The Flutter of the Goldleaf; and Other Plays Part 6

We'll see. As I say, the boy has been losing sleep, and giving his mind no rest.

_Mrs. W._ (_holding tray while_ WARNER _pours cider_)

Just what I say, doctor. He's studied himself sick.

_Seymour_

You must get him out of here, Mrs. Warner. (_Sipping cider._) Excellent, indeed!

_Mrs. W._

I'm doing my best.

_Warner_ (_to_ BELLOWS, _who has drained his gla.s.s_)

You're at home, doctor. Just help yourself.

(_He does._)

_Seymour_

What is his age?

_Mrs. W._

Twenty. He went early to college.

_Seymour_ (_musingly_)

The usual age. Twenty. (_Sighs._) The age of visions and enchantments.

"The thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

_Bellows_

What are you saying, doctor?

_Seymour_

Just thinking. It's a healthy family, isn't it?

_Mrs. W._

I should say! Why, Will and Johnny and Alice----

_Bellows_

Best sort. The thoroughbreds of the town. Temperate, thriving, regular at church. Warner here was once county supervisor. (_Clapping him on shoulder._) Never had a better one.

_Seymour_ (_to_ WARNER)

And your parents?

_Warner_

Father was a sound, practical man. Stood flat-footed, I may say.

_Seymour_

And your mother?

_Mrs. W._

Law me, Hiram Warner thinks there was never anybody in the world like his mother. And there never _was_!

_Seymour_

That's good to build on. It is clear that your boy is ill, and the burden of his knowledge, whether truth or delusion, is far too great for him to bear. If you could interest him for even a brief time in ordinary life--(_smiling_) miracles that are too common to be disturbing--throw him with young people----

_Bellows_

You don't mean you won't sign the commitment papers!

_Seymour_

Just that. I shall not sign them.

_Mrs. W._ (_gratefully_)

Oh, doctor!

_Bellows_

After what you saw here with your own eyes? He's completely gone off!

_Seymour_

The boy may be right. Under this tiny consciousness of ours lie vast fields of subconscious intelligence as yet unexplored. Beyond our earth are still greater mysteries, unimaginable, unthinkable.

_Bellows_ (_in disgust_)

And I counted on your common sense!

_Seymour_

Common sense is itself too frail and uncertain a thing to be a criterion of sanity. The common sense of yesterday is to-day's folly, and our present common sense will be the madness of to-morrow.

_Bellows_

Well, I'll be--I'll wait for you down-stairs, doctor. (_Exit._)