Perkins tilted his Pratt hat over one ear, and crossed his legs. “Speaking as one Chicago man to another,” he said slowly, “what do you think of rheumatism?” “If you want me to speak as man to man, Perkins,” I replied, “I may say that rheumatism is a mighty uncomfortable disease.” “It's prevalent,” said Perkins, eagerly. “It's the most prevalent disease on the map. The rich must have it; the poorest can afford it; the young and the old simply roll in it! Why, man,” he exclaimed, “rheumatism was made 'specially for O-no-to-so-forth water. There's millions and millions of cases of rheumatism, and there's oceans and oceans of Perkins's World-Famous O-no-to-what-you-call-it water. Great? What will cure rheumatism? Nothing! What will O-no-to-so-on water cure? Nothing! There you are! They fit each other like a foot in a shoe.” He leaned back, and smiled. Then he waved his hand jauntily in the air. “But I'm not partial,” he added. “If you can think of a better disease, we'll cure it. Anything!” “Perkins,” I said, “would you take this water for rheumatism?” “Would I? Say! If I had rheumatism I'd live on it. I'd drink it by the gallon. I'd bathe in it--” He stopped abruptly, and a smile broke forth at one corner of his mouth, and gradually spread over his face until it broke into a broad grin, which he vainly endeavored to stifle. “Warm!” he murmured, and then his grin broadened a little, and he muttered--“Lukewarm!”--and grinned again, and ran his hand through his hair. He sat down and slapped his knee. “Say!” he cried, “Greatest idea yet! I'm a benefactor! Think of the poor old people trying to drink that stuff! Think of them trying to force it down their throats! It would be a sin to make a dog drink it!” He wiped an actual tear from his eye. “What if I had to drink it! What if my poor old mother had to drink it! Cruelty! But we won't make 'em. We will be good! We will be generous! We will be great! We will let them bathe in it. Twice a day! Morning and night! Lukewarm! Why make weak human beings swallow it? And besides, they'll need more! Think of enough O-no-to-so-forth water to swim in twice a day, and good old Perkins paying the freight!” Without another word I reached over and clasped Perkins by the hand. It was a silent communion of souls--of the souls of two live, up-to-date Chicagoans. When the clasp was loosened, we were bound together in a noble purpose to supply O-no-to-something water to a waiting, pain-cursed world. We were banded together like good Samaritans to supply a remedy to the lame and the halt. And Perkins paying the freight.