Magic | Page 3

of
your precious public-house you seem to me to be a sane man. And I
fancy I shall want all the sane men I can get to-night.
SMITH. [Rising also.] I am at your service. Do you know, I rather
guessed you did not come here only to protest against my precious
public-house.
DOCTOR. [Striding about in subdued excitement.] Well, you guessed
right. I was family physician to the Duke's brother in Ireland. I knew
the family pretty well.
SMITH. [Quietly.] I suppose you mean you knew something odd about
the family?
DOCTOR. Well, they saw fairies and things of that sort.
SMITH. And I suppose, to the medical mind, seeing fairies means
much the same as seeing snakes?
DOCTOR. [With a sour smile.] Well, they saw them in Ireland. I
suppose it's quite correct to see fairies in Ireland. It's like gambling at
Monte Carlo. It's quite respectable. But I do draw the line at their
seeing fairies in England. I do object to their bringing their ghosts and
goblins and witches into the poor Duke's own back garden and within a
yard of my own red lamp. It shows a lack of tact.
SMITH. But I do understand that the Duke's nephew and niece see
witches and fairies between here and your lamp.
[He walks to the garden window and looks out.
DOCTOR. Well, the nephew has been in America. It stands to reason

you can't see fairies in America. But there is this sort of superstition in
the family, and I am not easy in my mind about the girl.
SMITH. Why, what does she do?
DOCTOR. Oh, she wanders about the park and the woods in the
evenings. Damp evenings for choice. She calls it the Celtic twilight.
I've no use for the Celtic twilight myself. It has a tendency to get on the
chest. But what is worse, she is always talking about meeting
somebody, some elf or wizard or something. I don't like it at all.
SMITH. Have you told the Duke?
DOCTOR. [With a grim smile.] Oh, yes, I told the Duke. The result
was the conjurer.
SMITH. [With amazement.] The conjurer?
DOCTOR. [Puts down his cigar in the ash-tray.] The Duke is
indescribable. He will be here presently, and you shall judge for
yourself. Put two or three facts or ideas before him, and the thing he
makes out of them is always something that seems to have nothing to
do with it. Tell any other human being about a girl dreaming of the
fairies and her practical brother from America, and he would settle it in
some obvious way and satisfy some one: send her to America or let her
have her fairies in Ireland. Now the Duke thinks a conjurer would just
meet the case. I suppose he vaguely thinks it would brighten things up,
and somehow satisfy the believers' interest in supernatural things and
the unbelievers' interest in smart things. As a matter of fact the
unbeliever thinks the conjurer's a fraud, and the believer thinks he's a
fraud, too. The conjurer satisfies nobody. That is why he satisfies the
Duke.
[Enter the DUKE, with HASTINGS, carrying papers. The DUKE is a
healthy, hearty man in tweeds, with a rather wandering eye. In the
present state of the peerage it is necessary to explain that the DUKE,
though an ass, is a gentleman.

DUKE. Good-morning, Mr. Smith. So sorry to have kept you waiting,
but we're rather in a rush to-day. [Turns to HASTINGS, who has gone
over to a table with the papers.] You know Mr. Carleon is coming this
afternoon?
HASTINGS. Yes, your Grace. His train will be in by now. I have sent
the trap.
DUKE. Thank you. [Turning to the other two.] My nephew, Dr.
Grimthorpe, Morris, you know, Miss Carleon's brother from America. I
hear he's been doing great things out there. Petrol, or something. Must
move with the times, eh?
DOCTOR. I'm afraid Mr. Smith doesn't always agree with moving with
the times.
DUKE. Oh, come, come! Progress, you know, progress! Of course I
know how busy you are; you mustn't overwork yourself, you know.
Hastings was telling me you laughed over those subscriptions of mine.
Well, well, I believe in looking at both sides of a question, you know.
Aspects, as old Buffle called them. Aspects. [With an all-embracing
gesture of the arm.] You represent the tendency to drink in moderation,
and you do good in your way. The Doctor represents the tendency not
to drink at all; and he does good in his way. We can't be Ancient
Britons, you know.
[A prolonged and puzzled silence, such as always follows the more
abrupt of the DUKE'S associations or disassociations of thought.
SMITH. [At last, faintly.] Ancient Britons....
DOCTOR. [To SMITH in a low