Janitor: Mr. Summers, I think we can save your foot.
Elliot: It's his heart.
Janitor: I know that. We're concerned about your ticker. [Elliot hands the Janitor an EKG readout; the Janitor sprays the window clean, wiping it with the printout] Ah, yes. Yes yes. Well, your paper script looks good. But, I'm going to have to listen to that heart of yours. [spits on stethoscope] Well, I'm afraid I was wrong. We're going to have to take that foot.