HOBSON. If you calculate your fees at the same rate as your rudeness, they'll be high.
DOCTOR. I calculate by time, Mr. Hobson, so we'd better get to business. Will you unbutton your shirt?
HOBSON (doing it). No hanky-panky now.
DOCTOR (ignoring his remark and examining). Aye. It just confirms ma first opinion. Ye've had a breakdown this A.M.?
HOBSON. You might say so.
DOCTOR. Melancholic? Depressed?
HOBSON (buttoning shirt). Question was whether the razor would beat me, or I'd beat razor. I won, that time. The razor's in the yard. But I'll never dare to try shaving myself again.
DOCTOR. And do you seriously require me to tell you the cause, Mr. Hobson?
HOBSON. I'm paying thee brass to tell me.
DOCTOR. Chronic alcoholism, if you know that what means.