WILLIAM. [His voice trembling.] Y—es, sir.
PETER. [Looks round the room—beginning to understand.] … What did you mean, Andrew?
DR. MACPHERSON. I'll tell you, Peter, when we're alone.
PETER. But … [MRS. BATHOLOMMEY shakes her finger threateningly at
WILLIAM who whimpers.] Never mind. It popped out; didn't it, William?
Get the circus tickets and we'll have a fine time just the same. [WILLIAM
goes for the tickets.
REV. MR. BATHOLOMMEY. I—er—good-morning, dear friend. [Takes PETER'S hand.] Any time you 'phone for me—day or night—I'll run over instantly. God bless you, sir. I've never come to you for any worthy charity and been turned away—never.
MRS. BATHOLOMMEY. [Suddenly overcome] Good-bye, Mr. Grimm. [In tears, she follows her husband. The DOCTOR and PETER look at each other.
DR. MACPHERSON. [Cigar in mouth—very abruptly] It's cardiac valvular—a little valve—[Tapping heart]—here. [Slaps PETER on the shoulder] There's my 'phone, [As a bell is heard faintly but persistently ringing across the street] I'll be back. [Catches up his hat to hasten off.
PETER. Just a minute.
DR. MACPHERSON. [Turning] Don't fret yourself, Peter. You're not to imagine you're worse than you are. [Angrily.] Don't funk!
PETER. [Calmly] That wasn't my reason for detaining you, Andrew. [With a twinkle in his eye] I merely wanted to say—