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test like this to see whether or no his patient would live! And what an abominably crude test! Less and less the iodine-treated guinea-pigs moved when he poked them—there was now no longer any hope. . . .
Then one morning Behring came into his laboratory to see those guinea-pigs on their feet! Staggering about, and dreadfully scraggly looking beasts they were, but they were getting better from diphtheria, these creatures whose untreated companions had died days before. . . .
"I have cured diphtheria!" whispered Behring.
In a fever he went at trying to cure more guinea-pigs with this iodine stuff; sometimes the diphtheria bacilli killed these poor beasts; sometimes the cure killed them; once in a while one or two of them survived and crawled painfully back to their feet. There was little certainty of this horrible cure and no rime or reason. The guinea-pigs who survived, probably wished they were dead, for while the tri-chloride was curing them it was burning nasty holes in their hides too—they squeaked pitifully when they bumped these gaping sores. It was an appalling business!
Just the same, here were a few guinea-pigs, sure—except for this iodine—to have died of diphtheria; and they were alive! I often ponder how terrible was the urge forcing men like Behring to try to cure disease—they were not searchers for truth, but rabid, experimenting healers rather; ready to kill an animal or even a child maybe with one disease to cure him of another. They stopped at nothing. . . . For, with no evidence save these few dilapidated guinea-pigs, with no other proof of the virtues of this blistering iodine tri-chloride, Behring proceeded to try it on babies sick with diphtheria.
And he reported: "I have not been encouraged by certain carefully instituted tests of iodine tri-chloride on children sick with diphtheria. . . ."
But here were still some of those feeble but cured guinea-pigs, and Behring clutched at some good his murderous gropings might do. The gods were kind to him. He pondered, and