Helena slid from her seat, and, with hands on the edge of the table,
advanced her piquant little face close to Doc Madison's, staring at him,
breathing hard.

"Say that again," she gasped. "Say that again--say it just once more."

Pale Face Harry's hand, trembling visibly with emotion, was thrust out
across the table.

"Put it there, Doc," he whispered hoarsely.

The Flopper, practical, earnestly so, lifted his right arm, wriggled it
a little and began to twist it around, as though it were on a pivot at
the elbow, preparatory to drawing it in, a crippled thing, toward his
chin.

Doc Madison reached out hurriedly and stopped him.

"Here, that'll do, Flopper," he said quietly. "You don't need any
rehearsal to hold your job--you're down for the number and your check's
written out."

"Swipe me!" said the Flopper to the universe. "I can smell de pine woods
of Maine in me nostrils now. When does I beat it, Doc--to-morrer?"

Doc Madison laughed.

"No, Flopper, not to-morrow--nor for several to-morrows--not till the
bill-posters get through, and the stage is dark, and you can hear a pin