"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."