It should be a household word in the London slum and on the Tartar steppe.
Sypher's Cure could go with the Red Cross into battle, and should be in the clerk's wife's cupboard in Peckham Rye.

The human chamois that climbs the Alps, the gentle lunatic that plays golf, the idiot that goes and gets scalped by Red Indians, the missionary that gets half roasted by cannibals--if he gets quite roasted the cure's no good; it can't do impossibilities--all should carry Sypher's Cure in their waistcoat pockets.
All mankind should know it, from China to Peru, from Cape Horn to Nova Zembla.

It would free the tortured world from plague.

I would be the Friend of Humanity.

I took that for my device.