be at home to lunch when we
arrived. He was a man past middle age. Like his father and grandfather,
he was a manufacturer of optical goods and had increased the business
very well. But, like many successful business men, he was one of those
who are very positive, with whom one cannot argue.

Myra introduced Kennedy as interested in cause and treatment of cancer,
and especially in the tracing down of a definite case of a "cancer
house."

"No," he shook his head grimly, "I'm afraid it is heredity. My friend,
Dr. Loeb, is the only one who understands it. I have the most absolute
confidence in him."

He said it in a way that seemed to discourage all argument. Kennedy did
not antagonize him by disagreeing, but turned to Lionel, who was a
rather interesting type of young man. Son of Darius Moreton by his first
wife, Lionel had gone to the scientific school as had his father and,
graduating, had taken up the business of the Moreton family as a matter
of course.

Myra seemed overcome by the journey to the city to see Kennedy and,
after a light luncheon, Lionel undertook to talk to us and show us
through the house. It was depressing, almost ghastly, to think of the
slow succession of tragedies which these walls had witnessed.

"This is a most unusual case," commented Craig thoughtfully as Lionel
went over briefly the family history. "If it can be authenticated that
this is a cancer house, I am sure the medical profession will be
interested, for they seem to be divided into two camps on the question."

"Authenticated?" hastened Lionel. "Well, take the record. First there
was my Uncle Frank, who was father's partner in the factory. He died
just about five years ago at the age of fifty-one. That same year his
wife, my Aunt Julia, died. She was just forty-eight. Then my other aunt,
Fanny, father's sister, died of cancer of the throat. She was rather
older, fifty-four. Not quite two years afterward my cousin, George, son
of Uncle Frank, died. He was several years younger than I, twenty-nine.
Finally my step-mother died, last week. She was forty-nine. So, I
suppose we may be pardoned if, somehow, in spite of the fact, as you
say, that many believe that the disease is not contagious or infectious
or whatever you call it, we believe that it lurks in the house. Myra and
I would get out tomorrow, only father insists that there is nothing in
it, says it is all heredity. I don't know but that that's worse. That
means that there is n