The Adirondack Cottage Sanitarium is, and has been from the first, a semi-charitable institution which treats patients at a sum that does not cover the cost of their board and housing. The annual deficit of the institution is comparatively large, as a result, and up to the time of his death it was Trudeau’s personality that attracted voluntary contributions for the continuance of the great work. Such names as Harriman, Sage, Schiff, Rockefeller, Tiffany, have figured in the contributors’ lists. E. H. Harriman was ever a friend and admirer of Trudeau and of his altruistic labors for humanity. In the days when ministers of money sat in Harriman’s antechamber, they were allowed to cool their heels while a frail country doctor was ushered in; and the railroad king let great affairs hang fire while he heard the latest yarn about “Uncle” Paul Smith, or became enthralled by the idealism of the practical dreamer who sat opposite him,--a great head on an emaciated body, a voice resonant with faith’s enthusiasm, even while it broke short in a gasp. This man was sending back to life and usefulness twenty per cent of his patients apparently cured, fifty per cent with the disease arrested, and the other thirty per cent with a fighting chance. And while the restless ministers of finance consulted their watches in the antechamber, Harriman listened--and reached for his check-book! As for that annual deficit, a friend who merely sought information once wrote to me as follows:-- “What sort of a man is Trudeau? Is he what so many say he is, or just a clever doctor who has made a fortune out of the Adirondacks?” In a rash moment I referred this to the doctor himself. I do not know that he was ever more upset. He promptly sent me this:-- “I am always puzzled to know why people cannot understand the spirit of the sanitarium work. To give a patient for $7 what costs $12 or $12.50, and to have a deficit of $27,000 on running expenses for the year, can hardly be a business way to make a man rich! Perhaps it is the imposing appearance of my _equipage_ which makes the world think me a coiner of money!!” The “equipage” to which he referred with irony was a regular country doctor’s buggy, just large enough to accommodate himself (and Mrs. Trudeau, at a pinch), and drawn by a shaggy mare which the townspeople affectionately termed “the old plush horse.” In his latter years some one presented him with a fine carriage and a high-stepping thoroughbred. When Trudeau was called out to inspect this equipage, he looked worried. “I--I can’t ride in that thing!” he said. “People will think I don’t need any money for my sanitarium!” He agreed to accept the gift, however, when it was pointed out that the ancient mare was on her last legs. Thereupon the “old plush horse” was pensioned and given a comfortable stall for life. On the first day of her long holiday Dr. Trudeau visited the stable.