RIDGEON [shaking hands] Thank you, B. B.
B. B. What! Sir Patrick! And how are we to-day? a little chilly? a little stiff? but hale and still the cleverest of us all. [Sir Patrick grunts]. What! Walpole! the absent-minded beggar: eh?
WALPOLE. What does that mean?
B. B. Have you forgotten the lovely opera singer I sent you to have that growth taken off her vocal cords?
WALPOLE [springing to his feet] Great heavens, man, you dont mean to say you sent her for a throat operation!
B. B. [archly] Aha! Ha ha! Aha! [trilling like a lark as he shakes his finger at Walpole]. You removed her nuciform sac. Well, well! force of habit! force of habit! Never mind, ne-e-e-ver mind. She got back her voice after it, and thinks you the greatest surgeon alive; and so you are, so you are, so you are.
WALPOLE [in a tragic whisper, intensely serious] Blood-poisoning. I see. I see. [He sits down again].
SIR PATRICK. And how is a certain distinguished family getting on under your care, Sir Ralph?
B. B. Our friend Ridgeon will be gratified to hear that I have tried his opsonin treatment on little Prince Henry with complete success.
RIDGEON [startled and anxious] But how—