s only consulting him. I'm rather out of
sorts. Overwork, I suppose.

WALPOLE [swiftly] I know whats the matter with you. I can see it in your
complexion. I can feel it in the grip of your hand.

RIDGEON. What is it?

WALPOLE. Blood-poisoning.

RIDGEON. Blood-poisoning! Impossible.

WALPOLE. I tell you, blood-poisoning. Ninety-five per cent of the human
race suffer from chronic blood-poisoning, and die of it. It's as simple
as A.B.C. Your nuciform sac is full of decaying matter--undigested food
and waste products--rank ptomaines. Now you take my advice, Ridgeon. Let
me cut it out for you. You'll be another man afterwards.

SIR PATRICK. Dont you like him as he is?

WALPOLE. No I dont. I dont like any man who hasnt a healthy circulation.
I tell you this: in an intelligently governed country people wouldnt
be allowed to go about with nuciform sacs, making themselves centres
of infection. The operation ought to be compulsory: it's ten times more
important than vaccination.

SIR PATRICK. Have you had your own sac removed, may I ask?

WALPOLE [triumphantly] I havnt got one. Look at me! Ive no symptoms. I'm
as sound as a bell. About five per cent of the population havnt got any;
and I'm one of the five per cent. I'll give you an instance. You know
Mrs Jack Foljambe: the smart Mrs Foljambe? I operated at Easter on her
sister-in-law, Lady Gorran, and found she had the biggest sac I ever
saw: it held about two ounces. Well, Mrs. Foljambe had the right
spirit--the genuine hygienic instinct. She couldnt stand her
sister-in-law being a clean, sound woman, and she simply a whited
sepulchre. So she insisted on my operating on her, too. And by George,
sir, she hadnt any sac at all. Not a trace! Not a rudiment!! I was so
taken aback--so interested, that I forgot to take the sponges out, and
was stitching them up inside her when the nurse missed them. Somehow,
I'd made sure she'd have an exceptionally large one. [He sits down on
the couch, squaring his shoulders and shooting his hands out of his
cuffs as he sets his knuckles akimbo].

EMMY [looking in] Sir Ralph Bloomfield Bonington.

A long and expectant pause follows this announcement. All look to the
door; but there is no Sir Ralph.

RIDGEON [at last] Were is he?

EMMY [looking back] Drat him, I thought he was following me. He's stayed
down to talk to that lady.

RIDGEON [exploding] I told you to tell that lady--[Emmy vanishes].

WALPOLE [jumping up again] Oh, by th