“Simple as a pin!  When it’s all over and we’re ready to let the account of it get into print, Dr. Surtaine, proprietor of Certina, will be the principal figure in the campaign.  What’s that worth in advertising to the year’s business?  Not that I’m doing it for that.  I’m doing it to save Old Home Week.”

“With a little profit on the side.”

Dr. Surtaine deemed it politic to ignore the tone of the commentary.

“Why not?  Nobody’s hurt by it.  You’ll be on the Central Committee, Boy-ee.”

“No; I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“I think I’d better keep out of the movement, Dad.”

“As you like.  And you’ll see that the ‘Clarion’ keeps out of it, too?”

“So that’s it.”

“Yes, Boy-ee:  that’s it.  You can see, for yourself, that a newspaper sensation would ruin everything just now—­and also ruin the paper that sprung it.”

“So I heard from Elias M. Pierce sometime since.”

“For once Pierce is right.”

“Are you asking me to suppress the epidemic story?”

“To let us handle it our own way,” substituted the Doctor.  “We’ve got our campaign all figured out and ready to start.  Do you know what the great danger is now?”

“Letting the infection go on without taking open measures to stop it.”

“You’re way wrong!  Starting a panic that will scatter it all over the place is the real danger.  Have you heard of a single case outside of the Rookeries district, so far?”

Hal strove to recall the death-list on the proof.  “No,” he admitted.

“You see!  It’s confined to one locality.  Now, what happens if you turn loose a newspaper scare?  Why, those poor, ignorant people will swarm out of the Rookeries and go anywhere to escape the quarantine that they know will come.  You’ll have an epidemic not localized, but general.  The situation will be ten times as difficult and dangerous as it is now.”

Struck with the plausibility of this reasoning, Hal hesitated.  “That’s up to the authorities,” he said.

“The authorities!” cried the charlatan, in disdain.  “What could they do?  The damage would be done before they got ready to move.  You see, we’ve got to handle this situation diplomatically.  Look here, Boyee; what’s the worst feature of an epidemic?  Panic.  You know the Bible parable.  The seven plagues came to Egypt and ten thousand people died.  The Grand Vizier said to the plagues, ‘How many of my people have you slain?’ The plagues said, ‘A thousand.’  ‘What about the other nine thousand?’ said the Grand Vizier.  ‘Not guilty!’ said the plagues.  ’They were slain by Fear.’  Maybe it was in ‘Paradise Lost’ and not the Bible.  But the lesson’s the same.  Panic is the killer.”

“But the disease is increasing all the time,” objected Hal.  “Are we to sit still and—­”

“Is it?” broke in the wily controversialist.  “How do you account for this, then?” He drew from his pocket a printed leaflet.  “Take a peek at those figures.  Fewer deaths in the Rookeries this last week than in any week since March.”