Miss Tuckey. “Mr. James Pomeroy, Dear Sir.”
Professor. No, better make it “Sir.” These parasitic correspondents ought not to be encouraged. “I beg to acknowledge receipt”—no, “I have to acknowledge”—have—“the receipt of your letter”—date so and so. “With the proposition therein set forth, I cannot find myself in agreement. The limits of sensory receptivity are patent to every scientist.”
Miss Tuckey. The limits of what?—I beg pardon.
Professor. “Sen-sory re-ceptivity”—in other words, the receptivity of the senses. “That fact, however, does not provide any legitimate ground for a belief in those magical or supernatural occurrences through which, as I apprehend, you seek to counter-balance the deductions of science. I find no reason to doubt that however much still lies beyond the apprehension of our senses, it must all nevertheless be within the range of a scientific explanation. I am, Sir, yours faithfully”—(He takes up another letter) Oh, that is from Messrs. Moody & Prose. Just say “received,” and have made a note. This is to take the chair at the International Science Conference for the discussion on the “Homology of the Invertebrates.” Say I accept the honor and am their obedient servant—That is, no. That is “no”—(He hands letter) That impertinence you need not answer—And now, take this—“Mrs. Daphnephoria Brown—the Seminary, Brunswickville, Connecticut”—“My Dear Madam, Your very flattering proposal to arrange a compendium from my various studies in Objective Science, entitled ‘Sufficient unto the Day,’ and intended to provide a basis for the accurate biological training of the very young, gives gratifying evidence of the interest you take in and the value which you attach to my literary labors. I am inclined, however, to think that the terminological exactitude so necessary to scientific statement could not be accommodated to the range of the child-mind without a certain damage to the content”—Of course, that means to the scientific content, not to the child’s mind. No, no, don’t take that! That was only commentary—“Should I, on later consideration, see any possible adjustment of my works to your proposed scheme I shall not fail to communicate with you further in the matter. I am, dear Madam, yours very truly”—That you can destroy, and the address you need not keep. (He hands over the letter to Miss Tuckey) And I think that is all—Oh, will you fetch me the file of Professor Lake Jones’ articles on the “Rudiments of Corpuscular Gravity” which appeared in last year’s “Science Journal.” You will find it in the Press Bureau, I think, under “R.” (Miss Tuckey goes to look for the file in the small inner chamber, from which, as she opens the door, comes a brighter light of day than enters the study through the tempering green blinds) And now for Elfrida. (He opens letter) Well, well, well! What is she sending me this botanical specimen for, I wonder? It looks like a leaf of the Hornbean—Carpinus Betulus, if I am not mistaken. (He examines the leaf, then lays it down and returns to the letter) Dear me! The child has such a hand-writing that I can’t read a word of it. Miss Tuckey, your eyes are better than mine, will you kindly read me this letter?
(Miss Tuckey has returned with the required file. She puts it down and takes up the letter.)
Miss Tuckey. “Dearest Grandpapa”——
Professor. Yes, yes, I read that.
Miss Tuckey. “I am coming back to-morrow—I have had a lovely time. So did Benjy: we went everywhere together, but he always would go into the water, and I had to stay out——”
Professor. Benjy is the dog, I believe.
Miss Tuckey. “That was wrong of him, wasn’t it?— To-day in the wood I saw a tree full of fairies, it was wonderful. But when I came they all climbed up and hid behind the leaves, so I wasn’t able to catch one. But I send you a leaf off the tree, so as to show it was a real one, and not what you call my ‘magination’——”