“Why not add whooping-cough and influenza? The former kills as many people as either scarlet fever or measles, and the latter twice as many. They’re all in the same category; medical science is pretty near helpless against their onset. You and your family may be as rigidly careful as they will; if the family next door, or a family at the farthermost end of the town, is careless, we’re as likely as not to suffer for their sins. All that I can promise, then, is hope against the occurrence of these diseases, and the constant watchfulness, when they come, which they call for but don’t always get.” “Cancer?” “Eternal vigilance, again; so that, if it does come, we may discover it in time.” “Let me see,” mused Mr. Clyde; “what else is there? Oh—nervous and functional disorders.” “Functional disorders mean, usually, either a bad start, or the heritage of some disease like scarlet fever or grippe, or excess or carelessness in living. I think your household is free from them; and it should remain free. As for nervous ailments, they commonly mean lack of self-discipline. It may be overindulgence in work”—he glanced down at his right hand—“or it may be overindulgence in play.” His glance wandered significantly to the doorway, through which the voice of Mrs. Clyde could be heard. “By the way, you’ve left out the greatest destroyer of all—perhaps because you’re beyond the danger point.” “Tuberculosis is the greatest destroyer, isn’t it?” “Not numerically. It is beaten out by the death record of intestinal poisoning in the very young. Your flock has run the gamut and come through with undiminished vitality. Two of them, however, are running life’s race under a handicap”—the father’s eyelids went up—“which I’ll take up shortly, when I’ve fully determined the causes. They can be repaired, one readily, the other in time. Finally, I hope to be able to teach them the gospel of the sound, clean mind in the sound, clean body. In a desert I might guarantee immunity from most of the ills that flesh is heir to. Amid the complexities of our civilization, disease and death are largely social; there is no telling from what friend the poison may come. No man can safeguard his house. The most he can hope for is a measure of protection. I can offer you nothing more than that, under our compact.” “That is enough,” returned Mr. Clyde. He took from his inner pocket a folded paper, which he handed over to the young man. “There’s the contract, duly signed. Come in, Grandma.” Mrs. Sharpless, entering the door, stopped on seeing the two men. “Business, Tom?” she asked. “Business that you’re interested in,” said her son-in-law, and briefly outlined his plan. Grandma Sharpless shook a wise gray head. “I’m glad you’re going to stay, young man,” said she. “You need looking after. But as for the scheme, I don’t hold much with these new-fangled notions.”