CLAV. I hope so.
JABEZ. I've no doubt of it. So that's satisfactory to both parties. By the way, doctor, don't think me rude if I put a rather personal question to you. I've a reason for asking. Do you consider your practice here a valuable one?
CLAV. That rather depends on what you mean by valuable. It's numerous enough in all conscience. There's plenty of ill-health about. But valuable, no, I can't say it is. Your men get paid too little and they die too fast for a doctor to grow fat amongst them.
JABEZ. I've a notion we might come to some arrangement. I've had an idea of adding a medical officer permanently to the staff. What do you say, doctor?
CLAV. I'll think it over.
JABEZ (rising). Do. With the respirator at work you should have more leisure on your hands for research, eh, doctor? I know what beggars you medical men are for experiments, and you can't have over much time at present. Suppose you telephone me later. We shan't quarrel over terms. Or, stay, come in to dinner to-night? (Rises and crosses R.)
CLAV. Thanks. I will. (Rising and going l.)
JABEZ. You quite understand what this means, doctor?
CLAV. Er—in what way?
JABEZ. Well, it's the end of your literary career. I want no more books.