“Do you think so? Do you think that cancer _ever_ fails to come to the physician at last? And do you think the fee is less because the surgeon has to do twice the amount of work with a hundredth of the hope of success?” “No-o-o,” admitted the old lady, with some hesitancy; “I didn’t think of it in that light.” “Few do. Oh, for the chance to teach people to think straight about this! Publicity is what we need so bitterly, and the only publicity goes to the quacks who pay for it, because the local newspapers don’t want to write about ‘unpleasant topics,’ forsooth!” “Do you want a chance for some publicity in a small way?” asked Mrs. Clyde. “Do I! Show me the chance.” “The Mothers’ Association meets here this afternoon. We haven’t much business on hand. Come in and talk to us for an hour.” “Fine!” said the Health Master, with enthusiasm. “Half of that time will do me. How many will be there?” “About sixty.” “Very well. Just have me introduced with the statement that I’m going to talk informally on a subject of importance to all of you; and then help me out with a little object lesson. I’ll want sixty sealed envelopes for the members to draw.” “Are you conducting a lottery, young man?” queried Grandma Sharpless. “In a way. Rather I’m arranging an illustration for the great lottery which Life and Death conduct.” Two hours later, the business of the meeting having been concluded, Mrs. Clyde asked, from the assembled mothers, the privilege of the floor for Dr. Strong, and this being granted, aroused the curiosity of the meeting by requesting each member to draw an envelope from the basket which she carried around, while the presiding officer introduced the speaker. “Let me begin,” said the Health Master, “with an ungallant assumption. I’m going to assume that I’m talking to a gathering of middle-aged women. That being the case, I’m going on to a very unpleasant statement, to wit, that one out of every eight women here may reasonably expect to die of cancer in some form.” A little subdued flutter passed through the room, and the name of Agnes Westerly was whispered. “Yes; it is Mrs. Westerly’s case which is responsible for my being here,” said Dr. Strong, who had abnormally keen hearing. “I would like to save at least part of the eight out of your number, who are statistically doomed, from this probable fate. To bring the lesson home to you, I have had each of you draw an envelope. Eight of these represent death by cancer.” Every eye in the room turned, with rather ghastly surmise, to the little white squares. But old Mrs. Sharpless rose from her place, marched upon the Health Master, as one who leads a charge, and in low but vehement tones protested: “I won’t be a party to any such nonsense. The idea! Scaring some woman that’s as well as you are into nervous collapse with your black dot or red cross or whatever you’ve got inside these envelopes.”