Part 8

“I’m trying to map out for you, a rich man, as good treatment as a very poor man would have in a hospital—that is, the best technical advice for every hygienic emergency that may arise—plus some few extensions of my own. Now we come to what is likely to prove the stumbling-block.”

“Set it up.”

“If I’m to take this job, I must be the autocrat, in so far as my own department is concerned. As you know, a city health official’s powers are arbitrary. He can burn your house down; he can imprison you; he can establish a military régime; he can override or undo the laws which control the ordinary procedure of life. Hygienic law, like martial law, supersedes rights in crises. You are asking me to act as health officer of your house. If I’m to do my work, I must have full sway, and I shall expect you to see that every member of your household obeys my orders—except,” he added, with a twinkle, “Grandma Sharpless. I expect she’s too old to take orders from any one. Diplomacy must be my agent with her.”

Mr. Clyde pondered. “That’s a pretty wide authority you’re asking.”

“Yes, but I shall use it only in extreme cases. I shall deal extensively in advice and suggestion, which you may take or leave as you choose. But an order will mean a life or death matter.”

“Agreed. Now, as to terms—”

“Let the terms go, until we see how much I can save you. Meantime, don’t overestimate what I undertake to do. Suppose you just run through the roster of what you consider the danger points, and I’ll tell you how far I can promise anything.”

“First, then, tuberculosis, of course.”

“Practical immunity from that, as long as you maintain your present standards of life.”

“Typhoid fever. As I told you, we’ve had one visitation.”

“There’s no reason why you should ever have another if the children will take ordinary precautions.”

“Diphtheria?”

“We can’t guarantee the youngsters against getting it, though we can do something to protect them. And if they do get it, we can be pretty certain of pulling them through.”

“Scarlet fever and measles?”

“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.”

“Perhaps it isn’t as new-fangled as you suppose,” returned the head of the household. “I’ve just given Dr. Strong a contract, and where do you suppose I got it?”

“That lawyer man of yours, probably,” said Mrs. Sharpless.