The Miracle Man | Page 3

it was a part--and it was closed.
The Flopper rang no bell. After a quick glance around him to assure
himself that he was not observed, he reached up for the doorknob,
turned it, and with surprising agility hopped oven the threshold and
closed the door behind him.
A staircase, making one side of a narrow and dimly lighted hall, from
down whose length came muffled sounds from the barroom, was before

him; and this, without hesitation, the Flopper began to mount, his knee
thumping from step to step, his dangling leg echoing the sound in a
peculiar; quick double thump. He reached the first landing, went along
it, and started up the second flight--but now the thumping sound he
made seemed accentuated intentionally, and upon his face there spread
a grin of malicious humor.
He halted before the door opposite the head of the second flight of
stairs, opened it, wriggled inside and shut it behind him.
"Hullo, Helena!" he snickered. "Pipe me comin'?"
The room was a fairly large one, gaudily appointed with cheap
furnishings, one of the Roost's private parlors--a girl on a couch in the
corner had raised herself on her elbow, and her dark eyes were fixed
uncompromisingly upon the Flopper, but she made no answer.
The Flopper laughed--then a spasm seemed to run through him, a
horrible boneless contortion of limbs and body, a slippery, twitching
movement, a repulsive though almost inaudible clicking of
rehabilitated joints--and the Flopper stood erect.
The girl was on her feet, her eyes flashing.
"Can that stunt!" she cried angrily. "You give me the shivers! Next
time you throw your fit, you throw it before you come around me, or
I'll make you wish you had--see?"
The Flopper was swinging legs and arms to restore a normal channel of
circulation.
"Y'oughter get used to it," said he, with a grin. "Ain't Pale Face Harry
come yet, an' where's the Doc?"
"Behind the axe under the table," said the girl tartly--and flung herself
back on the couch.
"T'anks," said the Flopper. "Say, Helena, wot's de new lay de Doc has

got up his sleeve?"
Helena made no answer.
"Is yer grouch painin' you so's yer tongue's hurt?" inquired the Flopper
solicitously.
Still no answer.
"Well, go to the devil!" said the Flopper politely.
He resumed the swinging of his arms and legs, but stopped suddenly a
moment later as a step, sounded outside in the hall and he turned
expectantly.
A young man, thin, emaciated, with gaunt, hollow face, abnormally
bright eyes and sallow skin, entered. He was well, but modestly,
dressed; and he coughed a little now, as though the two flights' climb
had overtaxed him--it was the man who had headed the subscription list
to the Flopper half an hour before in front of Black Ike's Auditorium.
"Hello, Helena!" he greeted, nodding toward the couch. "I shook the
rubber-neck bunch at Ike's, Flopper. That was a peach of a haul, eh, old
pal--the boobs came to it as though they couldn't get enough."
A sudden and reminiscent scowl clouded the Flopper's face. He stepped
to the table, reached his hand into his shirt, and flung down a single
one-dollar bill and a few coins.
"Dere's de haul, Harry--help yerself"--his invitation was a snarl.
Pale Face Harry had followed to the table. He looked first at the money,
then at the Flopper--and a tinge of red dyed his cheek. He coughed
before he spoke.
"Y'ain't going to stall on me, Flopper, are you?" he demanded, in an
ominous monotone.
"Stall!"--the word came away in a roar too genuine to leave any doubt

of the Flopper's sincerity, or the turbulent state of the Flopper's soul.
"Stall nothin'! De driver held me up fer some of it, an' de cop pinched
de rest."
"And you the king of Floppers!" breathed Pale Face Harry sadly. "D'ye
hear that, Helena? Come over here and listen. Go ahead, Flopper, tell
us about it."
Helena rose from the couch and came over to the table.
"Poor Flopper!" said she sweetly.
"Shut up!" snapped the Flopper savagely.
"Go on," prompted Pale Face Harry. "Go on, Flopper--tell us about it."
"I told you, ain't I?" growled the Flopper. "De driver called a divvy wid
de cop comin', an I had ter shell--an' wot he left de cop pinched. Dat's
all"--the Flopper's mouth was working again with the rage that burned
within him.
Pale Face Harry, with pointed forefinger, gingerly and facetiously laid
the coins out in a row on the table.
"And you the king of Floppers!" he murmured softly. "It's a wonder
you didn't let the Salvation Army get the rest away from you on the
way along!"
Helena laughed--but the Flopper didn't. He stepped close to Pale Face
Harry, and shoved his face within an inch of the