Dr. Cony—In all my twenty-five years of professional experience I've never made an incorrect diagnosis. It is gout.
COTTONTAIL—But I'm president of the Bone Dry Prohibition Union.
Dr. Cony—The more shame to you, sir.
COTTONTAIL—What shall I do?
DR. CONY—Obey my instructions implicitly. A good many doctors will tell you that they can't cure gout. Undoubtedly they are right. They can't. But I can. Only you simply must stop drinking. Cutting down and tapering off to ten or twelve drinks a day won't do. You must stop absolutely. No liquor at all. Do you understand? Not a drop, sir.
COTTONTAIL (his nose violently palpitating with emotion)—I never took a drink in my life. I'm president of the Bone Dry Prohibition Union. I was just sitting quietly reading The Evening Post—
DR. CONY—Save that story for your bone-dry friends. I have nothing to do with your past life. I'm not judging you. It's nature that says the alcoholic must pay and pay and pay. I'm only concerned now with the present and the future, and the present is that you're suffering from alcoholism manifested in gout, and the future is that you'll die if you don't stop drinking.
COTTONTAIL—I tell you I promised my Sunday school teacher when I was a boy that I would always be a Little Light Bearer, and that I would never take a drink if I lived to be a hundred.
DR. CONY—Don't worry, you won't live that long, and don't take on so. You're not the first one that's had his fun and then been dragged up by the heels for it. Cheer up. Remember the good times that are gone. Life can't be all carrots, you know.
COTTONTAIL—But I never had any good times.