The Great Adventure | Page 2

That is, he only began to complain about six o'clock.
We arrived in London this morning from Madrid.
PASCOE. (Reading thermometer.) Temperature 104-1/2. Pulse is
140--and weak. I must have some boiling water.
CARVE. (At a loss.) What for?
PASCOE. What for? For a poultice.
CARVE. (Helplessly.) But there isn't any ... we've nothing except this
spirit-lamp. (Pointing to lamp on table.)
PASCOE. No women in the house?
CARVE. (With humour that the doctor declines to see.) Not one.
PASCOE. (Controlling his exasperation.) Never mind. I'll run round to
the surgery and get my hypodermic. (To SHAWN, reassuringly and
deferentially.) I shall be back at once, Mr. Carve. (To CARVE, near
door.) Keep your master well covered up--I suppose you can do that?
(Exit.)
CARVE. Shawn, my poor fellow, he takes you for the illustrious Ilam
Carve. This is what comes of me rushing out in shirt sleeves. (Gesture
of despair.) I can't explain it to him.
SHAWN. But----
CARVE. It's all right. You'll be infinitely better looked after, you know,
and I shall be saved from their infernal curiosity.
SHAWN. It's only this, sir. I was half-expecting a young lady to-night,
sir (very feebly). At least, I believe she's young.
CARVE. Shawn, I've always suspected you were a bad lot. Now I
know. I also know why you were so devilish anxious to put me to bed
early. What am I to say to this young lady on your behalf?
(SHAWN worse, too ill to answer. Pause. Re-enter DR. PASCOE, very
rapidly, with a large tumbler half-full of hot liquid.)
PASCOE. You may say I've been quick. (As he bends down to
SHAWN, addressing CARVE.) Get me a wine glass of clean cold
water. (To SHAWN.) Now, please. I want you to drink a little brandy
and water. (SHAWN makes no response.) By Jove! (The doctor pours
some of the brandy and water down SHAWN'S throat.)

CARVE. (Who has been wandering about vaguely.) I don't think we've
got a wine glass. There's a cup, but I suppose that isn't medical enough.
PASCOE. (Taking a syringe from his pocket and unscrewing it.) Pour
some water in it. (CARVE obeys.) Now, hold it.
CARVE. (Indicating syringe.) What is this device? PASCOE. This
device? I'm going to get some strychnine into him by injection. Steady
with that cup, now!
(Pascoe drops a tablet into the syringe and screws it up again, draws a
little water up into the syringe and shakes the syringe. Then he goes to
SHAWN to make the injection, on the top side of the patient's forearm.
CARVE still holds the cup out mechanically.)
PASCOE. I've done with that cup.
CARVE. (Putting the cup down.) Might I ask what's the matter with
him?
PASCOE. Pneumonia is the matter.
(Noise of some one in the hall.)
CARVE. (Startled.) Surely that's some one in the hall.
PASCOE. Keep perfectly calm, my man. It's my assistant. I left the
door open on purpose for him. He's got the poultice and things. (In a
loud voice as he finishes the injection.) Come along, come along there.
This way.
(Enter EDWARD HORNING with poultice, lint, bandages, etc.)
PASCOE. Found the antiphlogistine?
EDWARD. Yes. (He looks at patient, and exchanges a glance with
PASCOE.)
PASCOE. Where's the bedroom?
CARVE. There's one there. (Pointing to double doors.)
PASCOE. (To HORNING.) We'll get him into bed now. (To CARVE.)
Bed ready?
CARVE. Yes. I--I think he was just making it up.
PASCOE. (Startled.) Does he make up his own bed?
CARVE. (Perceiving the mistake, but resuming his calm.) Always.
PASCOE. (Controlling his astonishment; looking through double doors
and opening them wider. To HORNING.) Yes, this will do. Put those
things down here a minute while we lift him.
(PASCOE and HORNING then carry the inanimate form of SHAWN
into the room behind, while CARVE hovers about uselessly.)

CARVE. Can I do anything?
PASCOE. (Indicating a chair furthest away from the double doors.)
You see that chair?
CARVE. I see it.
PASCOE. Go and sit on it.
(Exeunt PASCOE and HORNING, back, closing double door's.)
(After walking about, CARVE sits down on another chair. A bell rings
twice. He pays no attention. Then enter JANET CANNOT, L. CARVE
jumps up, but is inarticulate, though very favourably interested.)
JANET. (Smiling sympathetically.) I rang twice.
CARVE. The bell must be out of order.
JANET. I couldn't be sure, but I don't think it's the bell that's out of
order.
CARVE. Oh! You think I'm out of order.
JANET. No. I was thinking that you'd only just come into the
house--all you famous folk--and you hadn't quite got it straight yet--as
it were. (Looking vaguely at room.)
CARVE. All we famous folk?
JANET. Well--I don't know myself about that sort of thing.
CARVE. What sort of thing?
JANET. Picture-painting, isn't it? I mean