SIR PATRICK. All professions are conspiracies against the laity.
And we cant all be geniuses like you. Every fool can get ill; but
every fool cant be a good doctor: there are not enough good ones
to go round. And for all you know, Bloomfield Bonington kills
less people than you do.

RIDGEON. Oh, very likely. But he really ought to know the
difference between a vaccine and an anti-toxin. Stimulate the
phagocytes! The vaccine doesnt affect the phagocytes at all. He's
all wrong: hopelessly, dangerously wrong. To put a tube of serum
into his hands is murder: simple murder.

EMMY [returning] Now, Sir Patrick. How long more are you going to
keep them horses standing in the draught?

SIR PATRICK. Whats that to you, you old catamaran?

EMMY. Come, come, now! none of your temper to me. And it's time
for Colly to get to his work.

RIDGEON. Behave yourself, Emmy. Get out.

EMMY. Oh, I learnt how to behave myself before I learnt you to do
it. I know what doctors are: sitting talking together about
themselves when they ought to be with their poor patients. And I
know what horses are, Sir Patrick. I was brought up in the
country. Now be good; and come along.

SIR PATRICK [rising] Very well, very well, very well. Good-bye,
Colly. [He pats Ridgeon on the shoulder and goes out, turning for
a moment at the door to look meditatively at Emmy and say, with
grave conviction] You are an ugly old devil, and no mistake.

EMMY [highly indignant, calling after him] Youre no beauty
yourself. [To Ridgeon, much flustered] Theyve no manners: they
think they can say what they like to me; and you set them on, you
do. I'll teach them their places. Here now: are you going to see
that poor thing or are you not?

RIDGEON. I tell you for the fiftieth time I wont see anybody.
Send her away.

EMMY. Oh, I'm tired of being told to send her away. What good
will that do her?

RIDGEON. Must I get angry with you, Emmy?

EMMY [coaxing] Come now: just see her for a minute to please me:
theres a good boy. She's given me half-a-crown. She thinks it's
life and death to her husband for her to see you.

RIDGEON. Values her husband's life at half-a-crown!

EMMY. Well, it's all she can afford, poor lamb. Them others think
nothing of half-a-sovereign just to talk about themselves to you,
the sluts! Besides, she'll put you in a good temper for the day,
because it's a good deed to see her; and she's the sort that gets
round you.

RIDGEON. Well, she hasnt done so badly. For half-a-crown she's
had a consultation with Sir Ralph Bloomfield Bonington and Cutler
Walpole. Thats six guineas' worth to start with. I dare say she's
consulted Blenkinsop too: thats another eighteenpence.

EMMY. Then youll see her for me, wont you?

RIDGEON. Oh, send her up and be hanged. [Emmy trots out,
satisfied. Ridgeon calls] Redpenny!

REDPENNY [appearing at the door] What is it?

RIDGEON. Theres a patient coming up. If she hasnt gone in five
minutes, come in with an urgent call from the hospital for me.
You understand: she's to have a strong hint to go.

REDPENNY. Right O! [He vanishes].

Ridgeon goes to the glass, and arranges his tie a little.

EMMY [announcing] Mrs Doobidad [Ridgeon leaves the glass and goes
to the writing-table].

The lady comes in. Emmy goes out and shuts the door. Ridgeon, who
has put on an impenetrable and rather distant professional
manner, turns to the lady, and invites her, by a gesture, to sit
down on the couch.

Mrs Dubedat is beyond all demur an arrestingly good-looking young
woman. She has something of the grace and romance of a wild
creature, with a good deal of the elegance and dignity of a fine
lady. Ridgeon, who is extremely susceptible to the beauty of
women, instinctively assumes the defensive at once, and hardens
his manner still more. He has an impression that she is very well
dressed, but she has a figure on which any dress would look well,
and carries herself with the unaffected distinction of a woman
who has never in her life suffered from those doubts and fears as
to her social position which spoil the manners of most middling
people. She is tall, slender, and strong; has dark hair, dressed
so as to look like hair and not like a bird's nest or a
pantaloon's wig (fashion wavering just then between these two
models); has unexpectedly narrow, subtle, dark-fringed eyes that
alter her expression disturbingly when she is excited and flashes
them wide open; is softly impetuous in her speech and swift in
her movements; and is just now in mortal anxiety. She carries a
portfolio.

MRS DUBEDAT [in low urgent tones] Doctor--

RIDGEON [curtly] Wait. Before you begin, let me tell you at once
that I can do nothing for you. My hands are full. I sent you that
message by my old servant. You would not take that answer.

MRS DUBEDAT. How could I?

RIDGEON. You bribed her.

MRS DUBEDAT. I--

RIDGEON. That doesnt matter. She coaxed me to see you. Well, you
must take it from me now that with all the good will in the
world, I cannot undertake another case.

MRS DUBEDAT. Doctor: you must save my husband. You must. When I
explain to you, you will see that you must. It is not an ordinary
case, not like any other case. He is not like anybody else in the
world: oh, believe me, he is not. I can prove it to you:
[fingering her portfolio] I have brought some things to shew you.
And you can save him: the papers say you can.

RIDGEON. Whats the matter? Tuberculosis?

MRS DUBEDAT. Yes. His left lung--

RIDGEON Yes: you neednt tell me about that.

MRS DUBEDAT. You can cure him, if only you will. It is true that
you can, isnt it? [In great distress] Oh, tell me, please.

RIDGEON [warningly] You are going to be quiet and self-possessed,
arnt you?

MRs DUBEDAT. Yes. I beg your pardon. I know I shouldnt--[Giving
way again] Oh, please, say that you can; and then I shall be all
right.

RIDGEON [huffily] I am not a curemonger: if you want cures, you
must go to the people who sell them. [Recovering himself, ashamed
of the tone of his own voice] But I have at the hospital ten
tuberculous patients whose lives I believe I can save.

MRS DUBEDAT. Thank God!

RIDGEON. Wait a moment. Try to think of those ten patients as ten
shipwrecked men on a raft--a raft that is barely large enough to
save them--that will not support one more. Another head bobs up
through the waves at the side. Another man begs to be taken
aboard. He implores the captain of the raft to save him. But the
captain can only do that by pushing one of his ten off the raft
and drowning him to make room for the new comer. That is what you
are asking me to do.

MRS DUBEDAT. But how can that be? I dont understand. Surely--

RIDGEON. You must take my word for it that it is so. My
laboratory, my staff, and myself are working at full pressure. We
are doing our utmost. The treatment is a new one. It takes time,
means, and skill; and there is not enough for another case. Our
ten cases are already chosen cases. Do you understand what I mean
by chosen?

MRS DUBEDAT. Chosen. No: I cant understand.

RIDGEON [sternly] You must understand. Youve got to understand
and to face it. In every single one of those ten cases I have had
to consider, not only whether the man could be saved, but whether
he was worth saving. There were fifty cases to choose from; and
forty had to be condemned to death. Some of the forty had young
wives and helpless children. If the hardness of their cases could
have saved them they would have been saved ten times over. Ive no
doubt your case is a hard one: I can see the tears in your eyes
[she hastily wipes her eyes]: I know that you have a torrent of
entreaties ready for me the moment I stop speaking; but it's no
use. You must go to another doctor.

MRS DUBEDAT. But can you give me the name of another doctor who
understands your secret?

RIDGEON. I have no secret: I am not a quack.

MRS DUBEDAT. I beg your pardon: I didnt mean to say anything
wrong. I dont understand how to speak to you. Oh, pray dont be
offended.

RIDGEON [again a little ashamed] There! there! never mind. [He
relaxes and sits down]. After all, I'm talking nonsense: I
daresay I AM a quack, a quack with a qualification. But my
discovery is not patented.

MRS DUBEDAT. Then can any doctor cure my husband? Oh, why dont
they do it? I have tried so many: I have spent so much. If only
you would give me the name of another doctor.

RIDGEON. Every man in this street is a doctor. But outside myself
and the handful of men I am training at St Anne's, there is
nobody as yet who has mastered the opsonin treatment. And we are
full up? I'm sorry; but that is all I can say. [Rising] Good
morning.

MRS DUBEDAT [suddenly and desperately taking some drawings from
her portfolio] Doctor: look at these. You understand drawings:
you have good ones in your waiting-room. Look at them. They are
his work.

RIDGEON. It's no use my looking. [He looks, all the same] Hallo!
[He takes one to the window and studies it]. Yes: this is the
real thing. Yes, yes. [He looks at another and returns to her].
These are very clever. Theyre unfinished, arnt they?

MRS DUBEDAT. He gets tired so soon. But you see, dont you, what a
genius he is? You see that he is worth saving. Oh, doctor, I
married him just to help him to begin: I had money enough to tide
him over the hard years at the beginning--to enable him to follow
his inspiration until his genius was recognized. And I was useful
to him as a model: his drawings of me sold quite quickly.

RIDGEON. Have you got one?

MRS DUBEDAT [producing another] Only this one. It was the first.

RIDGEON [devouring it with his eyes] Thats a wonderful drawing.
Why is it called Jennifer?

MRS DUBEDAT. My name is Jennifer.

RIDGEON. A strange name.

MRS DUBEDAT. Not in Cornwall. I am Cornish. It's only what you
call Guinevere.

RIDGEON [repeating the  names with a certain pleasure in them]
Guinevere. Jennifer. [Looking again at the drawing] Yes: it's
really a wonderful drawing. Excuse me; but may I ask is it for
sale? I'll buy it.

MRS DUBEDAT. Oh, take it. It's my own: he gave it to me. Take it.
Take them all. Take everything; ask anything; but save him. You
can: you will: you must.

REDPENNY [entering with every sign of alarm] Theyve just
telephoned from the hospital that youre to come instantly--a
patient on the point of death. The carriage is waiting.

RIDGEON [intolerantly] Oh, nonsense: get out. [Greatly annoyed]
What do you mean by interrupting me like this?

REDPENNY. But--

RIDGEON. Chut! cant you see I'm engaged? Be off.

Redpenny, bewildered, vanishes.

MRS DUBEDAT [rising] Doctor: one instant only before you go--

RIDGEON. Sit down. It's nothing.

MRS DUBEDAT. But the patient. He said he was dying.

RIDGEON. Oh, he's dead by this time. Never mind. Sit down.

MRS DUBEDAT [sitting down and breaking down] Oh, you none of you
care. You see people die every day.

RIDGEON [petting her] Nonsense! it's nothing: I told him to come
in and say that. I thought I should want to get rid of you.

MRS DUBEDAT [shocked at the falsehood] Oh!
'
RIDGEON [continuing] Dont look so bewildered: theres nobody
dying.

MRS DUBEDAT. My husband is.

RIDGEON [pulling himself together] Ah, yes: I had forgotten your
husband. Mrs Dubedat: you are asking me to do a very serious
thing?

MRS DUBEDAT. I am asking you to save the life of a great man.

RIDGEON. You are asking me to kill another man for his sake; for
as surely as I undertake another case, I shall have to hand back
one of the old ones to the ordinary treatment. Well, I dont
shrink from that. I have had to do it before; and I will do it
again if you can convince me that his life is more important than
the worst life I am now saving. But you must convince me first.

MRS DUBEDAT. He made those drawings; and they are not the best--
nothing like the best; only I did not bring the really best: so
few people like them. He is twenty-three: his whole life is
before him. Wont you let me bring him to you? wont you speak to
him? wont you see for yourself?

RIDGEON. Is he well enough to come to a dinner at the Star and
Garter at Richmond?

MRS DUBEDAT. Oh yes. Why?

RIDGEON. I'll tell you. I am inviting all my old friends to a
dinner to celebrate my knighthood--youve seen about it in the
papers, havnt you?

MRS DUBEDAT. Yes, oh yes. That was how I found out about you.

RIDGEON. It will be a doctors' dinner; and it was to have been a
bachelors' dinner. I'm a bachelor. Now if you will entertain for
me, and bring your husband, he will meet me; and he will meet
some of the most eminent men in my profession: Sir Patrick
Cullen, Sir Ralph Bloomfield Bonington, Cutler Walpole, and
others. I can put the case to them; and your husband will have to
stand or fall by what we think of him. Will you come?

MRS DUBEDAT. Yes, of course I will come. Oh, thank you, thank
you. And may I bring some of his drawings--the really good ones?

RIDGEON. Yes. I will let you know the date in the course of to-
morrow. Leave me your address.

MRS DUBEDAT. Thank you again and again. You have made me so
happy: I know you will admire him and like him. This is my
address. [She gives him her card].

RIDGEON. Thank you. [He rings].

MRS DUBEDAT [embarrassed] May I--is there--should I--I mean--[she
blushes and stops in confusion].

RIDGEON. Whats the matter?

MRS DUBEDAT. Your fee for this consultation?

RIDGEON. Oh, I forgot that. Shall we say a beautiful drawing of
his favorite model for the whole treatment, including the cure?

MRS DUBEDAT. You are very generous. Thank you. I know you will
cure him. Good-bye.

RIDGEON. I will. Good-bye. [They shake hands]. By the way, you
know, dont you, that tuberculosis is catching. You take every
precaution, I hope.

MRS DUBEDAT. I am not likely to forget it. They treat us like
lepers at the hotels.

EMMY [at the door] Well, deary: have you got round him?

RIDGEON. Yes. Attend to the door and hold your tongue.

EMMY. Thats a good boy. [She goes out with Mrs Dubedat].

RIDGEON [alone] Consultation free. Cure guaranteed. [He heaves a
great sigh].



ACT II

After dinner on the terrace at the Star and Garter, Richmond.
Cloudless summer night; nothing disturbs the stillness except
from time to time the long trajectory of a distant train and the
measured clucking of oars coming up from the Thames in the valley
below. The dinner is over; and three of the eight chairs are
empty. Sir Patrick, with his back to the view, is at the head of
the square table with Ridgeon. The two chairs opposite them are
empty. On their right come, first, a vacant chair, and then one
very fully occupied by B. B., who basks blissfully in the
moonbeams. On their left, Schutzmacher and Walpole. The entrance
to the hotel is on their right, behind B. B. The five men are
silently enjoying their coffee and cigarets, full of food, and
not altogether void of wine.

Mrs Dubedat, wrapped up for departure, comes in. They rise,
except Sir Patrick; but she takes one of the vacant places at the
foot of the table, next B. B.; and they sit down again.

MRS DUBEDAT [as she enters] Louis will be here presently. He is
shewing Dr Blenkinsop how to work the telephone. [She sits.] Oh,
I am so sorry we have to go. It seems such a shame, this
beautiful night. And we have enjoyed ourselves so much.

RIDGEON. I dont believe another half-hour would do Mr Dubedat a
bit of harm.

SIR PATRICK. Come now, Colly, come! come! none of that. You take
your man home, Mrs Dubedat; and get him to bed before eleven.

B. B. Yes, yes. Bed before eleven. Quite right, quite right.
Sorry to lose you, my dear lady; but Sir Patrick's orders are the
laws of--er--of Tyre and Sidon.

WALPOLE. Let me take you home in my motor.

SIR PATRICK. No. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Walpole.
Your motor will take Mr and Mrs Dubedat to the station, and quite
far enough too for an open carriage at night.

MRS DUBEDAT. Oh, I am sure the train is best.

RIDGEON. Well, Mrs Dubedat, we have had a most enjoyable evening.

WALPOLE.  {Most enjoyable.
B. B.     {Delightful. Charming. Unforgettable.

MRS DUBEDAT [with a touch of shy anxiety] What did you think of
Louis? Or am I wrong to ask?

RIDGEON. Wrong! Why, we are all charmed with him.

WALPOLE. Delighted.

B. B. Most happy to have met him. A privilege, a real privilege.

SIR PATRICK [grunts]!

MRS DUBEDAT [quickly] Sir Patrick: are YOU uneasy about him?

SIR PATRICK [discreetly] I admire his drawings greatly, maam.

MRS DUBEDAT. Yes; but I meant--

RIDGEON. You shall go away quite happy. He's  worth saving. He
must and shall be saved.

Mrs Dubedat rises and gasps with delight, relief, and gratitude.
They all rise except Sir Patrick and Schutzmacher, and come
reassuringly to her.

B. B. Certainly, CER-tainly.

WALPOLE. Theres no real difficulty, if only you know what to do.

MRS DUBEDAT. Oh, how can I ever thank you! From this night I can
begin to be happy at last. You dont know what I feel.

She sits down in tears. They crowd about her to console her.

B. B. My dear lady: come come! come come! [very persuasively]
come come!

WALPOLE. Dont mind us. Have a good cry.

RIDGEON. No: dont cry. Your husband had better not know that weve
been talking about him.

MRS DUBEDAT [quickly pulling herself together] No, of course not.
Please dont mind me. What a glorious thing it must be to be a
doctor! [They laugh]. Dont laugh. You dont know what youve done
for me. I never knew until now how deadly afraid I was--how
I had come to dread the worst. I never dared let myself know. But
now the relief has come: now I know.

Louis Dubedat comes from the hotel, in his overcoat, his throat
wrapped in a shawl. He is a slim young man of 23, physically
still a stripling, and pretty, though not effeminate. He has
turquoise blue eyes, and a trick of looking you straight in the
face with them, which, combined with a frank smile, is very
engaging. Although he is all nerves, and very observant and quick
of apprehension, he is not in the least shy. He is younger than
Jennifer; but he patronizes her as a matter of course. The
doctors do not put him out in the least: neither Sir Patrick's
years nor Bloomfield Bonington's majesty have the smallest
apparent effect on him: he is as natural as a cat: he moves among
men as most men move among things, though he is intentionally
making himself agreeable to them on this occasion. Like all
people who can be depended on to take care of themselves, he is
welcome company; and his artist's power of appealing to the
imagination gains him credit for all sorts of qualities and
powers, whether he possesses them or not.

LOUIS [pulling on his gloves behind Ridgeon's chair] Now, Jinny-
Gwinny: the motor has come round.

RIDGEON. Why do you let him spoil your beautiful name like that,
Mrs Dubedat?

MRS DUBEDAT. Oh, on grand occasions I am Jennifer.

B. B. You are a bachelor: you do not understand these things,
Ridgeon. Look at me [They look]. I also have two names. In
moments of domestic worry, I am simple Ralph. When the sun shines
in the home, I am Beedle-Deedle-Dumkins. Such is married life! Mr
Dubedat: may I ask you to do me a favor before you go. Will you
sign your name to this menu card, under the sketch you have made
of me?

WALPOLE. Yes; and mine too, if you will be so good.

LOUIS. Certainly. [He sits down and signs the cards].

MRS DUBEDAT. Wont you sign Dr Schutzmacher's for him, Louis?

LOUIS. I dont think Dr Schutzmacher is pleased with his portrait.
I'll tear it up. [He reaches across the table for Schutzmacher's
menu card, and is about to tear it. Schutzmacher makes no sign].

RIDGEON. No, no: if Loony doesnt want it, I do.

LOUIS. I'll sign it for you with pleasure. [He signs and hands it
to Ridgeon]. Ive just been making a little note of the river to-
night: it will work up into something good [he shews a pocket
sketch-book]. I think I'll call it the Silver Danube.

B. B. Ah, charming, charming.

WALPOLE. Very sweet. Youre a nailer at pastel.

Louis coughs, first out of modesty, then from tuberculosis.

SIR PATRICK. Now then, Mr Dubedat: youve had enough of the night
air. Take him home, maam.

MRS DUBEDAT. Yes. Come, Louis.

RIDGEON. Never fear. Never mind. I'll make that cough all right.

B. B. We will stimulate the phagocytes. [With tender effusion,
shaking her hand] Good-night, Mrs Dubedat. Good-night. Good-
night.

WALPOLE. If the phagocytes fail, come to me. I'll put you right.

LOUIS. Good-night, Sir Patrick. Happy to have met you.

SIR PATRICK. Night [half a grunt].

MRS DUBEDAT. Good-night, Sir Patrick.

SIR PATRICK. Cover yourself well up. Dont think your lungs are
made of iron because theyre better than his. Good-night.

MRS DUBEDAT. Thank you. Thank you. Nothing hurts me. Good-night.

Louis goes out through the hotel without noticing Schutzmacher.
Mrs Dubedat hesitates, then bows to him. Schutzmacher rises and
bows formally, German fashion. She goes out, attended by Ridgeon.
The rest resume their seats, ruminating or smoking quietly.

B. B. [harmoniously] Dee-lightful couple! Charming woman! Gifted
lad! Remarkable talent! Graceful outlines! Perfect evening! Great
success! Interesting case! Glorious night! Exquisite scenery!
Capital dinner! Stimulating conversation! Restful outing! Good
wine! Happy ending! Touching gratitude! Lucky Ridgeon--

RIDGEON [returning] Whats that? Calling me, B. B.? [He goes back
to his seat next Sir Patrick].

B. B. No, no. Only congratulating you on a most successful
evening! Enchanting woman! Thorough breeding! Gentle nature!
Refined--

Blenkinsop comes from the hotel and takes the empty chair next
Ridgeon.

BLENKINSOP. I'm so sorry to have left you like this, Ridgeon; but
it was a telephone message from the police. Theyve found half a
milkman at our level crossing with a prescription of mine in its
pocket. Wheres Mr Dubedat?

RIDGEON. Gone.

BLENKINSOP [rising, very pale] Gone!

RIDGEON. Just this moment--

BLENKINSOP. Perhaps I could overtake him--[he rushes into the
hotel].

WALPOLE [calling after him] He's in the motor, man, miles off.
You can--[giving it up]. No use.

RIDGEON. Theyre really very nice people. I confess I was afraid
the husband would turn out an appalling bounder. But he's almost
as charming in his way as she is in hers. And theres no mistake
about his being a genius. It's something to have got a case
really worth saving. Somebody else will have to go; but at all
events it will be easy to find a worse man.

SIR PATRICK. How do you know?

RIDGEON. Come now, Sir Paddy, no growling. Have something more to
drink.

SIR PATRICK. No, thank you.

WALPOLE. Do you see anything wrong with Dubedat, B. B.?

B. B. Oh, a charming young fellow. Besides, after all, what could
be wrong with him? Look at him. What could be wrong with him?

SIR PATRICK. There are two things that can be wrong with any man.
One of them is a cheque. The other is a woman. Until you know
that a man's sound on these two points, you know nothing about
him.

B. B. Ah, cynic, cynic!

WALPOLE. He's all right as to the cheque, for a while at all
events. He talked to me quite frankly before dinner as to the
pressure of money difficulties on an artist. He says he has no
vices and is very economical, but that theres one extravagance he
cant afford and yet cant resist; and that is dressing his wife
prettily. So I said, bang plump out, "Let me lend you twenty
pounds, and pay me when your ship comes home." He was really very
nice about it. He took it like a man; and it was a pleasure to
see how happy it made him, poor chap.

B. B. [who has listened to Walpole with growing perturbation]
But--but--but--when was this, may I ask?

WALPOLE. When I joined you that time down by the river.

B. B. But, my dear Walpole, he had just borrowed ten pounds from
me.

WALPOLE. What!

SIR PATRICK [grunts]!

B. B. [indulgently] Well, well, it was really hardly borrowing;
for he said heaven only knew when he could pay me. I couldnt
refuse. It appears that Mrs Dubedat has taken a sort of fancy to
me--

WALPOLE [quickly] No: it was to me.

B. B. Certainly not. Your name was never mentioned between us. He
is so wrapped up in his work that he has to leave her a good deal
alone; and the poor innocent young fellow--he has of course no
idea of my position or how busy I am--actually wanted me to call
occasionally and talk to her.

WALPOLE. Exactly what he said to me!

B. B. Pooh! Pooh pooh! Really, I must say. [Much disturbed, he
rises and goes up to the balustrade, contemplating the landscape
vexedly].

WALPOLE. Look here, Ridgeon! this is beginning to look serious.

Blenkinsop, very anxious and wretched, but trying to look
unconcerned, comes back.

RIDGEON. Well, did you catch him?

BLENKINSOP. No. Excuse my running away like that. [He sits down
at the foot of the table, next Bloomfeld Bonington's chair].

WALPOLE. Anything the matter?

BLENKINSOP. Oh no. A trifle--something ridiculous. It cant be
helped. Never mind.

RIDGEON. Was it anything about Dubedat?

BLENKINSOP [almost breaking down] I ought to keep it to myself, I
know. I cant tell you, Ridgeon, how ashamed I am of dragging my
miserable poverty to your dinner after all your kindness. It's
not that you wont ask me again; but it's so humiliating. And I
did so look forward to one evening in my dress clothes (THEYRE
still presentable, you see) with all my troubles left behind,
just like old times.

RIDGEON. But what has happened?

BLENKINSOP. Oh, nothing. It's too ridiculous. I had just scraped
up four shillings for this little outing; and it cost me one-and-
fourpence to get here. Well, Dubedat asked me to lend him half-a-
crown to tip the chambermaid of the room his wife left her wraps
in, and for the cloakroom. He said he only wanted it for five
minutes, as she had his purse. So of course I lent it to him. And
he's forgotten to pay me. I've just tuppence to get back with.

RIDGEON. Oh, never mind that--

BLENKINSOP [stopping him resolutely] No: I know what youre going
to say; but I wont take it. Ive never borrowed a penny; and I
never will. Ive nothing left but my friends; and I wont sell
them. If none of you were to be able to meet me without being
afraid that my civility was leading up to the loan of five
shillings, there would be an end of everything for me. I'll take
your old clothes, Colly, sooner than disgrace you by talking to
you in the street in my own; but I wont borrow money. I'll train
it as far as the twopence will take me; and I'll tramp the rest.

WALPOLE. Youll do the whole distance in my motor. [They are all
greatly relieved; and Walpole hastens to get away from the
painful subject by adding] Did he get anything out of you, Mr
Schutzmacher?

SCHUTZMACHER [shakes his head in a most expressive negative].

WALPOLE. You didnt appreciate his drawing, I think.

SCHUTZMACHER. Oh yes I did. I should have liked very much to have
kept the sketch and got it autographed.

B. B. But why didnt you?

SCHUTZMACHER. Well, the fact is, when I joined Dubedat after his
conversation with Mr Walpole, he said the Jews were the only
people who knew anything about art, and that though he had to put
up with your Philistine twaddle, as he called it, it was what I
said about the drawings that really pleased him. He also said
that his wife was greatly struck with my knowledge, and that she
always admired Jews. Then he asked me to advance him 50 pounds on
the security of the drawings.

B. B.         { [All       } No, no. Positively! Seriously!
WALPOLE       { exclaiming } What! Another fifty!
BLENKINSOP    { together]  } Think of that!
SIR PATRICK   {            } [grunts]!

SCHUTZMACHER. Of course I couldnt lend money to a stranger like
that.

B. B. I envy you the power to say No, Mr Schutzmacher. Of course,
I knew I oughtnt to lend money to a young fellow in that way; but
I simply hadnt the nerve to refuse. I couldnt very well, you
know, could I?

SCHUTZMACHER. I dont understand that. I felt that I couldnt very
well lend it.

WALPOLE. What did he say?

SCHUTZMACHER. Well, he made a very uncalled-for remark about a
Jew not understanding the feelings of a gentleman. I must say you
Gentiles are very hard to please. You say we are no gentlemen
when we lend money; and when we refuse to lend it you say just
the same. I didnt mean to behave badly. As I told him, I might
have lent it to him if he had been a Jew himself.

SIR PATRICK [with a grunt] And what did he say to that?

SCHUTZMACHER. Oh, he began trying to persuade me that he was one
of the chosen people--that his artistic faculty shewed it, and
that his name was as foreign as my own. He said he didnt really
want 50 pounds; that he was only joking; that all he wanted was a
couple of sovereigns.

B. B. No, no, Mr Schutzmacher. You invented that last touch.
Seriously, now?

SCHUTZMACHER. No. You cant improve on Nature in telling stories
about gentlemen like Mr Dubedat.

BLENKINSOP. You certainly do stand by one another, you chosen
people, Mr Schutzmacher.

SCHUTZMACHER. Not at all. Personally, I like Englishmen better
than Jews, and always associate with them. Thats only natural,
because, as I am a Jew, theres nothing interesting in a Jew to
me, whereas there is always something interesting and foreign in
an Englishman. But in money matters it's quite different. You
see, when an Englishman borrows, all he knows or cares is that he
wants money; and he'll sign anything to get it, without in the
least understanding it, or intending to carry out the agreement
if it turns out badly for him. In fact, he thinks you a cad if
you ask him to carry it out under such circumstances. Just like
the Merchant of Venice, you know. But if a Jew makes an
agreement, he means to keep it and expects you to keep it. If he
wants money for a time, he borrows it and knows he must pay it at
the end of the time. If he knows he cant pay, he begs it as a
gift.

RIDGEON. Come, Loony! do you mean to say that Jews are never
rogues and thieves?

SCHUTZMACHER. Oh, not at all. But I was not talking of criminals.
I was comparing honest Englishmen with honest Jews.

One of the hotel maids, a pretty, fair-haired woman of about 25,
comes from the hotel, rather furtively. She accosts Ridgeon.

THE MAID. I beg your pardon, sir--

RIDGEON. Eh?

THE MAID. I beg pardon, sir. It's not about the hotel. I'm not
allowed to be on the terrace; and I should be discharged if I
were seen speaking to you, unless you were kind enough to say you
called me to ask whether the motor has come back from the station
yet.

WALPOLE. Has it?

THE MAID. Yes, sir.

RIDGEON. Well, what do you want?

THE MAID. Would you mind, sir, giving me the address of the
gentleman that was with you at dinner?

RIDGEON [sharply] Yes, of course I should mind very much. You
have no right to ask.

THE MAID. Yes, sir, I know it looks like that. But what am I to
do?

SIR PATRICK. Whats the matter with you?

THE MAID. Nothing, sir. I want the address: thats all.

B. B. You mean the young gentleman?

THE MAID. Yes, sir: that went to catch the train with the woman
he brought with him.

RIDGEON. The woman! Do you mean the lady who dined here? the
gentleman's wife?

THE MAID. Dont believe them, sir. She cant be his wife. I'm his
wife.

B. B.    {[in amazed remonstrance] My good girl!
RIDGEON  {You his wife!
WALPOLE  {What! whats that? Oh, this is getting perfectly
          fascinating, Ridgeon.

THE MAID. I could run upstairs and get you my marriage lines in a
minute, sir, if you doubt my word. He's Mr Louis Dubedat, isnt
he?

RIDGEON. Yes.

THE MAID. Well, sir, you may believe me or not; but I'm the
lawful Mrs Dubedat.

SIR PATRICK. And why arnt you living with your husband?

THE MAID. We couldnt afford it, sir. I had thirty pounds saved;
and we spent it all on our honeymoon in three weeks, and a lot
more that he borrowed. Then I had to go back into service, and he
went to London to get work at his drawing; and he never wrote me
a line or sent me an address. I never saw nor heard of him again
until I caught sight of him from the window going off in the
motor with that woman.

SIR PATRICK. Well, thats two wives to start with.

B. B. Now upon my soul I dont want to be uncharitable; but really
I'm beginning to suspect that our young friend is rather
careless.

SIR PATRICK. Beginning to think! How long will it take you, man,
to find out that he's a damned young blackguard?

BLENKINSOP. Oh, thats severe, Sir Patrick, very severe. Of course
it's bigamy; but still he's very young; and she's very pretty. Mr
Walpole: may I spunge on you for another of those nice cigarets
of yours? [He changes his seat for the one next Walpole].

WALPOLE. Certainly. [He feels in his pockets]. Oh bother!
Where--? [Suddenly remembering] I say: I recollect now: I passed
my cigaret case to Dubedat and he didnt return it. It was a gold
one.

THE MAID. He didnt mean any harm: he never thinks about things
like that, sir. I'll get it back for you, sir, if youll tell me
where to find him.

RIDGEON. What am I to do? Shall I give her the address or not?

SIR PATRICK. Give her your own address; and then we'll see. [To
the maid] Youll have to be content with that for the present, my
girl. [Ridgeon gives her his card]. Whats your name?

THE MAID. Minnie Tinwell, sir.

SIR PATRICK. Well, you write him a letter to care of this
gentleman; and it will be sent on. Now be off with you.

THE MAID. Thank you, sir. I'm sure you wouldnt see me wronged.
Thank you all, gentlemen; and excuse the liberty.

She goes into the hotel. They match her in silence.

RIDGEON [when she is gone] Do you realize, chaps, that we have
promised Mrs Dubedat to save this fellow's life?

BLENKINSOP. Whats the matter with him?

RIDGEON. Tuberculosis.

BLENKINSOP [interested] And can you cure that?

RIDGEON. I believe so.

BLENKINSOP. Then I wish youd cure me. My right lung is touched,
I'm sorry to say.

RIDGEON       }               { What! Your lung is going?
B.B           }               { My dear Blenkinsop, what do you
              }   [all        { tell me? [full of concern for
              }    together]  { Blenkinsop he comes back from the
              }               { balustrade].
SIR PATRICK   }               { Eh? Eh? Whats that?
WALPOLE       }               { Hullo, you mustn't neglect this,
              }               { you know.

BLENKINSOP [putting his fingers in his ears] No, no: it's no use.
I know what youre going to say: Ive said it often to others. I
cant afford to take care of myself; and theres an end of it. If a
fortnight's holiday would save my life, I'd have to die. I shall
get on as others have to get on. We cant all go to St Moritz or
to Egypt, you know, Sir Ralph. Dont talk about it.

Embarrassed silence.

SIR PATRICK [grunts and looks hard at Ridgeon]!

SCHUTZMACHER [looking at his watch and rising] I must go. It's
been a very pleasant evening, Colly. You might let me have my
portrait if you dont mind. I'll send Mr Dubedat that couple of
sovereigns for it.

RIDGEON [giving him the menu card] Oh dont do that, Loony. I dont
think he'd like that.

SCHUTZMACHER. Well, of course I shant if you feel that way about
it. But I dont think you understand Dubedat. However, perhaps
thats because I'm a Jew. Good-night, Dr Blenkinsop [shaking
hands].

BLENKINSOP. Good-night, sir--I mean--Good-night.

SCHUTZMACHER [waving his hand to the rest] Goodnight, everybody.

WALPOLE     {
B. B.       {
SIR PATRICK {  Good-night.
RIDGEON     {

B. B. repeats the salutation several times, in varied musical
tones. Schutzmacher goes out.

SIR PATRICK. Its time for us all to move. [He rises and comes
between Blenkinsop and Walpole. Ridgeon also rises]. Mr Walpole:
take Blenkinsop home: he's had enough of the open air cure for
to-night. Have you a thick overcoat to wear in the motor, Dr
Blenkinsop?

BLENKINSOP. Oh, theyll give me some brown paper in the hotel; and
a few thicknesses of brown paper across the chest are better than
any fur coat.

WALPOLE. Well, come along. Good-night, Colly. Youre coming with
us, arnt you, B. B.?

B. B. Yes: I'm coming. [Walpole and Blenkinsop go into
the hotel]. Good-night, my dear Ridgeon [shaking hands
affectionately]. Dont let us lose sight of your interesting
patient and his very charming wife. We must not judge him too
hastily, you know. [With unction] G o o o o o o o o d-night,
Paddy. Bless you, dear old chap. [Sir Patrick utters a formidable
grunt. B. B. laughs and pats him indulgently on the shoulder]
Good-night. Good-night. Good-night. Good-night. [He good-nights
himself into the hotel].

The others have meanwhile gone without ceremony. Ridgeon and Sir
Patrick are left alone together. Ridgeon, deep in thought, comes
down to Sir Patrick.

SIR PATRICK. Well, Mr Savior of Lives: which is it to be? that
honest decent man Blenkinsop, or that rotten blackguard of an
artist, eh?

RIDGEON. Its not an easy case to judge, is it? Blenkinsop's an
honest decent man; but is he any use? Dubedat's a rotten
blackguard; but he's a genuine source of pretty and pleasant and
good things.

SIR PATRICK. What will he be a source of for that poor innocent
wife of his, when she finds him out?

RIDGEON. Thats true. Her life will be a hell.

SIR PATRICK. And tell me this. Suppose you had this choice put
before you: either to go through life and find all the pictures
bad but all the men and women good, or to go through life and
find all the pictures good and all the men and women rotten.
Which would you choose?

RIDGEON. Thats a devilishly difficult question, Paddy. The
pictures are so agreeable, and the good people so infernally
disagreeable and mischievous, that I really cant undertake to say
offhand which I should prefer to do without.

SIR PATRICK. Come come! none of your cleverness with me: I'm too
old for it. Blenkinsop isnt that sort of good man; and you know
it.

RIDGEON. It would be simpler if Blenkinsop could paint Dubedat's
pictures.

SIR PATRICK. It would be simpler still if Dubedat had some of
Blenkinsop's honesty. The world isnt going to be made simple for
you, my lad: you must take it as it is. Youve to hold the scales
between Blenkinsop and Dubedat. Hold them fairly.

RIDGEON. Well, I'll be as fair as I can. I'll put into one scale
all the pounds Dubedat has borrowed, and into the other all the
half-crowns that Blenkinsop hasnt borrowed.

SIR PATRICK. And youll take out of Dubedat's scale all the faith
he has destroyed and the honor he has lost, and youll put into
Blenkinsop's scale all the faith he has justified and the honor
he has created.

RIDGEON. Come come, Paddy! none of your claptrap with me: I'm too
sceptical for it. I'm not at all convinced that the world wouldnt
be a better world if everybody behaved as Dubedat does than it is
now that everybody behaves as Blenkinsop does.

SIR PATRICK. Then why dont you behave as Dubedat does?

RIDGEON. Ah, that beats me. Thats the experimental test. Still,
it's a dilemma. It's a dilemma. You see theres a complication we
havnt mentioned.

SIR PATRICK. Whats that?

RIDGEON. Well, if I let Blenkinsop die, at least nobody can say I
did it because I wanted to marry his widow.

SIR PATRICK. Eh? Whats that?

RIDGEON. Now if I let Dubedat die, I'll marry his widow.

SIR PATRICK. Perhaps she wont have you, you know.

RIDGEON [with a self-assured shake of the head] I've a pretty
good flair for that sort of thing. I know when a woman is
interested in me. She is.

SIR PATRICK. Well, sometimes a man knows best; and sometimes he
knows worst. Youd much better cure them both.

RIDGEON. I cant. I'm at my limit. I can squeeze in one more case,
but not two. I must choose.

SIR PATRICK. Well, you must choose as if she didnt exist: thats
clear.

RIDGEON. Is that clear to you? Mind: it's not clear to me. She
troubles my judgment.

SIR PATRICK. To me, it's a plain choice between a man and a lot
of pictures.

RIDGEON. It's easier to replace a dead man than a good picture.

SIR PATRICK. Colly: when you live in an age that runs to pictures
and statues and plays and brass bands because its men and women
are not good enough to comfort its poor aching soul, you should
thank Providence that you belong to a profession which is a high
and great profession because its business is to heal and mend men
and women.

RIDGEON. In short, as a member of a high and great profession,
I'm to kill my patient.

SIR PATRICK. Dont talk wicked nonsense. You cant kill him. But
you can leave him in other hands.

RIDGEON. In B. B.'s, for instance: eh? [looking at him
significantly].

SIR PATRICK [demurely facing his look] Sir Ralph Bloomfield
Bonington is a very eminent physician.

RIDGEON. He is.

SIR PATRICK. I'm going for my hat.

Ridgeon strikes the bell as Sir Patrick makes for the hotel. A
waiter comes.

RIDGEON [to the waiter] My bill, please.

WAITER. Yes, sir.

He goes for it.



ACT III

In Dubedat's studio. Viewed from the large window the outer door
is in the wall on the left at the near end. The door leading to
the inner rooms is in the opposite wall, at the far end. The
facing wall has neither window nor door. The plaster on all the
walls is uncovered and undecorated, except by scrawlings of
charcoal sketches and memoranda. There is a studio throne (a
chair on a dais) a little to the left, opposite the inner door,
and an easel to the right, opposite the outer door, with a
dilapidated chair at it. Near the easel and against the wall is a
bare wooden table with bottles and jars of oil and medium, paint-
smudged rags, tubes of color, brushes, charcoal, a small last
figure, a kettle and spirit-lamp, and other odds and ends. By
the table is a sofa, littered with drawing blocks, sketch-books,
loose sheets of paper, newspapers, books, and more smudged rags.
Next the outer door is an umbrella and hat stand, occupied partly
by Louis' hats and cloak and muffler, and partly by odds
and ends of costumes. There is an old piano stool on the
near side of this door. In the corner near the inner door
is a little tea-table. A lay figure, in a cardinal's robe and
hat, with an hour-glass in one hand and a scythe slung on its
back, smiles with inane malice at Louis, who, in a milkman's
smock much smudged with colors, is painting a piece of brocade
which he has draped about his wife.

She is sitting on the throne, not interested in the painting, and
appealing to him very anxiously about another matter.

MRS DUBEDAT. Promise.

LOUIS [putting on a touch of paint with notable skill and care
and answering quite perfunctorily] I promise, my darling.

MRS DUBEDAT. When you want money, you will always come to me.

LOUIS. But it's so sordid, dearest. I hate money. I cant keep
always bothering you for money, money, money. Thats what drives
me sometimes to ask other people, though I hate doing it.

MRS DUBEDAT. It is far better to ask me, dear. It gives people a
wrong idea of you.

LOUIS. But I want to spare your little fortune, and raise money
on my own work. Dont be unhappy, love: I can easily earn enough
to pay it all back. I shall have a one-man-show next season; and
then there will be no more money troubles. [Putting down his
palette] There! I mustnt do any more on that until it's bone-dry;
so you may come down.

MRS DUBEDAT [throwing off the drapery as she steps down, and
revealing a plain frock of tussore silk] But you have promised,
remember, seriously and faithfully, never to borrow again until
you have first asked me.

LOUIS. Seriously and faithfully. [Embracing her] Ah, my love, how
right you are! how much it means to me to have you by me to guard
me against living too much in the skies. On my solemn oath, from
this moment forth I will never borrow another penny.

MRS DUBEDAT [delighted] Ah, thats right. Does his wicked worrying
wife torment him and drag him down from the clouds. [She kisses
him]. And now, dear, wont you finish those drawings for Maclean?

LOUIS. Oh, they dont matter. Ive got nearly all the money from
him in advance.

MRS DUBEDAT. But, dearest, that is just the reason why you should
finish them. He asked me the other day whether you really
intended to finish them.

LOUIS. Confound his impudence! What the devil does he take me
for? Now that just destroys all my interest in the beastly job.
Ive a good mind to throw up the commission, and pay him back his
money.

MRS DUBEDAT. We cant afford that, dear. You had better finish the
drawings and have done with them. I think it is a mistake to
accept money in advance.

LOUIS. But how are we to live?

MRS DUBEDAT. Well, Louis, it is getting hard enough as it is, now
that they are all refusing to pay except on delivery.

LOUIS. Damn those fellows! they think of nothing and care for
nothing but their wretched money.

MRS DUBEDAT. Still, if they pay us, they ought to have what they
pay for.

LOUIS [coaxing;] There now: thats enough lecturing for to-day.
Ive promised to be good, havnt I?

MRS DUDEBAT [putting her arms round his neck] You know that I
hate lecturing, and that I dont for a moment misunderstand you,
dear, dont you?

LOUIS [fondly] I know. I know. I'm a wretch; and youre an angel.
Oh, if only I were strong enough to work steadily, I'd make my
darling's house a temple, and her shrine a chapel more beautiful
than was ever imagined. I cant pass the shops without wrestling
with the temptation to go in and order all the really good things
they have for you.

MRS DUBEDAT. I want nothing but you, dear. [She gives him a
caress, to which he responds so passionately that she disengages
herself]. There! be good now: remember that the doctors are
coming this morning. Isnt it extraordinarily kind of them, Louis,
to insist on coming? all of them, to consult about you?

LOUIS [coolly] Oh, I daresay they think it will be a feather in
their cap to cure a rising artist. They wouldnt come if it didnt
amuse them, anyhow. [Someone knocks at the door]. I say: its not
time yet, is it?

MRS DUDEBAT. No, not quite yet.

LOUIS [opening the door and finding Ridgeon there] Hello,
Ridgeon. Delighted to see you. Come in.

MRS DUDEBAT [shaking hands] It's so good of you to come, doctor.

LOUIS. Excuse this place, wont you? Its only a studio, you know:
theres no real convenience for living here. But we pig along
somehow, thanks to Jennifer.

MRS DUBEDAT. Now I'll run away. Perhaps later on, when youre
finished with Louis, I may come in and hear the verdict. [Ridgeon
bows rather constrainedly]. Would you rather I didnt?

RIDGEON. Not at all. Not at all.

Mrs Dubedat looks at him, a little puzzled by his formal manner;
then goes into the inner room.

LOUIS [flippantly] I say: dont look so grave. Theres nothing
awful going to happen, is there?

RIDGEON. No.

LOUIS. Thats all right. Poor Jennifer has been looking forward to
your visit more than you can imagine. Shes taken quite a fancy to
you, Ridgeon. The poor girl has nobody to talk to: I'm always
painting. [Taking up a sketch] Theres a little sketch I made of
her yesterday.

RIDGEON. She shewed it to me a fortnight ago when she first
called on me.

LOUIS [quite unabashed] Oh! did she? Good Lord! how time does
fly! I could have sworn I'd only just finished it. It's hard for
her here, seeing me piling up drawings and nothing coming in for
them. Of course I shall sell them next year fast enough, after my
one-man-show; but while the grass grows the steed starves. I hate
to have her coming to me for money, and having none to give her.
But what can I do?

RIDGEON. I understood that Mrs Dubedat had some property of her
own.

Louis. Oh yes, a little; but how could a man with any decency of
feeling touch that? Suppose I did, what would she have to live on
if I died? I'm not insured: cant afford the premiums. [Picking
out another drawing] How do you like that?

RIDGEON [putting it aside] I have not come here to-day to look at
your drawings. I have more serious and pressing business with
you.

LOUIS. You want to sound my wretched lung. [With impulsive
candor] My dear Ridgeon: I'll be frank with you. Whats the matter
in this house isnt lungs but bills. It doesnt matter about me;
but Jennifer has actually to economize in the matter of food.
Youve made us feel that we can treat you as a friend. Will you
lend us a hundred and fifty pounds?

RIDGEON. No.

LOUIS [surprised] Why not?

RIDGEON. I am not a rich man; and I want every penny I can spare
and more for my researches.

LOUIS. You mean youd want the money back again.

RIDGEON. I presume people sometimes have that in view when they
lend money.

LOUIS [after a moment's reflection] Well, I can manage that for
you. I'll give you a cheque--or see here: theres no reason why
you shouldnt have your bit too: I'll give you a cheque for two
hundred.

RIDGEON. Why not cash the cheque at once without troubling me?

LOUIS. Bless you! they wouldnt cash it: I'm overdrawn as it is.
No: the way to work it is this. I'll postdate the cheque next
October. In October Jennifer's dividends come in. Well, you
present the cheque. It will be returned marked "refer to drawer"
or some rubbish of that sort. Then you can take it to Jennifer,
and hint that if the cheque isnt taken up at once I shall be
put in prison. She'll pay you like a shot. Youll clear 50 pounds;
and youll do me a real service; for I do want the money very
badly, old chap, I assure you.

RIDGEON [staring at him] You see no objection to the transaction;
and you anticipate none from me!

LOUIS. Well, what objection can there be? It's quite safe. I can
convince you about the dividends.

RIDGEON. I mean on the score of its being--shall I say
dishonorable?

LOUIS. Well, of course I shouldnt suggest it if I didnt want the
money.

RIDGEON. Indeed! Well, you will have to find some other means of
getting it.

LOUIS. Do you mean that you refuse?

RIDGEON. Do I mean--! [letting his indignation loose] Of course I
refuse, man. What do you take me for? How dare you make such a
proposal to me?

LOUIS. Why not?

RIDGEON. Faugh! You would not understand me if I tried to
explain. Now, once for all, I will not lend you a farthing. I
should be glad to help your wife; but lending you money is no
service to her.

LOUIS. Oh well, if youre in earnest about helping her, I'll tell
you what you might do. You might get your patients to buy some of
my things, or to give me a few portrait commissions.