the situation, laughed--and the laugh came like a challenge, taunting
the quick-tempered, turbulent soul of the Flopper.

"Come on, mister!" urged the boy excitedly. "'Tain't fur--I'll show
you."

"God bless you, son," said the Flopper, while he flung an inward curse
at the man who had laughed. "Son, God bless you fer yer good heart--go
ahead--I'll stick to you."

The crowd opened, making a lane through which the boy stumped on his
crutch, his face flushed and eager, and through which the Flopper
followed, slowly, rocking from side to side as he helped himself along
with the palm of his left hand flat in the dust of the road, trailing
his wobbling leg behind him.

The crowd closed in behind and moved forward.

Mrs. Thornton's face was fever-flushed, her eyes bright; in her weak
state she was on the verge of nervous hysteria.

"I want to go, Robert," she cried. "I must go."

"But, my dear," protested Thornton harshly, "this is simply the height
of absurdity. For Heaven's sake be sensible, Naida. Just imagine what
people would say if they saw us here with this outfit of idiots--they'd
think we'd gone mad."

"I don't care what they'd think," she returned feverishly, her frail
fingers plucking nervously at the arms of her chair. "I must go--I