“Sugar,” said the quack, quick-wittedly. “But what kind of sugar? This sugar, as he calls it, is crystal precipitated from the extract of these healing herbs. No chemist can determine its properties by any analysis.” “Very well turned,” said Dr. Strong, with a smile. “I can’t immediately disprove that, though I could with time. But, whatever the case with his sugar, any chemist can analyze this.” He held up a small bottle, half filled with a red-brown liquid. “This is the Extract of Gospel Herbs. Now, let us see what this does.” He referred to his copy of the “Bugle,” containing the testimonials. “Here is Mrs. Sarah Jenkins, of the neighboring town of Maresco, where Professor Gray lectured a year ago, cured of Bright’s disease and dropsy; Miss Allie Wheat, of Weedsport, cured of cancer of the stomach; and Mrs. Howard Cleary, of Roxton, wholly relieved of nervous breakdown and insomnia. All genuine testimonials. Mr. Clyde and I have traced them.” Professor Gray raised his head with a flash of triumph. “You see!” he cried. “He has to admit the genuineness of my testimonials!” “Of your testimonials; yes. But what about your cures? Mrs. Jenkins has, as she said, ceased to suffer from her ills. She died of Bright’s disease and dropsy three months after Professor Gray cured her of them. Miss Wheat, whose cancer was purely imaginary, is now a hopeless wreck, in a sanitarium whither the Gospel Herbs drove her. Mrs. Cleary—but let me read what she testified to. Here it is in the paper with a picture of the Cleary home:—” _Dear Professor Gray: You have indeed been a benefactor to me. Before our baby was born my husband and I were the happiest of couples. Then I became a nervous wreck. I couldn’t sleep. I was cross and irritable. My nerves seemed all on fire. Your first treatment worked wonders. I slept like a log. Since then I have not been without Gospel Herbs in the house, and I am a well woman._ (Signed) Mrs. Howard Cleary. “That was a year ago,” continued Dr. Strong. “Yesterday we visited the Cleary home. We found a broken husband and a deserted baby. The young wife we traced to Worthington, where we discovered her—well, I won’t name to this audience the sort of place we found her in. “But so far as there can be a hell on this earth, she had descended into it, and this,” he held the vial high to view, “_this_ sent her there.” His fingers opened; there was a crisp little crash of glass, and the red-brown liquid crept and spread along the floor, like blood. “Morphine,” said Dr. Strong. “Morphine, which enslaves the body and destroys the soul. There are your Gospel Herbs!” A murmur rose, and deepened into a growl. The Great Gray Benefactor, his face livid, sprang forward. “Lies!” he shouted. “All lies! Where’s his proof? What’s he got to show? Nothing but his own say-so. If there’s a law in the land, I’ll make him sweat for this. Mr. Huddleston, I appeal to you for justice.”