BARNABAS. I have had some. Go to the Record Office. You will see men fainting there again and again, and being revived with oxygen, as I have been. They have seen with their own eyes as I have. BURGE-LUBIN. Seen what? BARNABAS. Seen the Archbishop of York. BURGE-LUBIN. Well, why shouldn't they see the Archbishop of York? What are they fainting for? Has he been murdered? BARNABAS. No: he has been drowned. BURGE-LUBIN. Good God! Where? When? How? Poor fellow! BARNABAS. Poor fellow! Poor thief! Poor swindler! Poor robber of his country's Exchequer! Poor fellow indeed! Wait til I catch him. BURGE-LUBIN. How can you catch him when he is dead? Youre mad. BARNABAS. Dead! Who said he was dead? BURGE-LUBIN. You did. Drowned. BARNABAS [_exasperated_] Will you listen to me? Was old Archbishop Haslam, the present man's last predecessor but four, drowned or not? BURGE-LUBIN. I don't know. Look him up in the Encyclopedia Britannica. BARNABAS. Yah! Was Archbishop Stickit, who wrote Stickit on the Psalms, drowned or not? BURGE-LUBIN. Yes, mercifully. He deserved it. BARNABAS. Was President Dickenson drowned? Was General Bullyboy drowned? BURGE-LUBIN. Who is denying it? BARNABAS. Well, wave had moving pictures of all four put on the screen today for this American; and they and the Archbishop are the same man. Now tell me I am mad. BURGE-LUBIN. I do tell you you are mad. Stark raving mad. BARNABAS. Am I to believe my own eyes or am I not? BURGE-LUBIN. You can do as you please. All I can tell you is that _I_ don't believe your eyes if they cant see any difference between a live archbishop and two dead ones. [_The apparatus rings, he holds the button down_]. Yes? THE WOMAN'S VOICE. The Archbishop of York, to see the President. BARNABAS [_hoarse with rage_] Have him in. I'll talk to the scoundrel. BURGE-LUBIN [_releasing the button_] Not while you are in this state. BARNABAS [_reaching furiously for his button and holding it down_] Send the Archbishop in at once. BURGE-LUBIN. If you lose your temper, Barnabas, remember that we shall be two to one. _The Archbishop enters. He has a white band round his throat, set in a black stock. He wears a sort of kilt of black ribbons, and soft black boots that button high up on his calves. His costume does not differ otherwise from that of the President and the Accountant General; but its color scheme is black and white. He is older than the Reverend Bill Haslam was when he wooed Miss Savvy Barnabas; but he is recognizably the same man. He does not look a day over fifty, and is very well preserved even at that; but his boyishness of manner is quite gone: he now has complete authority and self-possession: in fact the President is a little afraid of him; and it seems quite natural and inevitable that he should speak fast._ THE ARCHBISHOP. Good day, Mr President. BURGE-LUBIN. Good day, Mr Archbishop. Be seated. THE ARCHBISHOP [_sitting down between them_] Good day, Mr Accountant General.