the membrane, occurring in perhaps two-and-a-half per cent of the population. Of course I'm glad for Walpole's sake that the operation is fashionable; for he's a dear good fellow; and after all, as I always tell people, the operation will do them no harm: indeed, Ive known the nervous shake-up and the fortnight in bed do people a lot of good after a hard London season; but still it's a shocking fraud. [Rising] Well, I must be toddling. Good-bye, Paddy [Sir Patrick grunts] good-bye, goodbye. Good-bye, my dear Blenkinsop, good-bye! Goodbye, Ridgeon. Dont fret about your health: you know what to do: if your liver is sluggish, a little mercury never does any harm. If you feel restless, try bromide, If that doesnt answer, a stimulant, you know: a little phosphorus and strychnine. If you cant sleep, trional, trional, trion-- SIR PATRICK [drily] But no drugs, Colly, remember that. B. B. [firmly] Certainly not. Quite right, Sir Patrick. As temporary expedients, of course; but as treatment, no, No. Keep away from the chemist's shop, my dear Ridgeon, whatever you do. RIDGEON [going to the door with him] I will. And thank you for the knighthood. Good-bye. B. B. [stopping at the door, with the beam in his eye twinkling a little] By the way, who's your patient? RIDGEON. Who? B. B. Downstairs. Charming woman. Tuberculous husband. RIDGEON. Is she there still? Emmy [looking in] Come on, Sir Ralph: your wife's waiting in the carriage. B. B. [suddenly sobered] Oh! Good-bye. [He goes out almost precipitately]. RIDGEON. Emmy: is that woman there still? If so, tell her once for all that I cant and wont see her. Do you hear? EMMY. Oh, she aint in a hurry: she doesnt mind how long she waits. [She goes out]. BLENKINSOP. I must be off, too: every half-hour I spend away from my work costs me eighteenpence. Good-bye, Sir Patrick. SIR PATRICK. Good-bye. Good-bye. RIDGEON. Come to lunch with me some day this week. BLENKINSOP. I cant afford it, dear boy; and it would put me off my own food for a week. Thank you all the same. RIDGEON [uneasy at Blenkinsop's poverty] Can I do nothing for you? BLENKINSOP. Well, if you have an old frock-coat to spare? you see what would be an old one for you would be a new one for me; so remember the next time you turn out your wardrobe. Good-bye. [He hurries out].