EMMY Dr Ridgeon wont never be down any more, young man.

She detects dust on the console and is down on it immediately.

REDPENNY [jumpins up and following her] What?

EMMY He’s been made a knight. Mind you dont go Dr Rid geoning him in them letters. Sir Colenso Ridgeon is to be his name now.

REDPENNY I’m jolly glad.

EMMY I never was so taken aback. I always thought his great discoveries was fudge (let alone the mess of them) with his drops of blood and tubes full of Maltese fever and the like. Now he’ll have a rare laugh at me.

REDPENNY Serve you right! It was like your cheek to talk to him about science. [He returns to his table and resumes his writing ].

EMMY Oh, I dont think much of science; and neither will you when youve lived as long with it as I have. Whats on my mind is answering the door. Old Sir Patrick Cullen has been here already and left first congratulations — hadnt time to come up on his way to the hospital, but was determined to be first — coming back, he said. All the rest will be here too: the knocker will be going all day. What I’m afraid of is that the doctor’ll want a footman like all the rest, now that he’s Sir Colenso. Mind: dont you go putting him up to it, ducky; for he’ll never have any comfort with anybody but me to answer the door. I know who to let in and who to keep out. And that reminds me of the poor lady. I think he ought to see her. She’s just the kind that puts him in a good temper. [She dusts RED PENNY’s papers].

REDPENNY I tell you he cant see anybody. Do go away, Emmy. How can I work with you dusting all over me like this?

EMMY I’m not hindering you working — if you call writing letters working. There goes the bell. [She looks out of the window]. A doctor’s carriage. Thats more congratulations. [She is going out when SIR COLENSO RIDGEON enters]. Have you finished your two eggs, sonny?

RIDGEON Yes.

EMMY Have you put on your clean vest?

RIDGEON Yes.

EMMY Thats my ducky diamond! Now keep yourself tidy and dont go messing about and dirtying your hands: the people are coming to congratulate you. [She goes out].

SIR COLENSO RIDGEON is a man of fifty who has never shaken off his youth. He has the off-handed manner and the little audacities of address which a shy and sensitive man acquires in breaking himself in to intercourse with all sorts and conditions of men. His face is a good deal lined; his movements are slower than, for instance, REDPENNY’s; and his flaxen hair has lost its lustre; but in figure and manner he is more the young man than the titled physician. Even the lines in his face are those of overwork and restless scepticism, perhaps partly of curiosity and appetite, rather than of age. Just at present the announcement of his knighthood in the morning papers makes him specially self-conscious, and consequently specially off-hand with REDPENNY.

RIDGEON Have you seen the papers? Youll have to alter the name in the letters if you havnt.

REDPENNY Emmy has just told me. I’m awfully glad. I —

RIDGEON Enough, young man, enough. You will soon get accustomed to it.

REDPENNY They ought to have done it years ago.

RIDGEON They would have; only they couldnt stand Emmy opening the door, I daresay.

EMMY [at the door, announcing] Dr Shoemaker. [She withdraws]. A middle-aged gentleman, well dressed, comes in with a friendly but propitiatory air, not quite sure of his reception. His combination of soft manners and responsive kindliness, with a certain unseizable reserve and a familiar yet foreign chiselling of feature, reveal the Jew: ^{39} in this instance the handsome gentlemanly Jew, gone a little pigeon-breasted [146] and stale after thirty, as handsome young Jews often do, but still decidedly good-looking.

THE GENTLEMAN Do you remember me? Schutzmacher. University College school and Belsize Avenue. Loony Schutzmacher, you know.

RIDGEON What! Loony! [He shakes hands cordially]. Why, man, I thought you were dead long ago. Sit down. [SCHUTZMACHER sits on the couch: RIDGEON on the chair between it and the window]. Where have you been these thirty years?

SCHUTZMACHER In general practice, until a few months ago. Ive retired.

RIDGEON Well done, Loony! I wish I could afford to retire. Was your practice in London?

SCHUTZMACHER No.

RIDGEON Fashionable coast practice, I suppose.

SCHUTZMACHER How could I afford to buy a fashionable practice? I hadnt a rap. I set up in a manufacturing town in the midlands in a little surgery at ten shillings a week.

RIDGEON And made your fortune?

SCHUTZMACHER Well, I’m pretty comfortable. I have a place in Hertfordshire besides our flat in town. If you ever want a quiet Saturday to Monday, I’ll take you down in my motor at an hour’s notice.

RIDGEON Just rolling in money! I wish you rich g. p.’s would teach me how to make some. Whats the secret of it?

SCHUTZMACHER Oh, in my case the secret was simple enough, though I suppose I should have got into trouble if it had attracted any notice. And I’m afraid you’ll think it rather infra dig. [147]

RIDGEON Oh, I have an open mind. What was the secret?

SCHUTZMACHER Well, the secret was just two words.

RIDGEON Not Consultation Free, was it?

SCHLITZMACHER [shocked] No, no. Really!

RIDGEON [apologetic] Of course not. I was only joking.

SCHUTZMACHER My two words were simply Cure Guaranteed.

RIDGEON [admiring] Cure Guaranteed!

SCHUTZMACHER Guaranteed. After all, thats what everybody wants from a doctor, isnt it?

RIDGEON My dear Loony, it was an inspiration. Was it on the brass plate?

SCHUTZMACHER There was no brass plate. It was a shop window: red, you know, with black lettering. Doctor Leo Schutzmacher, L. R. C. P. M. R. C. S. [148] Advice and medicine sixpence. Cure Guaranteed.

RIDGEON And the guarantee proved sound nine times out of ten, eh?

SCHUTZMACHER [rather hurt at so moderate an estimate] Oh, much oftener than that. You see, most people get well all right if they are careful and you give them a little sensible advice. And the medicine really did them good. Parrish’s Chemical Food: phosphates, you know. One tablespoonful to a twelve-ounce bottle of water: nothing better, no matter what the case is.

RIDGEON Redpenny: make a note of Parrish’s Chemical Food.

SCHUTZMACHER I take it myself, you know, when I feel run down. Good-bye. You dont mind my calling, do you? Just to congratulate you.

RIDGEON Delighted, my dear Loony. Come to lunch on Saturday next week. Bring your motor and take me down to Hertford.

SCHLITZMACHER I will. We shall be delighted. Thank you. Good-bye. [He goes out with RIDGEON, who returns immediately].

REDPENNY Old Paddy Cullen was here before you were up, to be the first to congratulate you.

RIDGEON Indeed. Who taught you to speak of Sir Patrick Cullen as old Paddy Cullen, you young ruffian?

REDPENNY You never call him anything else.

RIDGEON Not now that I am Sir Colenso. Next thing, you fellows will be calling me old Colly Ridgeon.

REDPENNY We do, at St. Anne’s.

RIDGEON Yach! Thats what makes the medical student the most disgusting figure in modern civilization. No veneration, no manners — no —

EMMY [at the door, announcing] Sir Patrick Cullen. [She retires]. SIR PATRICK CULLEN is more than twenty years older than RIDGEON, not yet quite at the end of his tether, but near it and resigned to it. His name, his plain, downright, sometimes rather arid common sense, his large build and stature, the absence of those odd moments of ceremonial servility by which an old English doctor sometimes shews you what the status of the profession was in England in his youth, and an occasional turn of speech, are Irish; but he has lived all his life in England and is thoroughly acclimatized. His manner to RIDGEON, whom he likes, is whimsical and fatherly: to others he is a little gruff and uninviting, apt to substitute more or less expressive grunts for articulate speech, and generally indisposed, at his age, to make much social effort. He shakes RIDGEON’s hand and beams at him cordially and jocularly.