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BURGE-LUBIN [_releasing the b.u.t.ton_] Not while you are in this state.
BARNABAS [_reaching furiously for his b.u.t.ton 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 b.u.t.ton 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.
BARNABAS [_malevolently_] Good day to you. I have a question to put to you, if you don't mind.
THE ARCHBISHOP [_looking curiously at him, jarred by his uncivil tone_]
Certainly. What is it?
BARNABAS. What is your definition of a thief?
THE ARCHBISHOP. Rather an old-fas.h.i.+oned word, is it not?
BARNABAS. It survives officially in my department.
THE ARCHBISHOP. Our departments are full of survivals. Look at my tie!
my ap.r.o.n! my boots! They are all mere survivals; yet it seems that without them I cannot be a proper Archbishop.
BARNABAS. Indeed! Well, in my department the word thief survives, because in the community the thing thief survives. And a very despicable and dishonorable thing he is, too.
THE ARCHBISHOP [_coolly_] I daresay.
BARNABAS. In my department, sir, a thief is a person who lives longer than the statutory expectation of life ent.i.tles him to, and goes on drawing public money when, if he were an honest man, he would be dead.
THE ARCHBISHOP. Then let me say, sir, that your department does not understand its own business. If you have miscalculated the duration of human life, that is not the fault of the persons whose longevity you have miscalculated. And if they continue to work and produce, they pay their way, even if they live two or three centuries.
BARNABAS. I know nothing about their working and producing. That is not the business of my department. I am concerned with their expectation of life; and I say that no man has any right to go on living and drawing money when he ought to be dead.
THE ARCHBISHOP. You do not comprehend the relation between income and production.
BARNABAS. I understand my own department.
THE ARCHBISHOP. That is not enough. Your department is part of a synthesis which embraces all the departments.
BURGE-LUBIN. Synthesis! This is an intellectual difficulty. This is a job for Confucius. I heard him use that very word the other day; and I wondered what the devil he meant. [_Switching on_] Hallo! Put me through to the Chief Secretary.
CONFUCIUS'S VOICE. You are speaking to him.
BURGE-LUBIN. An intellectual difficulty, old man. Something we don't understand. Come and help us out.
THE ARCHBISHOP. May I ask how the question has arisen?
BARNABAS. Ah! You begin to smell a rat, do you? You thought yourself pretty safe. You--
BURGE-LUBIN. Steady, Barnabas. Dont be in a hurry.
_Confucius enters._
THE ARCHBISHOP [_rising_] Good morning, Mr Chief Secretary.
BURGE-LUBIN [_rising in instinctive imitation of the Archbishop_] Honor us by taking a seat, O sage.
CONFUCIUS. Ceremony is needless. [_He bows to the company, and takes the chair at the foot of the table_].
_The President and the Archbishop resume their seats._
BURGE-LUBIN. We wish to put a case to you, Confucius. Suppose a man, instead of conforming to the official estimate of his expectation of life, were to live for more than two centuries and a half, would the Accountant General be justified in calling him a thief?
CONFUCIUS. No. He would be justified in calling him a liar.
THE ARCHBISHOP. I think not, Mr Chief Secretary. What do you suppose my age is?
CONFUCIUS. Fifty.
BURGE-LUBIN. You don't look it. Forty-five; and young for your age.
THE ARCHBISHOP. My age is two hundred and eighty-three.
BARNABAS [_morosely triumphant_] Hmp! Mad, am I?
BURGE-LUBIN. Youre both mad. Excuse me, Archbishop; but this is getting a bit--well--
THE ARCHBISHOP [_to Confucius_] Mr Chief Secretary: will you, to oblige me, a.s.sume that I have lived nearly three centuries? As a hypothesis?
BURGE-LUBIN. What is a hypothesis?
CONFUCIUS. It does not matter. I understand. [To _the Archbishop_] Am I to a.s.sume that you have lived in your ancestors, or by metempsychosis--
BURGE-LUBIN. Met--Emp--Sy--Good Lord! What a brain, Confucius! What a brain!
THE ARCHBISHOP. Nothing of that kind. a.s.sume in the ordinary sense that I was born in the year 1887, and that I have worked continuously in one profession or another since the year 1910. Am I a thief?
CONFUCIUS. I do not know. Was that one of your professions?
THE ARCHBISHOP. No. I have been nothing worse than an Archbishop, a President, and a General.
BARNABAS. Has he or has he not robbed the Exchequer by drawing five or six incomes when he was only ent.i.tled to one? Answer me that.
CONFUCIUS. Certainly not. The hypothesis is that he has worked continuously since 1910. We are now in the year 2170. What is the official lifetime?
