The Flopper licked his lips, and renewed the appeal he had been making
for nearly five minutes.

"Ain't no one goin' to drive me out to de Patriarch's?"

"Horses are all busy in the fields," said a voice, uncompromisingly.

"Yes," said the Flopper, with bitter irony, "drivin' each other around,
while youse are here starin' at me an' won't help."

His eyes caught Doc Madison's from the veranda and held an instant to
read a message and interpret the almost imperceptible, but significant,
movement of Madison's head.

"Gee!" said the Flopper to himself, as his eyes swept the faces around
him again. "Dis is a nice game de Doc's planted on me--he wants me to
do de wiggle out dere fer de rubes! Ain't dey a peachy lot--look at de
saucer eyes on de kids!"

Mrs. Thornton, in her wheel-chair on the inner edge of the circle,
turned to her husband.

"It's very strange that no one seems willing to drive him," she said.

"Oh, not very," responded Thornton, with a short laugh. "I don't blame
them--they don't want this healer of theirs made a monkey of."

"If no one will drive him, he shall have my wheel-chair," announced Mrs.
Thornton impulsively. "I think it is a perfect shame--the poor man!"