I must be locked up! My father and mother are waiting to know. Don't go! Finish your work! (Rushes into room, left.)

Bellows (triumphantly to Seymour)

Well?

(Seymour hesitates, looks at the father and mother, then at Bellows, and takes out his match-case.)

Bellows (making a conquest of the obvious)

Warner, a little of that fine cider of yours would just finish off our chat.

Warner

Nothing better! (Starting out, whispers to Mrs. W.) Where's grandma's silver pitcher?

Mrs. W.

I'll get that.

(They go down-stairs.)

Bellows (laughing)

She never lets him go to the cellar by himself.

Seymour

Not a drinker, is he?

Bellows

Oh, no! The pattern of a deacon. But she keeps her hand on.

(Seymour lights a cigar thinkingly.)

Bellows

No use to go over this case. It's clear enough. We'll have our cider—it's worth waiting for—then go to my office and fix up the commitment papers.

Seymour (rubbing his hand slowly over his forehead)

To talk with such a patient sometimes bewilders the brain. He seemed so clear in his utterance—so rational——

Bellows

Funny, wasn't he? I almost believed it myself for a minute.

Seymour

It might be true.

Bellows

Hey?

Seymour

Perhaps we are all somnambulists moving about in this dream-world we call practical life. Behind this tough matter that takes so many shapes and colors, what strange secrets are hidden, just beginning to reach our dull senses—X-rays, radium emanations, wireless waves.

Bellows

Oh, they're natural enough now. Common sense has adopted them.

Seymour

Yes, we are easily satisfied. Give a mystery a name and that's enough for the most of us. But here and there are minds that must explore further; and if they discover something beyond the comprehension of us who stay behind, we call them mad.

Bellows

Well, none of your mind-puzzles for me. Give me something clear cut, like typhoid, or measles, an amputation, or new babies, something I can fix my eyes on. You can take care of the madmen—except when they're in my own village. I'm not going to have a boy like Philo gibbering around ready to break out wild any time.

Seymour

It's true he may be led into frenzy, or even self-destruction, but it will be from overwork and loneliness. I must have a talk with the parents——

Bellows

What do you expect them to do? They're asking us for help. And I'm willing to give it to them.

(Re-enter Warner and Mrs. W. He carries pitcher, she carries tray with glasses.)

Seymour (to Bellows)

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 glass)

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.)

Seymour

The lad ought not to be in there alone. (Goes to door.) Philo, my boy!

(Philo comes out. He is extremely pale, his black hair pushed from his forehead, and his eyes burning, but his manner is calm.)

Philo

Well, am I a free man?

Seymour

You are free, Philo.

Philo (perfunctorily)

Thank you, doctor.

Seymour

But you must have rest from this work. These subjects are too overwhelming for a sane brain to carry without harm. This attic is gloomy and the atmosphere unhealthy. You must have a complete change.

Philo

I see. That is your answer to my discovery. (Turns suddenly to Warner.) And what do you think of it, father?

Warner

I don't seem to get hold of it, somehow, Philo. (Crosses to machine and stares at it.) What's the good, anyhow? They're too far away. 'Twouldn't help business.