They had a serious situation to confront. They were in debt, and they had an income on which they couldn’t exist. And Minnie, although she bought the cheapest and nastiest of everything, and never spent a penny on anything gracious or luxurious, had not the gift of stretching a dollar. Her economy was all negative. She never thought, “What is the best I can get with my money?” but always, “How little can I spend?” She had no idea of values, of proportion. The poor thing worried unceasingly, because it was her duty to do so; lay awake at night by the side of her magnificent and superior husband and planned with desperation. During the day she was cheerful, that also being her duty, and tried as she always had tried, to make Lionel comfortable. She really loved and admired him more than he ever realised. She considered him finer than herself; she wanted to spare him, to please him, to keep him contented and happy at any cost to herself. He, for his part, was past any worry. He simply existed from day to day like a caged animal, absolutely without hope, fortitude his only virtue. He endured, she struggled. In the course of time she evolved a plan. She came out on the porch after she had finished her laborious work in the kitchen, and sat down at the top of the steps, near Lionel’s feet. From either side came the nasal voices of their neighbours, silly laughs, and the whining cries of tired children. Little Sandra lay asleep in the hammock nearby. There was an arc light almost opposite; it shone on Minnie’s earnest face and Lionel’s unpolished boots. “It’s _very_ hot, isn’t it?” she said, rather pitifully. “Very,” he agreed. There was a long silence. “Lionel!” Minnie’s voice came out of the dark, fatigued and insistent. “I’ve been thinking--it’s such a shame for you to be wasted this way.... I saw an advertisement and I wrote to it.... I think it would be just the thing for you. Gentlemanly, and yet you could make any amount of money.” “What is it?” he asked, without much interest. “Here’s the booklet.” She began to read in a solemn voice, “‘_Be your own master! Read what others have done! The Manhattan Institute of Tonico-Therapy. Ten weeks course renders you independent for life. Highly paid selected staff instructs in all branches._’ And it goes on to tell you the theory of it. How all illnesses come from the chemical action of poisons in the stomach. You learn the antidotes for all these poisons, and then how to find which poison is causing the trouble, and there you are! I think--it sounds wonderful.” “What rot! The ordinary fake!” said Lionel, impatiently. “And you should read the money the doctors make!” “It’s a swindle, I tell you! There are any number of them. The rankest sort of fraud.” Then Minnie showed the cloven hoof. “What if it is?” she asked, “we’ve got to live. It wouldn’t do any one any harm. I dare say in lots of cases it’s very good----”