Smith. Not a man, but a medicine man.
Doctor. [Grimly.] I am a medicine man.
Morris. And you don't look mythical, Doc.
[He bites his finger and begins to pace restlessly up and down the room.
Duke. Well, you know, the artistic temperament....
Morris. [Turning suddenly.] See here, Duke! In most commercial ways we're a pretty forward country. In these moral ways we're content to be a pretty backward country. And if you ask me whether I like my sister walking about the woods on a night like this! Well, I don't.
Duke. I am afraid you Americans aren't so advanced as I'd hoped. Why! as old Buffle used to say....
[As he speaks a distant voice is heard singing in the garden; it comes nearer and nearer, and Smith turns suddenly to the Doctor.
Smith. Whose voice is that?
Doctor. It is no business of mine to decide!