Maggie. The doctor, is it? Troth, he's away on a call. He'll soon return. Take a cheer. (Hands him chair, L. He sits.)
Plumpface (coughs). O, this infernal cough! I'm in the last (cough) stages of a decline. (Coughs.)
Maggie. The docther'll cure ye's in a jiffy.
Oldbuck. Not that cough. Egad, he's kept it up for twenty years, and grows fat on it. Hallo, Plumpface! I thought Allopath was your medical adviser.
Plumpface. He's a swindle. (Cough.) He does me no good. (Cough.) I'm going to try the new one. (Cough.)
Oldbuck. Humbug! Keep your money. There's nothing the matter with you. You've tried twenty doctors. They bleed your pocket, and add power to that infernal cough.
Plumpface. Humbug yourself! (cough) hobbling round (cough) with that (cough) foot wrapped up. (Cough.) Stay at home and diet. (Cough.)
Maggie. Ye'll make a die of it some day, sure, wid that watchman's rattle in ye's throat.
Plumpface (to Maggie). Here (cough), I want to whisper to you. (Cough.)