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.