that cough off and become a cure--that's all."

"I ain't like the Flopper," said Pale Face Harry ruefully. "I told you
once I can't stop the hack, and I ask you again how'm I going to?"

"Have faith in the Patriarch," suggested Helena innocently.

"You close your trap!" exclaimed Pale Face Harry savagely; then, to
Madison: "Go on, Doc--it's up to you."

"No," said Doc Madison coolly, "it's up to you. You've got to try, and
if you can't stop altogether you can make yourself scarce when you feel
the fit coming on--you won't have to climb up on the grandstand and
cough in people's faces, will you?"

"He might carry a screen around with him and cough behind that,"
volunteered Helena. "That's enough about the Flopper and Pale Face--what
about muh? Where do I get off?"

"You?" said Doc Madison calmly. "Oh, you're a moral neurasthenic."

"And what's that when it's at home?" demanded Helena sharply.

Doc Madison threw out his hands in a comically helpless, impotent
gesture.

"It's what we need to keep up the standard of variety," he said. "We're
playing to the masses. Don't you like the rôle, Helena--it's the leading
woman's."