HOBSON. I'm dirty now. I haven't washed this morning. Couldn't face the water. The only use I saw for water was to drown myself. The same with shaving. I've thrown my razor through the window. Had to or I'd have cut my throat.
JIM. Oh, come, come.
HOBSON. It's awful. I'll never trust myself again. I'm going to grow a beard—if I live.
JIM. You'll cheat the undertaker, Henry, but I fancy a doctor could improve you. What do you reckon is the cause of it now?
HOBSON. "Moonraker's."
JIM. You don't think—
HOBSON. I don't think. I know. I've seen it happen to others, but I never thought that it would come to me.
JIM. Nor me, neither. You're not a toper, Henry. I grant you're regular, but you don't exceed. It's a hard thing if a man can't take a drop of ale without its getting back at him like this. Why, it might be my turn next.
(TUBBY enters L., showing in DOCTOR MACFARLANE, a domineering Scotsman of fifty.)
TUBBY. Here's Doctor MacFarlane. (Exit TUBBY.)