_Dr. P._ It's curious how prevalent these symptoms are at the present moment. I think, if you don't mind, I will begin by taking your temperature.
[_Produces clinical thermometer and gives it three good jerks._
_Mr. S._ (_to himself: There--I knew he'd want to put one of those infernal machines in my mouth. I simply loathe the feeling of them, and I'm always on the verge of crunching them up. Perhaps I ought to warn him._) (_Aloud_) I'm afraid I'm not much good as a thermometer man.
_Dr. P._ Oh, it's a mere trifle. All you've got to do is just to hold it under your tongue. There--it's in.
_Mr. S._ (_talking with difficulty_). Ish i' in 'e ri' plashe?
_Dr. P._ Yes. But don't try to talk while it's in your mouth. I've had patients who've bitten it in two. There--that's enough. (_Extracts it deftly from patient's mouth and examines it._) Hum, hum, yes. A point below normal. Nothing violently wrong _there_. (_He now performs the usual rites and mysteries._) I'll make you out a little prescription which ought to put you all right. And if you can spare a week, and spend it at Eastbourne, I don't think it will do you any harm.
_Mr. S._ (_To himself: I like this man. He doesn't waste any time. It's a curious coincidence that I should have been thinking this very morning of arranging a visit to the seaside. Now of course I've absolutely got to go. Can't disobey my new doctor, and wouldn't if I could. By Jove, I'd all but forgotten about the two guineas fee. Yes, the cheque's in my breast-pocket. Two guineas for the first visit. The rule is not to give it too openly, but to slip it on to a desk or table as if you were half ashamed of it. Where shall I put it so as to make sure he spots it out of the corner of his eye? Ha! on the blotting-pad, which I can just reach. Does it with his left hand, and feels a man once more._)
_Mr. S._ Thank you a thousand times. (_To himself: He's edging up to the blotting-pad, and he'll have the cheque in another second._)
O happy Chink! When I behold thy face, Illumined with the all-embracing smile Peculiar to thy celestial race, So full of mirth and yet so free from guile, I stand amazed and let my fancy roam, And ask myself by what mysterious lure Thou wert induced to leave thy flowery home For Flanders, where, alas! the flowers are fewer.