The Doctor’s Dilemma · Act II (2/2) (2/2)

| The Maid | I beg pardon, sir. It’s not about the hotel. I’m not allowed to be on the terrace; and I should be discharged if I were seen speaking to you, unless you were kind enough to say you called me to ask whether the motor has come back from the station yet. | | Walpole | Has it? | | The Maid | Yes, sir. | | Ridgeon | Well, what do you want? | | The Maid | Would you mind, sir, giving me the address of the gentleman that was with you at dinner? | | Ridgeon | Sharply. Yes, of course I should mind very much. You have no right to ask. | | The Maid | Yes, sir, I know it looks like that. But what am I to do? | | Sir Patrick | What’s the matter with you? | | The Maid | Nothing, sir. I want the address: that’s all. | | B.B. | You mean the young gentleman? | | The Maid | Yes, sir: that went to catch the train with the woman he brought with him. | | Ridgeon | The woman! Do you mean the lady who dined here? the gentleman’s wife? | | The Maid | Don’t believe them, sir. She can’t be his wife. I’m his wife. | | | In amazed remonstrance: | | B.B. | My good girl! | | Ridgeon | You his wife! | | Walpole | What! what’s that? Oh, this is getting perfectly fascinating, Ridgeon. | | The Maid | I could run upstairs and get you my marriage lines in a minute, sir, if you doubt my word. He’s Mr. Louis Dubedat, isn’t he? | | Ridgeon | Yes. | | The Maid | Well, sir, you may believe me or not; but I’m the lawful Mrs. Dubedat. | | Sir Patrick | And why aren’t you living with your husband? | | The Maid | We couldn’t afford it, sir. I had thirty pounds saved; and we spent it all on our honeymoon in three weeks, and a lot more that he borrowed. Then I had to go back into service, and he went to London to get work at his drawing; and he never wrote me a line or sent me an address. I never saw nor heard of him again until I caught sight of him from the window going off in the motor with that woman. | | Sir Patrick | Well, that’s two wives to start with. | | B.B. | Now upon my soul I don’t want to be uncharitable; but really I’m beginning to suspect that our young friend is rather careless. | | Sir Patrick | Beginning to think! How long will it take you, man, to find out that he’s a damned young blackguard? | | Blenkinsop | Oh, that’s severe, Sir Patrick, very severe. Of course it’s bigamy; but still he’s very young; and she’s very pretty. Mr. Walpole: may I sponge on you for another of those nice cigarettes of yours? He changes his seat for the one next Walpole. | | Walpole | Certainly. He feels in his pockets. Oh bother! Where⁠—? Suddenly remembering. I say: I recollect now: I passed my cigarette case to Dubedat and he didn’t return it. It was a gold one. | | The Maid | He didn’t mean any harm: he never thinks about things like that, sir. I’ll get it back for you, sir, if you’ll tell me where to find him. | | Ridgeon | What am I to do? Shall I give her the address or not? | | Sir Patrick | Give her your own address; and then we’ll see. To the maid. You’ll have to be content with that for the present, my girl. Ridgeon gives her his card. What’s your name? | | The Maid | Minnie Tinwell, sir. | | Sir Patrick | Well, you write him a letter to care of this gentleman; and it will be sent on. Now be off with you. | | The Maid | Thank you, sir. I’m sure you wouldn’t see me wronged. Thank you all, gentlemen; and excuse the liberty. | | | She goes into the hotel. They watch her in silence. | | Ridgeon | When she is gone. Do you realize, chaps, that we have promised Mrs. Dubedat to save this fellow’s life? | | Blenkinsop | What’s the matter with him? | | Ridgeon | Tuberculosis. | | Blenkinsop | Interested. And can you cure that? | | Ridgeon | I believe so. | | Blenkinsop | Then I wish you’d cure me. My right lung is touched, I’m sorry to say. | | | All together: | | Ridgeon | What! Your lung is going? | | B.B. | My dear Blenkinsop, what do you tell me? *Full of concern for Blenkinsop he comes back from the balustrade. | | Sir Patrick | Eh? Eh? What’s that? | | Walpole | Hullo, you mustn’t neglect this, you know. | | Blenkinsop | Putting his fingers in his ears. No, no: it’s no use. I know what you’re going to say: I’ve said it often to others. I can’t afford to take care of myself; and there’s an end of it. If a fortnight’s holiday would save my life, I’d have to die. I shall get on as others have to get on. We can’t all go to St. Moritz or to Egypt, you know, Sir Ralph. Don’t talk about it. | | | Embarrassed silence. | | Sir Patrick | Grunts and looks hard at Ridgeon. ! | | Schutzmacher | Looking at his watch and rising. I must go. It’s been a very pleasant evening, Colly. You might let me have my portrait if you don’t mind. I’ll send Mr. Dubedat that couple of sovereigns for it. | | Ridgeon | Giving him the menu card. Oh don’t do that, Loony. I don’t think he’d like that. | | Schutzmacher | Well, of course I shan’t if you feel that way about it. But I don’t think you understand Dubedat. However, perhaps that’s because I’m a Jew. Good night, Dr. Blenkinsop shaking hands. | | Blenkinsop | Good night, sir⁠—I mean⁠—Good night. | | Schutzmacher | Waving his hand to the rest. Goodnight, everybody. | | Walpole, B.B., Sir Patrick, Ridgeon | Good night. | | | B.B. repeats the salutation several times, in varied musical tones. Schutzmacher goes out. | | Sir Patrick | It’s time for us all to move. He rises and comes between Blenkinsop and Walpole. Ridgeon also rises. Mr. Walpole: take Blenkinsop home: he’s had enough of the open air cure for tonight. Have you a thick overcoat to wear in the motor, Dr. Blenkinsop? | | Blenkinsop | Oh, they’ll give me some brown paper in the hotel; and a few thicknesses of brown paper across the chest are better than any fur coat. | | Walpole | Well, come along. Good night, Colly. You’re coming with us, aren’t you, B.B.? | | B.B. | Yes: I’m coming. Walpole and Blenkinsop go into the hotel. Good night, my dear Ridgeon shaking hands affectionately. Don’t let us lose sight of your interesting patient and his very charming wife. We must not judge him too hastily, you know. With unction. Gooooooood-night, Paddy. Bless you, dear old chap. Sir Patrick utters a formidable grunt. B.B. laughs and pats him indulgently on the shoulder. Good night. Good night. Good night. Good night. He good nights himself into the hotel. | | | The others have meanwhile gone without ceremony. Ridgeon and Sir Patrick are left alone together. Ridgeon, deep in thought, comes down to Sir Patrick. | | Sir Patrick | Well, Mr. Savior of Lives: which is it to be? that honest decent man Blenkinsop, or that rotten blackguard of an artist, eh? | | Ridgeon | It’s not an easy case to judge, is it? Blenkinsop’s an honest decent man; but is he any use? Dubedat’s a rotten blackguard; but he’s a genuine source of pretty and pleasant and good things. | | Sir Patrick | What will he be a source of for that poor innocent wife of his, when she finds him out? | | Ridgeon | That’s true. Her life will be a hell. | | Sir Patrick | And tell me this. Suppose you had this choice put before you: either to go through life and find all the pictures bad but all the men and women good, or to go through life and find all the pictures good and all the men and women rotten. Which would you choose? | | Ridgeon | That’s a devilishly difficult question, Paddy. The pictures are so agreeable, and the good people so infernally disagreeable and mischievous, that I really can’t undertake to say offhand which I should prefer to do without. | | Sir Patrick | Come come! none of your cleverness with me: I’m too old for it. Blenkinsop isn’t that sort of good man; and you know it. | | Ridgeon | It would be simpler if Blenkinsop could paint Dubedat’s pictures. | | Sir Patrick | It would be simpler still if Dubedat had some of Blenkinsop’s honesty. The world isn’t going to be made simple for you, my lad: you must take it as it is. You’ve to hold the scales between Blenkinsop and Dubedat. Hold them fairly. | | Ridgeon | Well, I’ll be as fair as I can. I’ll put into one scale all the pounds Dubedat has borrowed, and into the other all the half-crowns that Blenkinsop hasn’t borrowed. | | Sir Patrick | And you’ll take out of Dubedat’s scale all the faith he has destroyed and the honor he has lost, and you’ll put into Blenkinsop’s scale all the faith he has justified and the honor he has created. | | Ridgeon | Come come, Paddy! none of your claptrap with me: I’m too sceptical for it. I’m not at all convinced that the world wouldn’t be a better world if everybody behaved as Dubedat does than it is now that everybody behaves as Blenkinsop does. | | Sir Patrick | Then why don’t you behave as Dubedat does? | | Ridgeon | Ah, that beats me. That’s the experimental test. Still, it’s a dilemma. It’s a dilemma. You see there’s a complication we haven’t mentioned. | | Sir Patrick | What’s that? | | Ridgeon | Well, if I let Blenkinsop die, at least nobody can say I did it because I wanted to marry his widow. | | Sir Patrick | Eh? What’s that? | | Ridgeon | Now if I let Dubedat die, I’ll marry his widow. | | Sir Patrick | Perhaps she won’t have you, you know. | | Ridgeon | With a self-assured shake of the head. I’ve a pretty good flair for that sort of thing. I know when a woman is interested in me. She is. | | Sir Patrick | Well, sometimes a man knows best; and sometimes he knows worst. You’d much better cure them both. | | Ridgeon | I can’t. I’m at my limit. I can squeeze in one more case, but not two. I must choose. | | Sir Patrick | Well, you must choose as if she didn’t exist: that’s clear. | | Ridgeon | Is that clear to you? Mind: it’s not clear to me. She troubles my judgment. | | Sir Patrick | To me, it’s a plain choice between a man and a lot of pictures. | | Ridgeon | It’s easier to replace a dead man than a good picture. | | Sir Patrick | Colly: when you live in an age that runs to pictures and statues and plays and brass bands because its men and women are not good enough to comfort its poor aching soul, you should thank Providence that you belong to a profession which is a high and great profession because its business is to heal and mend men and women. | | Ridgeon | In short, as a member of a high and great profession, I’m to kill my patient. | | Sir Patrick | Don’t talk wicked nonsense. You can’t kill him. But you can leave him in other hands. | | Ridgeon | In B.B.’s, for instance: eh? Looking at him significantly. | | Sir Patrick | Demurely facing his look. Sir Ralph Bloomfield Bonington is a very eminent physician. | | Ridgeon | He is. | | Sir Patrick | I’m going for my hat. | | | Ridgeon strikes the bell as Sir Patrick makes for the hotel. A waiter comes. | | Ridgeon | To the waiter*. My bill, please. | | Waiter | Yes, sir. | | | He goes for it. |