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. Pause. Re-enter DR. PASCOE, very rapidly, with a large tumbler half-full of hot liquid.)
PASCOE. You may say I've been quick. (As he bends down to SHAWN, addressing CARVE.) Get me a wine glass of clean cold water. (To SHAWN.) Now, please. I want you to drink a little brandy and water. (SHAWN makes no response.) By Jove! (The doctor pours some of the brandy and water down SHAWN'S throat.)
CARVE. (Who has been wandering about vaguely.) I don't think we've got a wine glass. There's a cup, but I suppose that isn't medical enough.
PASCOE. (Taking a syringe from his pocket and unscrewing it.) Pour some water in it. (CARVE obeys.) Now, hold it.
CARVE. (Indicating syringe.) What is this device? PASCOE. This device? I'm going to get some strychnine into him by injection. Steady with that cup, now!
(Pascoe drops a tablet into the syringe and screws it up again, draws a little water up into the syringe and shakes the syringe. Then he goes to SHAWN to make the injection, on the top side of the patient's forearm. CARVE still holds the cup out mechanically.)
CARVE. (Putting the cup down.) Might I ask what's the matter with him?
CARVE. (Startled.) Surely that's some one in the hall.
PASCOE. Keep perfectly calm, my man. It's my assistant. I left the door open on purpose for him. He's got the poultice and things. (In a loud voice as he finishes the injection.) Come along, come along there. This way.
(Enter EDWARD HORNING with poultice, lint, bandages, etc.) PASCOE. Found the antiphlogistine?
EDWARD. Yes. (He looks at patient, and exchanges a glance with PASCOE.)
CARVE. There's one there. (Pointing to double doors.)
PASCOE. (To HORNING.) We'll get him into bed now. (To CARVE.) Bed ready?
CARVE. Yes. I--I think he was just making it up.
PASCOE. (Startled.) Does he make up his own bed?
CARVE. (Perceiving the mistake, but resuming his calm.) Always.
PASCOE. (Controlling his astonishment; looking through double doors and opening them wider. To HORNING.) Yes, this will do. Put those things down here a minute while we lift him.