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828
THE FAITH HEALER
and whom you blaspheme—Nature. Or rather, Mrs. Beeler did it herself.
Michaelis. Herself?
Littlefield. You gave her a jog, so to speak, here, or here, (Touches his brain and heart.) and she did the rest. But you can't do the same to everybody. Above all, you can't do it to a baby in arms. There's nothing either here or here, (Touches brain and heart.) to get hold of. I'm a modest man, and as I say, in your own field you're a wonder. But in a case like this one— (He points to the hall door.) I'm worth a million of you.
Michaelis. (Moves as if to give place to him, with a challenging gesture toward the door.) Try!
Littlefield. (Shrugs.) Not much! The woman would n't listen to me. And if she did, and I failed—oh, I'm no miracle worker!—they'd make short work of me, out there. (He points out and adds significantly.) They're in no mood for failures, out there. (Michaelis's gaze, as if in spite of himself, goes to the window. He rests his hand on the table, to stop its trembling. Littlefield goes on, watching him with interest.) Nervously speaking, you are a high power machine. The dynamo that runs you is what is called "faith," "religious inspiration," or whatnot. It's a dynamo which nowadays easily gets out of order. Well, my friend, as a doctor, I warn you that your little dynamo is out of order.—In other words, you've lost your grip. You're in a funk.
(Rhoda opens the hall door and looks anxiously at the two. Michaelis approaches her with averted eyes. As he is about to pass out, she speaks timidly.)
Rhoda. Do you want me?
Michaelis. (In a toneless voice.) No.
(She watches him until the inner door shuts. She and Littlefield confront each other in silence for a moment across the width of the room.)
Rhoda. (Forcing herself to speak calmly.) Please go.
Littlefield. (Drops his professional tone for one of cynical badinage.) You make up well as one of the Wise Virgins, whose lamps are trimmed and burning for the bridegroom to pass by. I hope that personage won't disappoint you, nor the several hundred others, out yonder, whose lamps are trimmed and burning.
(The outer door opens. Mrs. Beeler enters, supported by her husband, and accompanied by Martha and the Rev. Culpepper, with Uncle Abe following in the rear. Rhoda hastens to her aunt's side.)
Mrs. Beeler. Ah, Rhoda, I wish you had been out there with me. Such beautiful human faces! Such poor, suffering, believing human faces, lit up by such a wonderful new hope! (She turns to the minister.) Was n't it a wonderful thing to see?
Culpepper. It is wonderful to see human nature so credulous. And to me, very painful.
Mrs. Beeler. To-morrow you will see how right these poor souls are to lift their trust so high.— {To Rhoda.) Where is he now? (Rhoda points in the direction of her own room.) How happy that young mother's heart will be to-night!
Uncle Abe. (Solemnly.) Amen!
Culpepper. (In a dry tone.) We will hope so.
(They move to the hall door, where Beeler resigns his wife to Rhoda. The two pass out.)
(Culpepper, Littlefield, and Beeler remain. During the following conversation, Martha lights the lamp, after directing Uncle Abe, by a gesture, to take the provision basket into the kitchen. He does so.)
Littlefield. (Pointing through the window.) They're just laying siege to you, ain't they? I guess they won't let your man give them the slip, this time—even though you do let him run loose.
Beeler. (With severity.) You have seen my wife walk alone to-day, the first time in five years.
Littlefield. I beg your pardon. I understand how you feel about it. (Martha goes out into the kitchen.) And even if it proves to be only temporary—
Beeler. Temporary!
Littlefield. Permanent, let us hope. Anyway, it's a very remarkable case. Astonishing. I've only known one just like it—personally, I mean.
Beeler. (Astounded.) Just like it?
Littlefield. Well, pretty much. Happened in Chicago when I was an interne at St. Luke's.
Beeler. Then it's not—there's nothing—peculiar about it?