"You're all right, Doc," he assured Doc Madison anxiously. "You're all
right."

"U-uu-mm!" cooed Helena excitedly. "Go on, Doc--go on!"

"Listen," said Doc Madison, his voice lowered a little. "I found this
tucked away as a filler in a corner of the newspaper this evening. It's
headed, 'A New Cult,' with an interrogation mark after it. Now listen,
while I read it:"

A NEW CULT?

Needley, Maine, offers no attraction for aspiring young medical
men. One who tried it recently, and who pulled down his shingle in
disgust after a week, says competition is too strong, as the
village is obsessed with the belief that they have a sort of
faith-healer in their midst to whom is attributed cures of all
descriptions stretching back for a generation or more. The healer,
he adds, who rejoices in the name of the Patriarch and lives in
solitude a mile or so from the village, is something of an anomaly
in himself, being both deaf and dumb. We--

"But that's all that interests us," said Doc Madison, as he stopped
reading abruptly and lifted his head to scrutinize his companions
quizzically.

Pale Face Harry's eyes had lost their gleam and dulled--he gaped
reproachfully at Doc Madison. Helena's small mouth drooped downward in a
disappointed _moue_. Only the Flopper evidenced enthusiastic response.