WALPOLE. My dear Ridgeon, best wishes! heartiest congratulations! You deserve it.
RIDGEON. Thank you.
WALPOLE. As a man, mind you. You deserve it as a man. The opsonin is simple rot, as any capable surgeon can tell you; but we’re all delighted to see your personal qualities officially recognized. Sir Patrick: how are you? I sent you a paper lately about a little thing I invented: a new saw. For shoulder blades.
SIR PATRICK [meditatively] Yes: I got it. It’s a good saw: a useful, handy instrument.
WALPOLE [confidently] I knew youd see its points.
SIR PATRICK. Yes: I remember that saw sixty-five years ago.
WALPOLE. What!
SIR PATRICK. It was called a cabinetmaker’s jimmy then.
WALPOLE. Get out! Nonsense! Cabinetmaker be—
RIDGEON. Never mind him, Walpole. He’s jealous.