The Doctors Dilemma | Page 3

RIDGEON. Enough, young man, enough. You will soon get

accustomed to it.
REDPENNY. They ought to have done it years ago.
RIDGEON. They would have; only they couldnt stand Emmy opening
the door, I daresay.
EMMY [at the door, announcing] Dr Shoemaker. [She withdraws].
A middle-aged gentleman, well dressed, comes in with a friendly but
propitiatory air, not quite sure of his reception. His combination of soft
manners and responsive kindliness, with a certain unseizable reserve
and a familiar yet foreign chiselling of feature, reveal the Jew: in this
instance the handsome gentlemanly Jew, gone a little pigeon-breasted
and stale after thirty, as handsome young Jews often do, but still
decidedly good-looking.
THE GENTLEMAN. Do you remember me? Schutzmacher. University
College school and Belsize Avenue. Loony Schutzmacher, you know.
RIDGEON. What! Loony! [He shakes hands cordially]. Why, man, I
thought you were dead long ago. Sit down. [Schutzmacher sits on the
couch: Ridgeon on the chair between it and the window]. Where have
you been these thirty years?
SCHUTZMACHER. In general practice, until a few months ago. I've
retired.
RIDGEON. Well done, Loony! I wish I could afford to retire. Was your
practice in London?
SCHUTZMACHER. No.
RIDGEON. Fashionable coast practice, I suppose.
SCHUTZMACHER. How could I afford to buy a fashionable practice?
I hadnt a rap. I set up in a manufacturing town in the midlands in a little
surgery at ten shillings a week.
RIDGEON. And made your fortune?
SCHUTZMACHER. Well, I'm pretty comfortable. I have a place in
Hertfordshire besides our flat in town. If you ever want a quiet
Saturday to Monday, I'll take you down in my motor at an hours notice.
RIDGEON. Just rolling in money! I wish you rich g.p.'s would teach
me how to make some. Whats the secret of it?
SCHUTZMACHER. Oh, in my case the secret was simple enough,
though I suppose I should have got into trouble if it had attracted any
notice. And I'm afraid you'll think it rather infra dig.
RIDGEON. Oh, I have an open mind. What was the secret?

SCHUTZMACHER. Well, the secret was just two words.
RIDGEON. Not Consultation Free, was it?
SCHUTZMACHER [shocked] No, no. Really!
RIDGEON [apologetic] Of course not. I was only joking.
SCHUTZMACHER. My two words were simply Cure Guaranteed.
RIDGEON [admiring] Cure Guaranteed!
SCHUTZMACHER. Guaranteed. After all, thats what everybody wants
from a doctor, isnt it?
RIDGEON. My dear loony, it was an inspiration. Was it on the brass
plate?
SCHUTZMACHER. There was no brass plate. It was a shop window:
red, you know, with black lettering. Doctor Leo Schutzmacher,
L.R.C.P.M.R.C.S. Advice and medicine sixpence. Cure Guaranteed.
RIDGEON. And the guarantee proved sound nine times out of ten, eh?
SCHUTZMACHER [rather hurt at so moderate an estimate] Oh, much
oftener than that. You see, most people get well all right if they are
careful and you give them a little sensible advice. And the medicine
really did them good. Parrish's Chemical Food: phosphates, you know.
One tablespoonful to a twelve-ounce bottle of water: nothing better, no
matter what the case is.
RIDGEON. Redpenny: make a note of Parrish's Chemical Food.
SCHUTZMACHER. I take it myself, you know, when I feel run down.
Good-bye. You dont mind my calling, do you? Just to congratulate you.
RIDGEON. Delighted, my dear Loony. Come to lunch on Saturday
next week. Bring your motor and take me down to Hertford.
SCHUTZMACHER. I will. We shall be delighted. Thank you.
Good-bye. [He goes out with Ridgeon, who returns immediately].
REDPENNY. Old Paddy Cullen was here before you were up, to be the
first to congratulate you.
RIDGEON. Indeed. Who taught you to speak of Sir Patrick Cullen as
old Paddy Cullen, you young ruffian?
REDPENNY. You never call him anything else.
RIDGEON. Not now that I am Sir Colenso. Next thing, you fellows
will be calling me old Colly Ridgeon.
REDPENNY. We do, at St. Anne's.
RIDGEON. Yach! Thats what makes the medical student the most
disgusting figure in modern civilization. No veneration, no

manners--no--
EMMY [at the door, announcing]. Sir Patrick Cullen. [She retires].
Sir Patrick Cullen is more than twenty years older than Ridgeon, not
yet quite at the end of his tether, but near it and resigned to it. His name,
his plain, downright, sometimes rather arid common sense, his large
build and stature, the absence of those odd moments of ceremonial
servility by which an old English doctor sometimes shews you what the
status of the profession was in England in his youth, and an occasional
turn of speech, are Irish; but he has lived all his life in England and is
thoroughly acclimatized. His manner to Ridgeon, whom he likes, is
whimsical and fatherly: to others he is a little gruff and uninviting, apt
to substitute more or less expressive grunts for articulate