A what?" inquired Pale Face Harry, with a grin.

"A miracle," repeated Doc Madison imperturbably. "A miracle--with the
Flopper here in the star role. The Flopper goes down there all tied up
in knots, the high priest, alias the deaf and dumb healer, alias the
Patriarch, lays his soothing hands upon him, the Flopper uncoils into
something that looks like a human being--and the trumpets blow, the band
plays, and the box office opens for receipts."

Helena slid from her seat, and, with hands on the edge of the table,
advanced her piquant little face close to Doc Madison's, staring at him,
breathing hard.

"Say that again," she gasped. "Say that again--say it just once more."

Pale Face Harry's hand, trembling visibly with emotion, was thrust out
across the table.

"Put it there, Doc," he whispered hoarsely.

The Flopper, practical, earnestly so, lifted his right arm, wriggled it
a little and began to twist it around, as though it were on a pivot at
the elbow, preparatory to drawing it in, a crippled thing, toward his
chin.

Doc Madison reached out hurriedly and stopped him.

"Here, that'll do, Flopper," he said quietly. "You don't need any
rehearsal to hold your job--you're down for the number and your check's
written out."

"Swipe me!" said the Flopper to the universe. "I can smell de pine woods
of Maine in me nostrils now. When does I beat it, Doc--to-morrer?"

Doc Madison laughed.

"No, Flopper, not to-morrow--nor for several to-morrows--not till the
bill-posters get through, and the stage is dark, and you can hear a pin
drop in the house. I don't want you camping out and catching cold and
missing any of the luxuries you're accustomed to, so I'll start along
ahead in a day or so myself and see what kind of accommodations I can
secure."

"Swipe me!" said the Flopper again. "An' to think of me wastin' me
talent on rubber-neck fleets!"

A puzzled little frown puckered Helena's forehead.

"I was thinking about the deaf and dumb man," she said slowly. "How
about him, when we pull this off--will he stand for it--and what'll he
do?"

"Aw!" said Pale Face Harry impatiently. "He don't count! He'll have bats
in his belfry anyway, and if he ain't he'll go off his chump for fair
getting stuck on himself when he sees the stunt he'll think he's done.
He'll be looking for the wings between his shoulder blades, and hunting
for the halo around his head."

"Harry is waking up," observed Doc Madison affably. "That's ab