“In any other field, it might, but you don’t handle merchandise that way in the medical field. Before you can put something on the market, you have to have it nailed down with blueprints and theory and field tests and such. And we can’t.
We don’t know how it works. We don’t know why it works.
Until we do, no reputable medical supply house will take it on, no approved medical journal will advertise it, no practitioner will use it.”
“Then I guess it’s out.” I felt fairly blue about it, because it was the only thing we had that we knew how to use.
Lewis nodded and drank his beer and was glummer than ever.
Looking back on it, it’s funny how we found the gadget that made us all the money. Actually, it wasn’t Lewis but Helen who found it.
Helen is a good housewife. She’s always going after things with the vacuum and the dustcloth and she washes the woodwork so often and so furiously that we have to paint it every year.
One night, we were sitting in the living-room, watching television.
“Joe,” she asked me, “did you dust the den?”
“Dust the den? What would I want to do that for?”