MICHAELIS.

By what authority?

LITTLEFIELD.

By the authority of medical knowledge.--You are a very remarkable man, with a very remarkable gift. In your own field, I take off my hat to you. If you knew yourself as science knows you, you might make the greatest doctor living. Your handling of Mrs. Beeler's case was masterly. But--come right down to it--_you_ didn't work the cure.

MICHAELIS.

I know that.

LITTLEFIELD.

Who do you think did?

MICHAELIS.

_Raising his hands._

He whom I serve, and whom you blaspheme!

LITTLEFIELD.

No, sir! He whom _I_ serve, and whom _you_ blaspheme--Nature. Or rather, Mrs. Beeler did it herself.

MICHAELIS.

Herself?

LITTLEFIELD.

You gave her a jog, so to speak, here, or here,

_Touches his brain and heart._

and she did the rest. But you can't do the same to everybody. Above all, you can't do it to a baby in arms. There's nothing either here or here,

_Touches brain and heart._

to get hold of. I'm a modest man, and as I say, in your own field you're a wonder. But in a case like this one--

_He points to the hall door._

I'm worth a million of you.

MICHAELIS.

_Moves as if to give place to him, with a challenging gesture toward the door._

Try!

LITTLEFIELD.

_Shrugs._

Not much! The woman wouldn't listen to me. And if she did, and I failed--oh, I'm no miracle worker!--they'd make short work of me, out there.

_He points out and adds significantly._

They're in no mood for failures, out there.

_Michaelis's gaze, as if in spite of himself, goes to the window.

He rests his hand on the table, to stop its trembling. Littlefield goes on, watching him with interest._

Nervously speaking, you are a high power machine. The dynamo that runs you is what is called "faith," "religious inspiration," or whatnot.

It's a dynamo which nowadays easily gets out of order. Well, my friend, as a doctor, I warn you that your little dynamo is out of order.--In other words, you've lost your grip. You're in a funk.

_Rhoda opens the hall door and looks anxiously at the two. Michaelis approaches her with averted eyes. As he is about to pa.s.s out, she speaks timidly._

RHODA.

Do you want me?

MICHAELIS.

_In a toneless voice._

No.

_She watches him until the inner door shuts. She and Littlefield confront each other in silence for a moment across the width of the room._

RHODA.

_Forcing herself to speak calmly._

Please go.

LITTLEFIELD.

_Drops his professional tone for one of cynical badinage._

You make up well as one of the Wise Virgins, whose lamps are trimmed and burning for the bridegroom to pa.s.s by. I hope that personage won't disappoint you, nor the several hundred others, out yonder, whose lamps are trimmed and burning.

_The outer door opens. Mrs. Beeler enters, supported by her husband, and accompanied by Martha and the Rev. Culpepper, with Uncle Abe following in the rear. Rhoda hastens to her aunt's side._

MRS. BEELER.

Ah, Rhoda, I wish you had been out there with me. Such beautiful human faces! Such poor, suffering, believing human faces, lit up by such a wonderful new hope!