Dolly Reforming Herself. Henry Arthur Jones
Not with disapproval, I trust?
Pilcher. [Shaking hands very cordially.] With the most profound disapproval, with boundless, uncompromising dissent and antagonism!
Prof. I'm sorry!
Pilcher. Why, you deny that man has any vestige of free will.
Prof. Certainly. The longer I live, the more I'm convinced that free will is a purely subjective illusion.
Dolly. Do you mean that when I will to do a certain thing I can't do it? Oh, that's absurd. For instance, I will to go and touch that chair! [She goes and touches it.] There! [Triumphantly.] I've done it! That shows I've got free will. [The Professor shakes his head.] Well, then how did I do it?
Prof. I affirm that your willing to touch that chair or not to touch it, your actual touching it, or not touching it; your possession or non-possession of a criminal impulse——
Dolly. I haven't any criminal impulses——
Prof. [Shakes his head and goes on.] Your yielding to that criminal impulse or your not yielding to it—all these states of consciousness are entirely dependent upon the condition, quantity and arrangement of certain atoms in the gray matter of your brain. You think, you will, you act according as that gray matter works. You did not cause or make that condition of the atoms of your gray matter, therefore you are not responsible for thinking or acting in this way or that, seeing that your thoughts, and your actions, and that direction of your impulses which you call your will, are all precisely determined and regulated by the condition and arrangement of these minute atoms of your gray matter!
Dolly. [Has at first listened with great attention, but has grown bewildered as the Professor goes on.] I don't care anything about my gray matter! I've quite made up my mind I won't have any more bills!
Pilcher. [Turning to Renie.] Does Mrs. Sturgess agree with the Professor's doctrine?
Renie. No, indeed! To say that we're mere machines—it's horrid.
Prof. The question is not whether it's horrid, but whether it's true.
Pilcher. What do you think, Mr. Barron?
Matt. It's a very nutty and knotty problem. I'm watching to see Dolly and Harry solve it!
Dolly. See us solve it! How?
Matt. You and Harry heard a most thrilling, soul-stirring sermon last night.
Pilcher. You had good hearsay accounts of my sermon?
Matt. Excellent! I should have heard it myself, but I've reached an age when it would be dangerous to give up any of my old and cherished bad habits. So in place of going to church and selfishly reforming myself, I shall have to be content with watching Dolly and Harry reform themselves.
Dolly. Don't take any notice of him, Mr. Pilcher, he's the most cynical, hardened reprobate! I have to blush for him a hundred times a day.
[Renie strolls casually into conservatory by lower door. Lucas casually follows her.
Matt. And in order to settle once and for all this vexed question of free will and moral responsibility, I'll bet you, Harry, a simple fiver, and I'll bet you Dolly, a new Parisian hat, and half a dozen pairs of gloves that you won't live up to your good resolutions, and that on next New Year's Day you'll neither of you be one ha'penny the better for all the wise counsels Mr. Pilcher gave you last night.
Harry. A fiver! Done!
Dolly. I'll take you, too! In fact, I'll double it; two new Parisian hats, and a dozen pairs of gloves!
Matt. Done, my dear!
Pilcher. I hope I sha'n't be accused of talking shop if I venture to recall that betting was one of the bad habits I especially warned my congregation against, last night!
Harry. By Jove, yes—I'd forgotten all about that! Of course, if you wish us to cry off——
Pilcher. Well, not exactly. I might perhaps suggest an alternative plan which was tried with great success in my late parish——
Dolly. What was that?
Pilcher. A very capital good fellow—an auctioneer and land surveyor, my churchwarden in fact, by name Jobling—found that in spite of constant good resolutions, certain small vices were gradually creeping upon him. There was an occasional outburst of temper to his clerks, an occasional half glass too much; and on one lamentable market day, he actually discovered himself using bad language to Mrs. Jobling——
Dolly. [Looking at Harry.] Oh! Ah!
Matt. Jobling's gray matter can't have been in good working order.
Pilcher. We corrected that! We got his gray matter under control.
Dolly. How?
Pilcher. My Christmas Blanket Club happened to be on the road to bankruptcy. By the way, our Blanket Club here is in low water. Well, I gave Jobling a small box with a hole at the top sufficiently large to admit half a crown. And I suggested that whenever he was betrayed into one of these little slips, he should fine himself for the benefit of my Blanket Club——
Harry. Good business! Dolly, where's that collecting-box they sent us from the Hospital for Incurables?
Dolly. In the cupboard in the next room.
Harry. Right-o! No time like the present! [Exit.]
Matt. And how did you get out of this dilemma?
Pilcher. Dilemma?
Matt. Did your Blanket Club remain in bankruptcy, or what must have been an even more distressing alternative to you, did Jobling continue to use bad language to his wife?
Pilcher. We struck a happy medium. My Blanket Club balance was considerably augmented, and Jobling's behaviour considerably improved under the stress of the fines.
Re-enter Harry with an old, dusty collecting-box on which is printed in large letters, "County Hospital for Incurables."
Harry. [Placing the box on the table.] There! My name's Jobling for the present! By Jove! that was a very neat idea of yours.
Pilcher. Ah, by the way, I didn't give you Jobling's tariff——
Harry. Tariff?
Pilcher. Jobling's tariff for a mild little profanity like "By Jove," was a mere sixpence.
Harry. Oh! [Feels in his pocket.
Pilcher. Of course you needn't adopt Jobling's scale.
Harry. Oh yes! I'll toe the mark! [Takes six pence out of his pocket and puts it in his box.] I'm determined I'll cure myself of all these bad little tricks——
Matt. [To Dolly, pointing to the money-box.] Are you going to contribute?
Dolly. [Snappishly.] Perhaps, when I've paid off my bills.
Matt. [To Pilcher.] Will you kindly let my daughter have your lowest tariff for ladies?
Dolly. Oh, please don't be in such a hurry. What about your own contribution? Mr. Pilcher, I hope you don't intend to let my father escape.
Pilcher. I understood Mr. Barron was prepared to risk a five-pound note that you and Mr. Telfer will not carry your New Year resolutions into practice?
Matt. With the almost certain chance of drawing a five-pound note from Harry and a new hat from Dolly.
Pilcher. I'm afraid I can't hold out those