Doctor: H’m. You’re just as forgetful again.
Harlequin: Yes, yes. There’s a coincidence! You’re quite right. It would be impudent of me to maintain the opposite.
Doctor: Well, there you are; I’m reminding you.
Harlequin: I’m heartily grateful.
Doctor: There’s no need for gratitude.
Harlequin: No! Good heavens!
Doctor: And so—my fee?
Harlequin: You’ll get it when I get well, when you’ve cured me.
Doctor: Yes; but I ought to tell you that I reckon to cure all illnesses except the incurable; but yours
Harlequin: Well, then, when an improvement comes, when your advice begins to work. But then, who knows? Perhaps you lied. Why should I pay then?
Doctor: In that case I must inform you that—that, judging from the condition of your system, you won’t live even till to-morrow.
Harlequin (jumping out of bed) : What! In that case, why the devil should I pay?
Doctor: But when you die, who’ll pay me?
Harlequin: But for what, let me ask you?
