hed triumphantly.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm certain. Naturally, I can't prove it--yet. But that's just a matter
of time. Your response just about clinches it. Take a look at the
records. Who gets this disease? Youngsters--with nearly one hundred per
cent morbidity and one hundred per cent mortality. Adults--less than
fifty per cent morbidity--and again one hundred per cent mortality. What
makes the other fifty per cent immune? Your crack about leather lungs
started me thinking--so I fed the data cards into the computer and keyed
them for smoking versus incidence. And I found that not one heavy smoker
had died of Thurston's Disease. Light smokers and nonsmokers--plenty of
them--but not one single nicotine addict. And there were over ten
thousand randomized cards in that spot check. And there's the exact
reverse of that classic experiment the lung cancer boys used to sell
their case. Among certain religious groups which prohibit smoking there
was nearly one hundred per cent mortality of all ages!

"And so I thought since the disease was just starting in you, perhaps I
could stop it if I loaded you with tobacco smoke. And it works!"

"You're not certain yet," Mary said. "I might not have had the
disease."

"You had the symptoms. And there's virus in your sputum."

"Yes, but--"

"But, nothing! I've passed the word--and the boys in the other labs
figure that there's merit in it. We're going to call it Barton's Therapy
in your honor. It's going to cause a minor social revolution. A lot of
laws are going to have to be rewritten. I can see where it's going to be
illegal for children not to smoke. Funny, isn't it?

"I've contacted the maternity ward. They have three babies still alive
upstairs. We get all the newborn in this town, or didn't you know.
Funny, isn't it, how we still try to reproduce. They're rigging a smoke
chamber for the kids. The head nurse is screaming like a wounded tiger,
but she'll feel better with live babies to care for. The only bad thing
I can see is that it may cut down on her chain smoking. She's been
worried a lot about infant mortality.

"And speaking of nurseries--that reminds me. I wanted to ask you
something."

"Yes?"

"Will you marry me? I've wanted to ask you before, but I didn't dare.
Now I think you owe me something--your life. And I'd like to take care
of it from now on."

"Of course I will," Mary said. "And I have reasons, too. If I marry you,
you can't possibly do that silly th