There was still one great question to be agreed upon. Religion and Science, working together, _could_, and _did_, cure the _individual_ drunkard. Sometimes Science had done this without the aid of Religion, more often Religion had done it without the aid of Science--that is to say that while Science had really been at work all the time Religion had not been aware of it and had not professedly called Science in to help. To eradicate the disease from individuals was being done every day by the allied forces. To eradicate the disease from nations, to stamp it out as cholera, yellow fever, and the bubonic plague was being stamped out--that was the question at issue. That was, after all, the supreme question. Now, every one was beginning--only beginning--to understand that recent scientific discovery had made this wonderful thing possible. Yellow fever had been destroyed upon the Isthmus of Panama. Small-pox which ravaged countries in the past, was no more than a very occasional and restricted epidemic now. Soon--in all human probability--tuberculosis and cancer would be conquered. The remedy for the disease of Inebriety was at hand. Sanitary Inspectors and Medical Officers had enormous power in regard to other diseases. People who disregarded their orders and so spread disease were fined and imprisoned. It was penal to do so. In order that this beneficent state of things should come about, the scientists had fought valiantly against many fetishes. They had fought for years, and with the spread of knowledge they had conquered. Now the biggest Fetish of all was tottering on its foolish throne. The last idol in the temples of Dagon, the houses of Rimmon and the sacred groves was attacked. The great "Procreation Fetish" remained. Were drunkards to be allowed to have children without State restriction, or were they not? That was the question which some of the acutest and most altruistic minds of the English speaking races were about to meet and discuss this afternoon. * * * * * Dr. Morton Sims drove down to the Edward Hall a little after two o'clock. The important conference was to begin at three, but the doctor had various matters to arrange first and he was in a slightly nervous and depressed state. It was a grey day and a sharp East wind was blowing. People in the streets wore furs and heavy coats; London seemed excessively cheerless. It was but rarely that Morton Sims felt as he did as this moment. But the day, or probably (as he thought) a recent spell of over-work, took the pith out of him. "It is difficult to avoid doing too much--for a man in my position," he thought. "Life is so short and there is such an infinity of work. Oh, that I could see England in a fair way to become sober before I die! Still I must go on hard. 'Il faut cultiver notre jardin.'"