Part 54

“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.”

“Oh, Grandma Sharpless, Grandma Sharpless! Have you known me all this time not to trust me further than that?” whispered the Health Master. “Wait and see.”

A little woman near the rear of the room spoke up with a fine bravado: “I’m not afraid. It can’t give me cancer.” Then a pause, and a sigh of relief, which brought out a ripple of nervous laughter from the rest, as she said, “There’s nothing in mine.”

“Nor in mine,” added a young and pretty woman, in the second row, who had furtively and swiftly employed a hatpin to satisfy her curiosity.

“Nor mine!”—“Nor mine!” added a dozen voices, in varying tones of alleviated suspense.

“Not in any of them,” said Dr. Strong, smiling. “My little design was to arouse you collectively to a sense of the danger, not to frighten you individually into hysterics.” (At this point Mrs. Sharpless sat down abruptly and fanned a resentful face.) “The ugly fact remains, however: one out of every eight here is marked for death by the most dreadful of diseases, unless you do something about it.”

“What can we do?” inquired the minister’s wife, in the pause that followed this statement.

“Educate yourselves. If, in the process, you educate others, so much the better. Now I propose to tell you all about cancer in half an hour. Does that sound like a large contract? When I say ‘all,’ I mean all that it is necessary for you to know in order to protect yourselves. And, for good measure, I’ll answer any questions—if I can—within the limit of time.”

“What is cancer?” asked a voice.

“Ah! There is one that I can’t answer. No one knows. If I told you that it was a malignant tumor, that would be true, but it wouldn’t be an answer, because we don’t know the real nature and underlying cause of the tumor. Whether it is caused by a germ, science has not yet determined. But though we know nothing of the fundamental cause of the disease, we do understand, definitely, what is the immediate causative influence. It practically always arises from some local sore or irritation. Therefore—and here is my first important point—it is preventable.”

“That would be only theoretically, wouldn’t it, Dr. Strong?” asked the little woman who had first braved the venture of the sealed envelope. “One can’t get through life without bumps and scratches.”

“True. But ordinary bumps or scratches properly looked after don’t cause cancer. The sore must be an unhealing one, or the irritation a continued condition, in order to be dangerous. Remember this: any sort of a sore, inflammation, or scarification, external or internal, which continues more than a few weeks, is an invitation to cancer. Therefore, get rid of it.”

“But suppose the injury is in the stomach, where it can’t be got at?” asked a member.

“Why can’t it be got at?” demanded Dr. Strong.

“How can it be got at?” retorted the questioner.

“By opening up the stomach and examining it.”

“Well, I don’t want anybody to open up my stomach just to see what is inside it!” declared Mrs. Sharpless vigorously.

“Very likely not. Perhaps you’d feel different if you’d had steady pain or indigestion for two or three years.”

“Does that mean cancer?” asked a tall, sallow woman anxiously.

“Not by any means necessarily. But it may well mean gastric ulcer, and that may develop into cancer. Three fourths of the cases of carcinoma of the stomach which come into the surgeon’s hands have developed from gastric ulcer.”