to take up his or her activities in the world, the patient is
what we call an arrested case. The disease is overcome, quiescent; the
wound is healed over. It's then up to the patient to so take care of
himself that this condition remains permanent. It isn't hard for them
to do this, usually. Just ordinary, bull-headed common sense--added to
what they've learned here--is enough for their safety. And the
precautions we teach them to take don't diminish their social
usefulness in the slightest, either, as I can prove by our statistics
of former patients. (_With a smile._) It's rather early in the morning
for statistics, though.

SLOAN (_with a wave of the hand_). Oh, you needn't. Your reputation in
that respect, Doctor---- (Stanton _inclines his head in
acknowledgment._ Sloan _jerks his thumb towards the dining-room_.) But
the ones in there _are_ getting well, aren't they?

STANTON. To all appearances, yes. You don't dare swear to it, though.
Sometimes, just when a case looks most favourably, there's a sudden,
unforeseen breakdown, and they have to be sent back to bed, or, if it's
very serious, back to the Infirmary again. These are the exceptions,
however, not the rule. You can bank on most of those eaters being out
in the world and usefully employed within six months.

SLOAN. You couldn't say more than that (_Abruptly._) But--the
unfortunate ones--do you have many deaths?

STANTON (_with a frown_). No. We're under a very hard, almost cruel
imperative which prevents that. If, at the end of six months, a case
shows no response to treatment, continues to go down hill--if, in a
word, it seems hopeless--we send them away, to one of the State Farms
if they have no private means. (_Apologetically._) You see, this
sanatorium is overcrowded and has a long waiting list, most of the
time, of others who demand their chance for life. We have to make
places for them. We have no time to waste on incurables. There are
other places for them--and sometimes, too, a change is beneficial and
they pick up in new surroundings. You never can tell. But we're bound
by the rule. It may seem cruel--but it's as near justice to all
concerned as we can come.

SLOAN (_soberly_). I see. (_His eyes fall on the pianola in surprise._)
Ah--a piano.

STANTON (_replying to the other's thought_). Yes, some patients play
and sing. (_With a smile._) If you'd call the noise they make by those
terms. They'd dance, too, if we permitted it. There's only one b