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The Miracle Man by Frank L. (Frank Lucius) Packard
page 54 of 266 (20%)
The Patriarch rose from his chair, walked to the door, opened it, moved
the knocker up and down--and pointed to the ceiling. The canvas was
waving violently now, and Madison traced the cord attachment, on little
pulleys, across the ceiling to where it ran through the door and was
affixed to the knocker without. It was very simple, even
primitive--every time the knocker was lifted the cord was pulled and the
canvas waved back and forth. Madison nodded his head and smiled
approvingly, as the Patriarch once more closed the door and resumed his
seat.

Madison leaned back in his chair and allowed his eyes to stray, not
impertinently but with pleased endorsement, around the room, to permit
an unhampered opportunity for the scrutiny of the blue eyes which he
felt upon him.

"And to think," he mused reproachfully, "that I could have doubted him
for a single instant--he certainly hung one on me that time."

The Patriarch reached into the drawer of the table beside him, took out
a slate and pencil, scratched a few words on the slate and handed both
pencil and slate to Madison.

"Your name is Madison, isn't it?" Madison read. "From New York? Hiram
told me about you."

"Hiram," said Madison to himself, "is a man of many parts, and the most
useful man I have ever known. Hiram, by reflected glory, will some day
become famous." On the slate he replied: "Yes; that is my name--John
Madison. It was good of Mr. Higgins to speak of me."

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