CONRAD. Is your time of any value?
SURGE [unable to believe his ears] My time of any value! What do you mean?
LUBIN [smiling comfortably] From your high scientific point of view, I daresay, none whatever, Professor. In any case I think a little perfectly idle discussion would do Burge good. After all, we might as well hear about the elixir of life as read novels, or whatever Burge does when he is not playing golf on Walton Heath. What is your elixir, Dr Barnabas? Lemons? Sour milk? Or what is the latest?
SURGE. We were just beginning to talk seriously; and now you snatch at the chance of talking rot. [He rises]. Good evening. [He turns to the door].
CONRAD [rudely] Die as soon as you like. Good evening.
BURGE [hesitating] Look here. I took sour milk twice a day until Metchnikoff died. He thought it would keep him alive for ever; and he died of it.
CONRAD. You might as well have taken sour beer.
BURGE. You believe in lemons?
CONRAD. I wouldn't eat a lemon for ten pounds.
BURGE [sitting down again] What do you recommend?