Hobson's Choice: A Lancashire Comedy in Four Acts Part 25

DOCTOR. That's better, Mr. Hobson. (_He puts hat down and comes back_ R.)

HOBSON. If I'm better, you've not had much to do with it.

DOCTOR. I think my calculated rudeness--

HOBSON. If you calculate your fees at the same rate as your rudeness, they'll be high.

DOCTOR. I calculate by time, Mr. Hobson, so we'd better get to business.

Will you unb.u.t.ton your s.h.i.+rt?

HOBSON (_doing it_). No hanky-panky now.

DOCTOR (_ignoring his remark and examining_). Aye. It just confirms ma first opinion. Ye've had a breakdown this A.M.?

HOBSON. You might say so.

DOCTOR. Melancholic? Depressed?

HOBSON (_b.u.t.toning s.h.i.+rt_). Question was whether the razor would beat me, or I'd beat razor. I won, that time. The razor's in the yard. But I'll never dare to try shaving myself again.

DOCTOR. And do you seriously require me to tell you the cause, Mr.

Hobson?

HOBSON. I'm paying thee bra.s.s to tell me.

DOCTOR. Chronic alcoholism, if you know that what means.

HOBSON. Aye.

DOCTOR. A serious case.

HOBSON. I know it's serious. What do you think you're here for? It isn't to tell me something I know already. It's to cure me.

DOCTOR. Very well. I will write you a prescription. (_Produces notebook.

Sits at table and writes with copying pencil_.)

HOBSON. Stop that!

DOCTOR. I beg your pardon?

HOBSON. I won't take it. None of your druggist's muck for me. I'm particular about what I put into my stomach.

DOCTOR. Mr. Hobson, if you don't mend your manners, I'll certify you for a lunatic asylum. Are you aware that you've drunk yourself within six months of the grave? You'd a warning this morning that any sane man would listen to and you're going to listen to it, sir.

HOBSON. By taking your prescription?

DOCTOR. Precisely. You will take this mixture, Mr. Hobson, and you will practise total abstinence for the future.

HOBSON. You ask me to give up my reasonable refreshment!

DOCTOR. I forbid alcohol absolutely. (_Starts writing_.)

HOBSON. Much use your forbidding is. I've had my liquor for as long as I remember, and I'll have it to the end. If I'm to be beaten by beer I'll die fighting, and I'm none practising unnatural teetotalism for the sake of lengthening out my unalcoholic days. Life's got to be worth living before I'll live it.

DOCTOR (_rising and taking hat again_). If that's the way you talk, my services are of no use to you. (_Moves down_ L.)

HOBSON. They're not. I'll pay you on the nail for this. (_Rising and sorting money from pocket_.)

DOCTOR. I congratulate you on the impulse, Mr. Hobson.

HOBSON. Nay, it's a fair deal, doctor. I've had value. You've been a tonic to me. When I got up I never thought to see the "Moonraker's"

again, but I'm ready for my early morning draught this minute. (_Holds out money_.)

DOCTOR (_putting hat down, moving to_ HOBSON _and talking earnestly_).

Man, will ye no be warned? Ye pig-headed animal, alcohol is poison to ye, deadly, virulent with a system in the state yours is.

HOBSON. You're getting warm about it. Will you take your fee? (_Holding out money_.)

DOCTOR. Yes. When I've earned it. Put it in your pocket, Mr. Hobson. I hae na finished with ye yet.

HOBSON. I thought you had. (_Sits again_.)

DOCTOR (_up to_ HOBSON, R.). Do ye ken that ye're defying me? Ye'll die fighting, will ye? Aye, it's a gay, high-sounding sentiment, ma mannie, but ye'll no dae it, do ye hear? Ye'll no slip from me now. I've got ma grip on ye. Ye'll die sober, and ye'll live the longest time ye can before ye die. Have ye a wife, Mr. Hobson?

(HOBSON _points upwards_.)

In bed?

HOBSON. Higher than that.

DOCTOR. It's a pity. A man like you should keep a wife handy.

HOBSON. I'm not so partial to women.

DOCTOR. Women are a necessity, sir. Have ye no female relative that can manage ye?

HOBSON. Manage?

DOCTOR. Keep her thumb firm on ye?

HOBSON. I've got three daughters, Doctor MacFarlane, and they tried to keep their thumbs on me.

DOCTOR. Well? Where are they?

HOBSON. Married--and queerly married.

DOCTOR. You drove them to it.

HOBSON. They all grew uppish. Maggie worst of all.