re is a row of potted plants. In the right
wall, rear, four windows. Farther forward, a long well-filled
bookcase, and a doorway leading into the dining-room. Following the
walls, but about five feet out from them a stiff line of chairs
placed closely against each other forms a sort of right-angled
auditorium of which the large, square table that stands at centre,
forward, would seem to be the stage._

_From the dining-room comes the clatter of dishes, the confused
murmur of many voices, male and female--all the mingled sounds of a
crowd of people at a meal._

_After the curtain rises,_ Doctor Stanton _enters from the hall,
followed by a visitor,_ Mr. Sloan, _and the assistant physician,_
Doctor Simms. Doctor Stanton _is a handsome man of forty-five or so
with a grave, care-lined, studious face lightened by a kindly,
humorous smile. His grey eyes, saddened by the suffering they have
witnessed, have the sympathetic quality of real understanding. The
look they give is full of companionship, the courage-renewing,
human companionship of a hope which is shared. He speaks with a
slight Southern accent, soft and slurring._ Doctor Simms _is a
tall, angular young man with a long sallow face and a sheepish,
self-conscious grin._ Mr. Sloan _is fifty, short and stout, well
dressed--one of the successful business men whose endowments have
made the Hill Farm a possibility._

STANTON (_as they enter_). This is what you might see in the general
assembly room, Mr. Sloan--where the patients of both sexes are allowed
to congregate together after meals, for diets, and in the evening.

SLOAN (_looking around him_). Couldn't be more pleasant, I must
say--light and airy. (_He walks to where he can take a peep into the
dining-room._) Ah, they're all at breakfast, I see.

STANTON (_smiling_). Yes, and with no lack of appetite, let me tell
you. (_With a laugh of proud satisfaction._) They'd sure eat us out of
house and home at one sitting, if we'd give them the opportunity. (_To
his assistant._) Wouldn't they, Doctor?

SIMMS (_with his abashed grin_). You bet they would, sir.

SLOAN (_with a smile_). That's fine. (_With a nod towards the
dining-room._) The ones in there are the sure cures, aren't they?

STANTON (_a shadow coming over his face_). Strictly speaking, there are
no sure cures in this disease, Mr. Sloan. When we permit a patient to
return