Dick mentioned a dozen desperate cases, where patients had been saved by homœopathy, and the doctor mentioned two dozen, given up by homœopathic practitioners, who had been cured by allopathy. As usual in such cases, nothing was established. “Doctor, my headache is gone,” said Dick, triumphantly, after the three dozen cases had been adduced. “Do you suppose the belladonna had anything to do with it?” asked the doctor. “Of course I do. I am satisfied the globules cured me this time as they have twenty times before.” “Nonsense, Mr. Birch! I should not hesitate to take the entire contents of your vial.” “That is the beauty of the system; if it does not cure, it does not kill.” “If there is no virtue in the medicine, what is the use of taking it?” laughed the doctor. “Fire won’t burn water. It is the nice adaptation of the medicine to the system which gives it efficiency. If you are well, there is no work for the medicine. If you are sick, it finds something in the system for which it has an affinity.” “All bosh!” “Why don’t you try the system before you condemn it?” “Try it! Why don’t I try the spells of the Indian medicine men? the charm of the Hottentot? the vagaries of mesmerism and spiritualism? Simply because I don’t believe in them. Why don’t I try a hangman’s rope for scrofula?” “There is reason in all things.” “In everything but homœopathy. Do you believe those little pellets cured your headache?” “I do.” “What a delusion!” “What did then?” “I don’t know. Perhaps you had reached the end of the malady when you took the pills; perhaps a change of air cured you; perhaps it was the excitement of this discussion, which started your blood, removed some stagnation, and restored the equilibrium of the circulation.” “Excitement does not generally cure the headache,” said Dick, incredulously. “Sometimes it does. About a week ago, a man came to my office at daylight in the morning to have a tooth extracted. He had been in agony all night; but the moment he saw my instrument his toothache left him, and he would not have the tooth taken out. What cured him?” “I don’t know.” “Perhaps it was the smell of belladonna in my office! It was the excitement. If one of your friends--Miss Hungerford, for instance--were dangerously sick, as she was last summer, would you trust her in the hands of a professor of this humbug?” “I would trust her in the hands of a skilful homœopathic physician.” “Would you trust yourself to such treatment, Miss Hungerford?” “I am entirely satisfied with my physician, doctor, and I am not competent to give an opinion,” replied Julia. In the library, half an hour later, the doctor picked up the bottle of globules, and examined them for a moment. He took a couple of the pellets, and restored the vial to its place. He looked strange as he did so; perhaps he was indignant that sensible men should have faith in such puny helps.