BURGE-LUBIN. Dont be in a hurry, old chap. [_Confucius sits down again_]. This hypothecary, or whatever you call it, is put up seriously. I don't believe it; but if the Archbishop and the Accountant General are going to insist that it's true, we shall have either to lock them up or to see the thing through. BARNABAS. It's no use trying these Chinese subtleties on me. I'm a plain man; and though I don't understand metaphysics, and don't believe in them, I understand figures; and if the Archbishop is only entitled to seventy-eight years, and he takes 283, I say he takes more than he is entitled to. Get over that if you can. THE ARCHBISHOP. I have not taken 283 years: I have taken 23 and given 260. CONFUCIUS. Do your accounts shew a deficiency or a surplus? BARNABAS. A surplus. Thats what I cant make out. Thats the artfulness of these people. BURGE-LUBIN. That settles it. Whats the use of arguing? The Chink says you are wrong; and theres an end of it. BARNABAS. I say nothing against the Chink's arguments. But what about my facts? CONFUCIUS. If your facts include a case of a man living 283 years, I advise you to take a few weeks at the seaside. BARNABAS. Let there be an end of this hinting that I am out of my mind. Come and look at the cinema record. I tell you this man is Archbishop Haslam, Archbishop Stickit, President Dickenson, General Bullyboy and himself into the bargain; all five of them. THE ARCHBISHOP. I do not deny it. I never have denied it. Nobody has ever asked me. BURGE-LUBIN. But damn it, man--I beg your pardon, Archbishop; but really, really-- THE ARCHBISHOP. Dont mention it. What were you going to say? BURGE-LUBIN. Well, you were drowned four times over. You are not a cat, you know. THE ARCHBISHOP. That is very easy to understand. Consider my situation when I first made the amazing discovery that I was destined to live three hundred years! I-- CONFUCIUS [_interrupting him_] Pardon me. Such a discovery was impossible. You have not made it yet. You may live a million years if you have already lived two hundred. There is no question of three hundred years. You have made a slip at the very beginning of your fairy tale, Mr Archbishop. BURGE-LUBIN. Good, Confucius! [_To the Archbishop_] He has you there. I don't see how you can get over that. THE ARCHBISHOP. Yes: it is quite a good point. But if the Accountant General will go to the British Museum library, and search the catalogue, he will find under his own name a curious and now forgotten book, dated 1924, entitled The Gospel of the Brothers Barnabas. That gospel was that men must live three hundred years if civilization is to be saved. It shewed that this extension of individual human life was possible, and how it was likely to come about. I married the daughter of one of the brothers. BARNABAS. Do you mean to say you claim to be a connection of mine?