Whetstone.
Professor, examine his hygiene, and see if he needs any medicine.
Scythe [feeling his pulse].
What’s this? Why, this pulse beneath my finger is the alarm-bell of a disordered system! Open wide your eyes. [Looking into his eye.] What a distended foresight have we here! The pupil of the eye is dilated like an owl’s.
Bluegrass.
The owl stands for wisdom.
Scythe.
Silence! Hold out your tongue! [He opens his mouth.] It has an overcoat with a high color. [Taking out a thermometer.] The temperature is seventy-two outside [taking the temperature under his tongue], and inside, under the shade of the tongue, it is ninety-nine and nine-tenths. Why, we are approaching spontaneous combustion! [Feeling his forehead.] And your forehead is as hot as a volcano. Mayor Whetstone, you may in a few hours lose your private secretary.
Whetstone.
I cannot afford to lose him yet; save him, Professor, save him!