Magic

Conjurer. Almost as much as being called the Prospectus of some American Companies.

Doctor. Gentlemen! Gentlemen!

Conjurer. I am sorry.

Morris. Wal, let's have the argument first, then I guess we can have the quarrel afterwards. I'll clean this house of some encumbrances. See here, Mr. Smith, I'm not putting anything on your real miracle notion. I say, and Science says, that there's a cause for everything. Science will find out that cause, and sooner or later your old miracle will look mighty mean. Sooner or later Science will botanise a bit on your turnip ghosts; and make you look turnips yourselves for having taken any. I say…

Doctor. [In a low voice to Smith.] I don't like this peaceful argument of yours. The boy is getting much too excited.

Morris. You say old man Reynolds lived; and Science don't say no. [He turns excitedly to the picture.] But I guess he's dead now; and you'll no more raise your Saints and Prophets from the dead than you'll raise the Duke's great-grandfather to dance on that wall.

    [The picture begins to sway slightly to and fro on the wall.

Doctor. Why, the picture is moving!

Morris. [Turning furiously on the Conjurer.] You were in the room before us. Do you reckon that will take us in? You can do all that with wires.

Conjurer. [Motionless and without looking up from the table.] Yes, I could do all that with wires.

Morris. And you reckoned I shouldn't know. [Laughs with a high crowing laugh.] That's how the derned dirty Spiritualists do all their tricks. They say they can make the furniture move of itself. If it does move they move it; and we mean to know how.

    [A chair falls over with a slight crash.
    [Morris almost staggers and momentarily fights for breath and words.

Morris. You … why … that … every one knows that … a sliding plank. It can be done with a sliding plank.

Conjurer. [Without looking up.] Yes. It can be done with a sliding plank.

    [The Doctor draws nearer to Morris, who faces about, addressing him passionately.

Morris. You were right on the spot, Doc, when you talked about that red lamp of yours. That red lamp is the light of science that will put out all the lanterns of your turnip ghosts. It's a consuming fire, Doctor, but it is the red light of the morning. [Points at it in exalted enthusiasm.] Your priests can no more stop that light from shining or change its colour and its radiance than Joshua could stop the sun and moon. [Laughs savagely.] Why, a real fairy in an elfin cloak strayed too near the lamp an hour or two ago; and it turned him into a common society clown with a white tie.

    [The lamp at the end of the garden turns blue. They all look at it in silence.

Morris. [Splitting the silence on a high unnatural note.] Wait a bit! Wait a bit! I've got you! I'll have you!.. [He strides wildly up and down the room, biting his finger.] You put a wire … no, that can't be it…

Doctor. [Speaking to him soothingly.] Well, well, just at this moment we need not inquire…

Morris. [Turning on him furiously.] You call yourself a man of science, and you dare to tell me not to inquire!

Smith. We only mean that for the moment you might let it alone.

Morris. [Violently.] No, Priest, I will not let it alone. [Pacing the room again.] Could it be done with mirrors? [He clasps his brow.] You have a mirror… [Suddenly, with a shout.] I've got it! I've got it! Mixture of lights! Why not? If you throw a green light on a red light…

    [Sudden silence.

Smith. [Quietly to the Doctor.] You don't get blue.

Doctor. [Stepping across to the Conjurer.] If you have done this trick, for God's sake undo it.

    [After a silence, the light turns red again.

Morris. [Dashing suddenly to the glass doors and examining them.] It's the glass! You've been doing something to the glass!

[He stops suddenly and there is a long silence.

Conjurer. [Still without moving.] I don't think you will find anything wrong with the glass.

Morris. [Bursting open the glass doors with a crash.] Then I'll find out what's wrong with the lamp.

    [Disappears into the garden.

Doctor. It is still a wet night, I am afraid.

Smith. Yes. And somebody else will be wandering about the garden now.

    [Through the broken glass doors Morris can be seen marching backwards and forwards with swifter and swifter steps.

Smith. I suppose in this case the Celtic twilight will not get on the chest.

Doctor. Oh, if it were only the chest!

Enter Patricia

Patricia. Where is my brother?

    [There is an embarrassed silence, in which the Conjurer answers.

Conjurer. I am afraid he is walking about in Fairyland.

Patricia. But he mustn't go out on a night like this; it's very dangerous!

Conjurer. Yes, it is very dangerous. He might meet a fairy.

Patricia. What do you mean?

Conjurer. You went out in this sort of weather and you met this sort of fairy, and so far it has only brought you sorrow.

Patricia. I am going out to find my brother.

    [She goes out into the garden through the open doors.

Smith. [After a silence, very suddenly.] What is that noise? She is not singing those songs to him, is she?

Conjurer. No. He does not understand the language of the elves.

Smith. But what are all those cries and gasps I hear?