The Miracle Man | Page 6

Flopper.
"Flopper," said he pathetically, "your soul, like your bones, runs to rank
realism. No; we don't 'croak de guy'--we cherish him, we nurse him, we
fondle him. He's our one best bet, and we fold him to our breasts
tenderly, and we protect him from all harm and danger and sudden
death."
The Flopper blinked a little helplessly.
"Mabbe," said the Flopper, "I got de wrong dope. Some of dem words
you read I ain't hip to. Wot's anymaly mean?"
"Anomaly?"--Doc Madison reached for his glass, tossed off the
contents and set it down. "It means, Flopper, in this particular
instance," he said gravely, "that there shouldn't be any interrogation
point after the heading."
Again the Flopper blinked helplessly--and his fingers picked
uncertainly at the stubble on his chin. The other two gazed
disconsolately--and Helena a little pityingly as well--at Doc Madison.
Doc Madison flung out his arms suddenly.
"What's the matter with you all?" he demanded sarcastically. "You look
as though your faces pained you! What's the matter with you? You're
bright enough ordinarily, Helena, and, Harry, you're no dub--what's the
matter with you? Can't you see it--can't you see it! Why, it's sticking

out a mile--it's waiting for us! The whole plant's there and all we've got
to do is get steam under the boilers. We'll have 'em coming for the cure
from every State in the Union, and begging us to let them throw their
diamond tiaras at us for a look-in at the shrine. Don't you see it--can't
you get it--can't you get it!"
Helena bent suddenly over Doc Madison's shoulder, her eyes opening
wide with dawning comprehension.
"The cure?" she breathed.
"Sure--the cure," said Doc Madison earnestly. "The new cult--that's us.
Get the people talking, show 'em something, and you'll have to put up
fences and 'keep off the grass' signs to stop the lame and the halt and
the blind and the neurasthenics from crowding and suffocating to death
for want of air. We'll start a shrine down there that'll be a winner, and
the railroads will be running excursion-rate pilgrimages inside of two
months."
Pale Face Harry's chair creaked, as, like the Flopper, he now crowded it
in toward the table.
"I get you!" said he feverishly. "I get you! I've read about them
shrines--only you gotter have churches, and a carload of crutches, and
that sort of thing laying around."
Doc Madison smiled pleasantly.
"Yes; you've got me, Harry--only we'll do the stage setting a little
differently. Mostly what is required is--faith. Get them going on that,
and everybody that's sick or near-sick in this great United States, that's
got the swellest collection of boobs and millionaires on earth, will
swarm thitherward like bees--there won't be any one left in the
sanatoriums throughout the length of this broad land of freedom but the
bell boys and the elevator men. Get them going, and all we've got to do
is look out we don't let anything get by us in the crush--a snowball
rolling down hill will size up like a plugged nickel alongside of a
twenty-dollar gold piece when it gets to the bottom, compared with

what we start rolling."
"I've got you, too," said Helena. "But I don't see where the faith is
coming from, or how you're going to get them coming. You've got to
show them--you said so yourself--even the boobs. How are you going
to do that?"
"Well," said Doc Madison placidly, "we'll start the show with--a
miracle. I haven't thought of anything more effective than that so far."
"A what?" inquired Pale Face Harry, with a grin.
"A miracle," repeated Doc Madison imperturbably. "A miracle--with
the Flopper here in the star rôle. 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