THE ARCHBISHOP.  I am surprised at the question, coming from so astute a mind as yours, Mr Secretary.  When you reach the age I reached before I discovered what was happening to me, I was old enough to know and fear the ferocious hatred with which human animals, like all other animals, turn upon any unhappy individual who has the misfortune to be unlike themselves in every respect:  to be unnatural, as they call it.  You will still find, among the tales of that twentieth-century classic, Wells, a story of a race of men who grew twice as big as their fellows, and another story of a man who fell into the hands of a race of blind men.  The big people had to fight the little people for their lives; and the man with eyes would have had his eyes put out by the blind had he not fled to the desert, where he perished miserably.  Wells’s teaching, on that and other matters, was not lost on me.  By the way, he lent me five pounds once which I never repaid; and it still troubles my conscience.

CONFUCIUS.  And were you the only reader of Wells?  If there were others like you, had they not the same reason for keeping the secret?

THE ARCHBISHOP.  That is true.  But I should know.  You short-lived people are so childish.  If I met a man of my own age I should recognize him at once.  I have never done so.

MRS LUTESTRING.  Would you recognize a woman of your age, do you think?

THE ARCHBISHOP.  I—­[He stops and turns upon her with a searching look, startled by the suggestion and the suspicion it rouses].

MRS LUTESTRING.  What is your age, Mr Archbishop?

BURGE-LUBIN.  Two hundred and eighty-three, he says.  That is his little joke.  Do you know, Mrs Lutestring, he had almost talked us into believing him when you came in and cleared the air with your robust common sense.

MRS LUTESTRING.  Do you really feel that, Mr President?  I hear the note of breezy assertion in your voice.  I miss the note of conviction.

BURGE-LUBIN [jumping up] Look here.  Let us stop talking damned nonsense.  I don’t wish to be disagreeable; but it’s getting on my nerves.  The best joke won’t bear being pushed beyond a certain point.  That point has been reached.  I—­I’m rather busy this morning.  We all have our hands pretty full.  Confucius here will tell you that I have a heavy day before me.

BARNABAS.  Have you anything more important than this thing, if it’s true?

BURGE-LUBIN.  Oh, if if, if it’s true!  But it isn’t true.

BARNABAS.  Have you anything at all to do?

BURGE-LUBIN.  Anything to do!  Have you forgotten, Barnabas, that I happen to be President, and that the weight of the entire public business of this country is on my shoulders?

BARNABAS.  Has he anything to do, Confucius?

CONFUCIUS.  He has to be President.

BARNABAS.  That means that he has nothing to do.

BURGE-LUBIN [sulkily] Very well, Barnabas.  Go on making a fool of yourself. [He sits down].  Go on.