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FRANKLYN. Our program is only that the term of human life shall be
extended to three hundred years.
LUBIN [_softly_] Eh?
BURGE [_explosively_] What!
SAVVY. Our election cry is 'Back to Methuselah!'
HASLAM. Priceless!
_Lubin and Surge look at one another._
CONRAD. No. We are not mad.
SAVVY. Theyre not joking either. They mean it.
LUBIN [_cautiously_] Assuming that, in some sense which I am for the
moment unable to fathom, you are in earnest, Mr Barnabas, may I ask what
this has to do with politics?
FRANKLYN. The connection is very evident. You are now, Mr Lubin, within
immediate reach of your seventieth year. Mr Joyce Surge is your junior
by about eleven years. You will go down to posterity as one of a
European group of immature statesmen and monarchs who, doing the very
best for your respective countries of which you were capable, succeeded
in all-but-wrecking the civilization of Europe, and did, in effect, wipe
out of existence many millions of its inhabitants.
BURGE. Less than a million.
FRANKLYN. That was our loss alone.


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