Bairdstown’s Suffering Womanhood—as per advertisement—turned out extensively and self-commiseratingly to the free lecture of Tuesday evening, bringing with them a considerable admixture of the male populace, curious, cynical, or expectant. On the platform sat a number of “special guests,” including the Rev. Mr. Huddleston, mild of face and white of hair, and the Honorable Silas Harris, owner of the “Bugle.” “Cured” patients, to the number of half a dozen, fidgeted in the seats of honor with expressions of conscious and pleasurable importance. “They appear to be enjoying poor health quite literally,” whispered Clyde to Dr. Strong, as the two, begrimed with the dust of a long day’s travel just finished, slipped quietly into side seats. At once the entertainment began. A lank, harshfaced, muscular man whom Professor Gray introduced as his assistant, seated himself at the piano, and struck a chord, whereupon the Professor, in a powerful voice, sang what he termed the “Hymn of Healing,” inviting the audience to “assist” in the chorus, which gem of poesy ran as follows:— “Ye shall be healed! Ye shall be healed! Trust in the gospel advice. Cured by the herbs of the wood and the field; Healed without money or price.” “Some poetic license in that last line,” murmured Clyde to his companion. “The next portion of our programme,” announced the Great Gray Benefactor, “will be corroborative readings from the Good Book.” And he proceeded to deliver in oratorical style sundry Bible quotations so patched together and garbled as to ascribe, inferentially, miraculous powers to the Gospel Herbs. Then came the lecture proper, which was merely an amplification of the “Bugle” advertisement, interspersed with almanac funny stories and old jokes. “And now, before our demonstration,” concluded Professor Graham Gray, “if there is any here seeking enlightenment or help, let him rise. This is your meeting, dear friends, as much as mine; free to your voices and your needs, as well as to your welcome presence here. I court inquiry and fair investigation. Any questions? If not, we—” “One moment!” The whole assemblage turned, as on a single pivot, to the side aisle where Dr. Strong had risen and now stood, tall, straight, and composed, waiting for silence. “Our friend on the right has the floor,” said the Professor suavely. “You state that this God-given secret remedy was imparted to you for the relief of human misery?” asked Dr. Strong. “Thousands of grateful patients attest it, my friend.” “Then, with human beings suffering and dying all about you, why do you continue to profit by keeping it secret?” Down sat the questioner. A murmur rose and ran, as the logic of the question struck home. But the quack had his answer pat.