Minister (hopelessly)—Doctor ... there is something I want to ask you.... Can’t I give it up?
Doctor (firmly)—No, Mr. ——, no. Upon no account. I have told your uncle and your cousins so fifty times. It is a point upon which I must be firm. Politics are a necessity to you all. I would not answer for you if it were not for politics. (Sympathetically) You are none of you strong.
Minister (heaving a deep sigh)—No. I am not strong.... Alas!... Chaplin is. But then, Chaplin’s built differently.... I wish you would let me give it up, Doctor?
Doctor (kindly)—No, my dear Mr. ——, No! Pray put such thoughts out of your head. Every man must occupy his brain and body. Most men discover or choose an occupation, but I have not been a family doctor for thirty years without distinguishing these from such rare organisms as yours—and your family’s. The House of Commons is the saving of you. (The Doctor here paused, gazed anxiously at Mr. ——, and said slowly) Perhaps, though, you take your work too seriously. It is often so with highly strung men. Do as little as you can.
Minister—I do ... but still it wearies me inexpressibly..
Doctor—Not so much as writing a book would, or travel, or country walks.
Minister (shaking his head)—I never felt so tired after “It May be True,” nor even after “I Greatly Doubt It,” as I do now (smiling a little). They sold well.
Doctor—And why? Because you were engaged in politics. Believe me, dear Mr. ——, without that one regular employment you would do little or nothing. It is the balance-wheel that regulates your whole system. Change the rules, and, if you will, limit debate to a minimum, but do not think of giving up the one thing that keeps up your circulation. More men die from inanition than I care to tell you.
Minister—Very well, Doctor ... (weakly and quietly) it is nearly one; I must sleep ... Good-bye.