End of Scene II.
SCENE III.
The interior of a down-town office. Dr. Thorne is seen in the consulting room; the door is closed into the reception room. One gas-jet burns over the desk; patient’s chair and physician’s chair are seen in the usual places; the desk is in order for the night; a movable telephone, of the kind in use in offices, stands upon the desk.
Dr. Thorne (throws himself heavily into his revolving chair). What the devil am I here for? (Violently. The light grows dim as he says this.) Why in—why in the name of all the laws of Nature cannot I get home? (After a pause, brokenly.) Well—well! It’s something to be here; to get out of the street—in out of the night—it’s a good deal. I’d begun to understand how outcasts feel—felons, apparitions, fugitives. In the name of the laws of mystery, thank Heaven for so much! (The light brightens. It reveals his face, which is haggard and pinched. He pushes his case books about, aimlessly. Suddenly his hand hits the receiver of the telephone. He springs and cries out:) The telephone! The telephone! I must have gone stark mad not to think of it.—See! I’m not a drinking man, am I? (Puts his hand to his head.) No. I do not drink. Helen would not like to have me.—No. And I’ve been all these hours without telephoning to Helen. She’ll think I did it on purpose—poor Helen—because of the words I said. If a man could slay the words he says.... They harry me—like ghosts. (Rings the telephone violently.) Central? 48.4—48.4, I say. Why don’t you give me 48.4? I tell you I’m in a hurry. 48.4! And be quick with it! (Rings again.) Why in—why don’t you attend to your business there? It is Dr. Thorne—Dr. Esmerald Thorne. My errand is most urgent. Give me my home, and make short work of it. 48.4! Do you hear? (Rings again.)
(A man’s voice from the Exchange comes faintly over the wire, reverberating through the transmitter, so as to be audible at a distance from the instrument.) Why don’t you speak? We cannot make out a word you say.
Dr. Thorne (rings again, wildly). I tell you I want my home—48.4! I must speak to my wife. Give me 48.4—Helen? Helen!
Voice from the telephone. Stop ringing your bell if you can’t use your tongue. Put your mouth close to the transmitter. Are you drunk? Or are you dead?
Dr. Thorne (still ringing). I will report you for this. It shall cost you your place. 48.4, I say. Give me my house. I will not submit to this. Give me 48.4!
(The telephone ceases to reply.)
Dr. Thorne (rises, hangs up the receiver, and paces the office tempestuously; speaks). The very forces of Nature are in league against me.... My own nervous system—the night—the atmosphere—electricity—they are all gone foes to me. They are serried like an army between myself and her. Helen will be—Helen will suffer—oh, poor girl!