Whispers

So here we have Charles Darwin, David Hume and his mother Mrs Hume, sitting in the second row of the audience in the boardroom of the Royal Institution of Australia, waiting for Michael Faraday to begin his lecture on candles.

What a charming room, whispers Mrs Hume. The wooden panelling and the brocade curtains and  that circular corner nook, and all those proper sideboards. It looks so realistic.

Hush, Mother, whispers David. This used to be the boardroom of the Stock Exchange. It looks realistic because it's real.

David, says Mrs Hume. Don't start being philosophical.

He's not being philosophical, Mrs Hume, whispers Darwin. It really is the real thing. In other words, this room is real.

You don't know him, whispers Mrs Hume. He's always going on about it.

About what, Mother? whispers David loudly.

About whether we can trust our senses, whispers Mrs Hume.

Mother! says David. That's far from the point. I say that we must trust our senses, since they are all we have. But in this case we know ......

No, no, whispers Mrs Hume. That isn't what you say.

I think I ought to know,  says David.

A mother knows, says Mrs Hume. And what I know is.....

End point, whispers Darwin.

The lights dim.

Michael Faraday enters through a side door, and takes the stage.