Carve. Well, don't you think you could work your passage out to the bed? With my help?
Shawn. Me in your bed, sir!
Carve. (Genially bullying.) Keep on in that tone—and I'll give you the sack on the spot. Now then. Try—before the doctor comes. (Bell rings.)
Shawn. The bell, sir—excuse me.
Carve. Confound——
(Exit Carve.)
(Shawn coughs and puts a handkerchief to his mouth. Carve returns immediately with Dr. Pascoe.)
Pascoe. (Glancing round quickly.) This the patient? (Goes to Shawn, and looks at him. Then, taking a clinical thermometer from his pocket and wiping it; with marked respect.) Allow me to put this under your tongue for half a minute. (Having done so, he takes Shawn's wrist and, looking at his watch, counts the patient's pulse. Then turning to
[14]Carve, in a low curt voiced) When did this begin?
Carve. Just now. That is, he only began to complain about six o'clock. We arrived in London this morning from Madrid.