"that you could have told me all
this yourself."

"What?" asked Dr. Surtaine, consciously on the defensive.

"About the medical ads."

"McQuiggan's a sore-head"--began the Doctor.

"But you might have told me about Certina, as I've been living on
Certina money."

"There's nothing to tell." All the self-assurance had gone out of the
quack's voice.

"Father, does Certina cure Bright's disease?"

"Cure? Why, Boyee, what _is_ a cure?"

"Does it cure it?" insisted Hal.

"Sit down and cool off. You've let that skunk, McQuiggan, get you all
excited."

"This began before McQuiggan."

"Then you've been talking to some jealous doctor-crank."

"For God's sake, Father, answer my plain question."

"Why, there's no such thing as an actual cure for Bright's disease."

"Don't you say in the advertisements that Certina will cure it?"

"Oh, advertisements!" returned the quack with an uneasy smile. "Nobody
takes an advertisement for gospel."

"I'm answered. Will it cure diabetes?"

"No medicine will. No doctor can. They're incurable diseases. Certina
will do as much--"

"Is it true that alcohol simply hastens the course of the disease?"

"Authorities differ," said the quack warily. "But as the disease is
incurable--"

"Then it's all lies! Lies and murder!"

"You're excited, Boy-ee," said the charlatan with haggard forbearance.
"Let me explain for a moment."

"Isn't it pretty late for explanations between you and me?"

"This is the gist of the proprietary trade," said the Doctor, picking
his words carefully. "Most diseases cure themselves. Medicine isn't much
good. Doctors don't know a great deal. Now, if a patent medicine braces
a patient up and gives him courage, it does all that can be done. Then,
the advertising inspires confidence in the cure and that's half the
battle. There's a lot in Christian Science, and a lot in common between
Christian Science and the proprietary business. Both work on the mind
and help it to cure the body. But the proprietary trade throws in a few
drugs to brace up the system, allay symptoms, and push along the good
work. There you have Certina."

Hal shook his head in dogged misery. "It can't cure. You admit it can't
cure. And it may kill, in the very cases where it promises to cure. How
could you take money made that way?"

A flash of cynicism hardened the handsome old face. "Somebody's going to
make a living off the great American sucker. If it wasn't us, it'd be
somebody e