(With humour that the doctor declines to see.) Not one.
PASCOE. (Controlling his exasperation.) Never mind. I'll run round to
the surgery and get my hypodermic. (To SHAWN, reassuringly and
deferentially.) I shall be back at once, Mr. Carve. (To CARVE, near
door.) Keep your master well covered up--I suppose you can do that?
(Exit.)
CARVE. Shawn, my poor fellow, he takes you for the illustrious Ilam
Carve. This is what comes of me rushing out in shirt sleeves. (Gesture
of despair.) I can't explain it to him.
SHAWN. But----
CARVE. It's all right. You'll be infinitely better looked after, you
know, and I shall be saved from their infernal curiosity.
SHAWN. It's only this, sir. I was half-expecting a young lady to-night,
sir (very feebly). At least, I believe she's young.
CARVE. Shawn, I've always suspected you were a bad lot. Now I know. I
also know why you were so devilish anxious to put me to bed early. What
am I to say to this young lady on your behalf?
(SHAWN worse, too ill to answer.
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