wn sake and
for that woman's sake, you'd better listen. You can't do anything for
her baby.

MICHAELIS.

Is that for you to say?

LITTLEFIELD.

Yes, sir! It is most decidedly for me to say.

MICHAELIS.

By what authority?

LITTLEFIELD.

By the authority of medical knowledge.--You are a very remarkable man,
with a very remarkable gift. In your own field, I take off my hat to
you. If you knew yourself as science knows you, you might make the
greatest doctor living. Your handling of Mrs. Beeler's case was
masterly. But--come right down to it--_you_ didn't work the cure.

MICHAELIS.

I know that.

LITTLEFIELD.

Who do you think did?

MICHAELIS.

_Raising his hands._

He whom I serve, and whom you blaspheme!

LITTLEFIELD.

No, sir! He whom _I_ serve, 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 wouldn'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?

MICHAELI