The doctor grunted in a manner that mingled assent and disapproval. His expression betrayed the scientific bigot.
“We know now details of the passage,” said Sir Eliphaz. “We have some particulars. We know, for instance, that people blown to pieces take some little time to reconstitute. There is a correlation between this corruptible body and the spirit body that replaces it. There is a sort of spirit doctor over there, very helpful in such cases. And burnt bodies, too, are a trouble.... The sexes are still distinct, but all the coarseness of sex is gone. The passions fade in that better world. Every passion. Even the habit of smoking and the craving for alcohol fade. Not at first. The newly dead will sometimes ask for a cigar. They are given cigars, higher-plane cigars, and they do not ask for more. There are no children born there. Nothing of that sort. That, it is very important to understand. Here is the place of birth; this is where lives begin. This coarse little planet is the seed-bed of life. When it has served its purpose and populated those higher planes, then indeed it may freeze, as you say. A mere empty hull. A seed-case that has served its purpose, mattering nothing. These are the thoughts, the comforting and beautiful thoughts, that receive the endorsement of our highest scientific and philosophical intelligences.... One thinks of that life there, no doubt in some other dimension of space, that world arranged in planes—metaphorical planes, of course, in which people go to and fro, living in a sort of houses, surrounded by a sort of beautiful things, made, so we are told, from the smells of the things we have here. That is curious, but not irrational. Our favorite doggies will be there. Sublimated also. That thought has been a great comfort to Lady Burrows.... We had a dog called Fido, a leetle, teeny fellow—practically human....
“These blessed ones engage very largely in conversation. Other occupations I found difficult to trace. Raymond attended a sort of reception on the very highest plane. It was a special privilege. Perhaps a compliment to Sir Oliver. He met the truth of revealed religion, so to speak, personally. It was a wonderful moment. Sir Oliver suppresses the more solemn details. Lady Burrows intends to write to him. She is anxious for particulars. But I will not dilate,” said Sir Eliphaz. “I will not dilate.”
“And you believe this stuff?” said the doctor in tones of the deepest disgust.
Sir Eliphaz waved himself upon the questioner.
“So far as poor earthly expressions can body forth spiritual things,” he hedged.
He regarded his colleagues with an eye of florid defiance. Both Mr. Farr and Mr. Dad had slightly shamefaced expressions, and Mr. Dad’s ears were red.
Mr. Dad cleared his throat. “I’m sure there’s something in it—anyhow,” said Mr. Dad hoarsely, doing his best in support.
“If I was born with a hare lip,” said the doctor, “would that be put right? Do congenital idiots get sublimated? What becomes of a dog one has shot for hydrophobia?”
“To all of such questions,” said Sir Eliphaz serenely, “the answer is—we don’t know. Why should we?”