Plumpface. She hasn't been away—has she? (Cough.)
Dr. A. Look here, Plumpface. Go home, quick! Go to your room, get into bed, and don't stir until I get there.
Plumpface. What's the matter now?
Dr. A. Your case has taken a serious turn. You are going to get rid of that cough. It's going to your head. You will be mad.
Plumpface. Mad? You don't say so! What a horrible idea! I'm afraid you're right. I haven't coughed for three minutes. O, doctor, is there no hope?
Dr. A. Don't stop to talk. Get home at once. (Pushes him out of door, L.) Run for your life. How he goes! The exercise will do his lungs good; but his head, poor fellow! He's got the duchess fever.
Enter Oldbuck, L.
Oldbuck. I say, doctor, what's the matter with Plumpface? I met him, running. Is there a fire anywhere?
Dr. A. Yes, very near him—in his head. It has been turned.
Oldbuck. You don't say so. By what, pray?