SMITH. I made them up.

DOCTOR J. You mean you wrote them?

SMITH. I ... made them up.

DOCTOR J. How?

SMITH. (Mustache bristling truculently) I made them up.

DOCTOR J. (Lips pursed) So there you were out in the cosmos with a handful of books.

SMITH. That's correct.

DOCTOR J. What if you had dropped them?

SMITH. (Chooses not to answer this patent absurdity)

DOCTOR J. Mister Smith.

SMITH. Yes?

DOCTOR J. Who made you?

SMITH. (Shakes his head) I don't know.

DOCTOR J. Were you always like this? (He points at Mr. Smith's lowly frame.)

SMITH. I don't think so. I think that I was punished.

DOCTOR J. For what?

SMITH. For making the world so complicated.

DOCTOR J. I should think so.

SMITH. It's not my fault. I just made it, I didn't say it would work right.

DOCTOR J. You just started your machine and then walked away.

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