LATIMER. Her ladyship is training to be a nurse. She has already cured two very obstinate cases of nasal catarrh accompanied by debility and a fluctuating temperature. If she brings one more case off successfully, she earns the diploma and the gold medal of the Royal Therapeutical Society. NICHOLAS. That’s right. DOMINIC. And you would wish me to be that third case, sir? NICHOLAS. That’s the idea. DOMINIC. And be cosseted back to health by her ladyship? LATIMER. Such would be your inestimable privilege. DOMINIC. I am sorry, sir. I must beg respectfully to decline. NICHOLAS. I say, be a sport. LEONARD (_awkwardly_). Of course we should—— Naturally you would not—er—lose anything by—er—— LATIMER. His lordship wishes to imply that not only would your mental horizon be widened during the period of convalescence, but that material blessings would also flow. Isn’t that right, Leonard? NICHOLAS. A commission on the gold medal. Naturally. DOMINIC. I am sorry, sir. I am afraid I cannot see my way. NICHOLAS. I say—— LATIMER. Thank you, Dominic. DOMINIC. Thank you, sir. [_He goes out._ NICHOLAS. Well, that’s torn it. (_To LATIMER_) If you’re quite sure that you wouldn’t like to have a go? It’s the chance of a lifetime to learn all about the French Revolution. LATIMER. Well, well! Something must be done. (_He smiles suddenly_) After all, why not? LEONARD (_eagerly_). You will? LATIMER. I will. NICHOLAS. I say—— LATIMER (_waving them off_). No, no. Don’t wait. Fly. LEONARD. Yes, we’d better be moving. Come on! NICHOLAS (_with a grin, as he goes_). There’s an awfully good bit in the second chapter—— LATIMER (_holding up a finger_). Listen! I hear her coming. LEONARD. Good Lord! (_They fly._ _LATIMER, left alone, gives himself up to thought. What illness shall he have? He rings one of his many bells, and DOMINIC comes in._) LATIMER. Oh, Dominic. In consequence of your obstinate good-health, I am going to sacrifice myself—I mean, I myself am going to embrace this great opportunity of mental and spiritual development. DOMINIC. Yes, sir. Very good of you, I’m sure, sir. LATIMER. What sort of illness would you recommend? DOMINIC. How about a nice sprained ankle, sir? LATIMER. You think that would go well? DOMINIC. It would avoid any interference with the customary habits at meal-time, sir. There’s a sort of monotony about bread-and-milk; no inspiration about it, sir, whether treated as a beverage or as a comestible. LATIMER. I hadn’t thought about bread-and-milk. DOMINIC. You’ll find that you will have little else to think about, sir, if you attempt anything stomachic. Of course you could have the usual nasty cold, sir. LATIMER. No, no, not that. Let us be original.... DOMINIC. How about Xerostomia, sir? Spelt with an x. LATIMER. Is that good? DOMINIC. Joseph tells me that his father has had it for a long time. LATIMER. Oh! Then perhaps we oughtn’t to deprive him of it.