nt soul of the Flopper.

"Come on, mister!" urged the boy excitedly. "'Tain't fur--I'll show
you."

"God bless you, son," said the Flopper, while he flung an inward curse
at the man who had laughed. "Son, God bless you fer yer good heart--go
ahead--I'll stick to you."

The crowd opened, making a lane through which the boy stumped on his
crutch, his face flushed and eager, and through which the Flopper
followed, slowly, rocking from side to side as he helped himself along
with the palm of his left hand flat in the dust of the road, trailing
his wobbling leg behind him.

The crowd closed in behind and moved forward.

Mrs. Thornton's face was fever-flushed, her eyes bright; in her weak
state she was on the verge of nervous hysteria.

"I want to go, Robert," she cried. "I must go."

"But, my dear," protested Thornton harshly, "this is simply the height
of absurdity. For Heaven's sake be sensible, Naida. Just imagine what
people would say if they saw us here with this outfit of idiots--they'd
think we'd gone mad."

"I don't care what they'd think," she returned feverishly, her frail
fingers plucking nervously at the arms of her chair. "I must go--I
must--I must."

Thornton glanced at the nurse, then stared at his wife--Miss Harvey's
meaning look was hardly necessary to drive home to him the fact that
Mrs. Thornton was in no condition to be denied anything.

Red-faced, Thornton strode to the back of the chair and began to push it
along.

"Of all the damned foolishness that ever I heard of," he gritted
savagely, "this is the worst!" His face went redder still with
mortification. "If this ever leaks out I'll never hear the last of it.
Look at us--bringing up the rear of a gibbering mob of yokels! We're fit
for a padded cell!"

In the crowd, Madison rubbed shoulders for a moment with Pale Face
Harry.

"Who's the party with the wheel-chair behind?" he asked.

"Millionaire--Chicago--private car--Flopper's got the wife going
hard--rode down with them," coughed Pale Face Harry behind his hand.

"I guess I'll get acquainted," said Madison. "Circulate, Harry, and
cough your head off--don't hide your light under a bushel--circulate."
And Madison fell back to scrape acquaintance with the man of millions.

Close-packed upon the road, the procession spread out for a hundred
yards behind the Flopper--bare-footed children; women in multi-colored
gingham and calico; men in the uncouth dress of the fields, the
uncouthnes