For the benefit of others who may suffer from tobacco smoke, I should like to relate an experience which took place about 1914.
I was called to a large railroad freight office on a temporary position. Arriving at eight o'clock in the morning, I found the room thickly clouded with tobacco smoke. Resentfully, I followed the instructions to hang my wraps on the wall, thinking as I did so that going home on the streetcar everybody would smell the smoke in my hair and clothing, and think I had been smoking.
As five o'clock drew near I found myself more and more nauseated, and all the way home it seemed as though I should be forced to get off the streetcar. Finally, arriving at my street, I left the car thinking that I should like to continue with the work in order to help these people—it would be only for a few days. Besides, I did not like to tell them I could not return; but could I go back? Distinctly and clearly came the "still small voice" in the words of a hymn,
