DR. CONY—Very well, sir, I must insist on taking the only measure that will save your life. (He steps to the door and calls) Mrs. Cottontail, will you come here immediately?
(Enter Mrs. Cottontail.)
COTTONTAIL—My dear—
DR. CONY—If you please, madame. Let me explain first. You can have it out with your husband later. I'm sorry to tell you, Mrs. Cottontail, that your husband has gout. He has contracted it from excessive drinking. You knew, of course, that he was a heavy drinker?
MRS. COTTONTAIL (surprised, but not in the least incredulous)—I couldn't go so far as to say I knew it.
DR. CONY—He must stop or he'll die.
COTTONTAIL (rapidly and wildly)—I can explain everything, my dear. The doctor's all wrong. The whole trouble is somebody pulled the roof off the other day and stabbed me with a poisoned sword. I was right here in this room. I was just quietly reading The Evening Post. I knew no good would come of our moving into this new apartment house, with its fancy wire and green paint and free food, and all the rest of it.
DR. CONY (to Mrs. Cottontail, who aids him in ignoring the patient)—You can see for yourself, madame, just how rational he is. I leave him in your care, Mrs. Cottontail. Don't let him out of your sight. Try and find out where he gets his liquor. If he pleads with you for a drink, be firm with him. Follow him everywhere. Make him obey. It won't be hard in his enfeebled condition. I'll be around to-morrow. (To Cottontail) Remember, one drink may be fatal.
(Exit Dr. Cony.)
COTTONTAIL—My dear, it was a pink monster, with an enormous dagger. It lifted off the ceiling—