CATHERINE _has seated herself at the table.--Unconsciously they both
occupy the same seats as in the first act._

PETER. The trouble is with other people, not with us. You want us to give
all sorts of proofs; and here we are just back for a little while--very
poorly put together on the chance that you'll see us at all.

DR. MACPHERSON. Poor old Peter--bless his heart! [_His elbow on the table
as though he had been thinking over the matter._ CATHERINE _sits quietly
listening._] If he kept that compact with me, and came back,--do you know
what I'd ask him first? If our work goes on.

PETER. Well, now, that's a regular sticker. It's bothered me considerably
since I crossed over.

CATHERINE. What do you mean, Doctor?

DR. MACPHERSON. The question _every man wants the answer to_: what's to
become of me--_me_--_my work_? Am I going to be a bone setter in the next
life and he a tulip man?... I wonder.

PETER. Andrew, I've asked everybody--Tom, Dick and Harry. One spirit told
me that sometimes our work _does_ go on; but he was an awful liar--you
knew we don't drop our earth habits at once. He said that a genius is
simply a fellow who's been there before in some other world and knows his
business. Now then: [_Confidentially preparing to open an argument--
sitting in his old seat at the table, as in the first act._] it stands to
reason, Andrew, doesn't it? What chance has the beginner compared with a
fellow who knew his business before he was born?