SMITH. [_With passion, pointing to the next room._] I think _that_ is what comes of questioning! Why can't you leave the universe alone and let it mean what it likes? Why shouldn't the thunder be Jupiter? More men have made themselves silly by wondering what the devil it was if it wasn't Jupiter. DOCTOR. [_Looking at him._] Do you believe in your own religion? SMITH. [_Returning the look equally steadily._] Suppose I don't: I should still be a fool to question it. The child who doubts about Santa Claus has insomnia. The child who believes has a good night's rest. DOCTOR. You are a Pragmatist. _Enter_ DUKE, _absent-mindedly._ SMITH. That is what the lawyers call vulgar abuse. But I do appeal to practise. Here is a family over which you tell me a mental calamity hovers. Here is the boy who questions everything and a girl who can believe anything. Upon which has the curse fallen? DUKE. Talking about the Pragmatists. I'm glad to hear.... Ah, very forward movement! I suppose Roosevelt now.... [_Silence._] Well, we move you know, we move! First there was the Missing Link. [_Silence._] No! _First_ there was Protoplasm--and _then_ there was the Missing Link; and Magna Carta and so on. [_Silence._] Why, look at the Insurance Act! DOCTOR. I would rather not. DUKE. [_Wagging a playful finger at him._] Ah, prejudice, prejudice! You doctors, you know! Well, I never had any myself. [_Silence._ DOCTOR. [_Breaking the silence in unusual exasperation._] Any what? DUKE. [_Firmly._] Never had any Marconis myself. Wouldn't touch 'em. [_Silence._] Well, I must speak to Hastings. [_Exit_ DUKE, _aimlessly._ DOCTOR. [_Exploding._] Well, of all the.... [_Turns to_ SMITH.] You asked me just now which member of the family had inherited the family madness. SMITH. Yes; I did. DOCTOR. [_In a low, emphatic voice._] On my living soul, I believe it must be the Duke. CURTAIN ACT III _Room partly darkened, a table with a lamp on it, and an empty chair. From room next door faint and occasional sounds of the tossing or talking of the invalid._ _Enter_ DOCTOR GRIMTHORPE _with a rather careworn air, and a medicine bottle in his hand. He puts it on the table, and sits down in the chair as if keeping a vigil._ _Enter_ CONJURER, _carrying his bag, and cloaked for departure. As he crosses the room the_ DOCTOR _rises and calls after him._ DOCTOR. Forgive me, but may I detain you for one moment? I suppose you are aware that--[_he hesitates_] that there have been rather grave developments in the case of illness which happened after your performance. I would not say, of course, because of your performance. CONJURER. Thank you.