“Apply the same logic to opium, or its derivative, morphine. There are a dozen preparations regularly used for children, containing opium, or morphine, such as Mrs. Winslow’s ‘Soothing Syrup,’ and Kopp’s ‘Baby Friend.’ This is well known, and it is also a recognized fact that the morphine and opium habit is steadily increasing in this country. Isn’t it reasonable to infer a connection between the two? Further, some of the highest authorities believe that the use of these drugs in childhood predisposes to the drink habit also, later in life. The nerves are unsettled; they are habituated to a morbid craving, and, at a later period, that craving is liable to return in a changed manifestation.” “But a drug-store can’t sell opium or morphine except on prescription, can it?” asked Mr. Clyde. “It can _in a patent medicine_,” replied the doctor. “That’s one of the ugly phases of the drug business. Yet it’s possible to find honest people who believe in these dopes and even give testimonials to them.” “Some testimonials are hard to believe,” said Mrs. Clyde, thankfully accepting the chance to shift the conversation to a less painful phase of the topic. “Old Mrs. Dibble in our church is convinced that she owes her health to Hall’s Catarrh Cure.” Dr. Strong smiled sardonically. “That’s the nostrum which offers one hundred dollars reward for any case it can’t cure; and when a disgusted dupe tried to get the one hundred dollars, they said he hadn’t given their remedy a sufficient trial: he’d taken only twenty-odd bottles. So your friend thinks that a useless mixture of alcohol and iodide of potassium fixed her, does she?” “Why shouldn’t she? She had a case of catarrh. She took three bottles of the medicine, and her catarrh is all gone.” “All right. Let’s extend her line of reasoning to some other cases. While old Mr. Barker, around on Halsey Street, was very ill with pneumonia last month, he fell out of bed and broke his arm.” “In two places,” said Mrs. Sharpless. “I saw him walking up the street yesterday, all trussed up like a chicken.” “Quite recovered from pneumonia, however. Then there was little Mrs. Bowles: she had typhoid, you remember, and at the height of the fever a strange cat got into the room and frightened her into hysterics.” “But she got well,” said Mrs. Clyde. “They’re up in the woods now.” “Exactly. Moral (according to Mrs. Dibble’s experience with Hall’s Catarrh Cure): for pneumonia, try a broken arm; in case of typhoid, set a cat on the patient.” Mr. Clyde laughed. “I see,” he said. “People get well in spite of these patent medicines, rather than by virtue of them. _Post hoc, non propter hoc_, as our lawyer friends say.”