The Miracle Man Part 12

"I don't have to get the habit," said Helena a little crossly, perching herself on the arm of the Patriarch's chair and taking his hand. "I think he's a perfect dear, and for us to sit here and take advantage of him when he trusts us is--"

"Now cut that out," said Madison cheerfully. "Think of those gondolas in Venice when we get through with this--that'll make you feel better. Go on about the Flopper and Pale Face--can the Flopper speak any English yet?"

Helena laughed in spite of herself.

"I've had a dream of a time with him," she said. "He's broken his neck trying, at any rate; and he's not so bad as he was--quite."

"Good!" said Madison. "And?"

"I read them your last letter saying they were to come together and work the train on the way down," she continued. "The Flopper got the postmaster's letter, too."

"How did it size up as a testimonial?" inquired Madison.

Helena's dark eyes flashed with amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Lovely!"

"Too thick--fishy?" asked Madison.

"Oh, no," said Helena, "not if you have faith--just strong. It's all right, though; I told him he could use it--it's a drawing card in itself, for some of them would be curious enough to get off and see the finish. Everything is all fixed--they'll be here to-morrow."

"Good girl!" said Madison approvingly. "We'll pull it off out there on the lawn where all the mult.i.tude can see--you'll have to lead his nibs out and guide him to the Flopper while the hush falls and you look kind of scared--you know the lay. There's no one can touch you when it comes to playing up to the house. And now, there's just one thing more--you'll need some one around here to help you and keep an eye on the offerings when they begin to come in. Well, that's the Flopper's role in the second act--see? Overwhelmed with grat.i.tude at his cure, he attaches himself to the Patriarch with dog-like fidelity--beautiful thought!--get the idea? And--"

"Hus.h.!.+" cautioned Helena. "Here's Mr. Higgins coming."

"All right," said Madison, rising and moving to the door. "I'm going now, then--guess you understand. See you in the morning for the final touches. Tell Mr. Higgins I'm waiting outside for him to drive me home."

He raised his voice. "Good afternoon, Miss Vail," he said, and stepped out onto the lawn.

--VIII--

IN WHICH THE BAIT IS NIBBLED

There was a group around the Flopper on the Portland platform beside the Bar Harbor express; some wore pitying expressions, others smiled a little tolerantly--Pale Face Harry, from the circle, sneered openly.

"Nutty!" he coughed, and touched his forehead. "Nothing doing in the upper story--some one ought to look after him."

The Flopper, a crippled thing on the ground, fixed Pale Face Harry with a pointed forefinger.

"Youse don't look like you had many weeps to spare for anybody but yerself--yer fallin' to pieces," said the Flopper. "I didn't ask you nor any of youse to b.u.t.t in--I was talkin' to dis lady here"--he motioned toward a young woman in a wheeled, invalid chair, who, between a trained nurse on one side and a gentleman on the other, was regarding him with a startled expression in her eyes.

She turned now and spoke to the gentleman beside her.

"Robert," she said, in a low, anxious tone, "do you think that--that there can be anything in it?"

"Have you lost your head, Naida?" the man laughed. "The age of miracles has pa.s.sed."

"But he is so _sure_," she whispered.

"Poppyc.o.c.k!" said her companion contemptuously.

The Flopper, in good, if unfas.h.i.+onable and ready-made clothes, fresh linen, and a clean shave, turned a bright, intelligent face on the man at this remark.

"I guess youse are de kind," he said, with a grim smile, "dat ain't had to kill yerself worryin' much about any kind of trouble, an' it ain't nothin' to you to cut de ground of hope out from another guy's feet an'

let him slide. Mabbe you think I'm nutty too, because I know I'm goin'

to be cured--but it don't hurt you none to have me think so, does it?

Mabbe someday you might like to hope a little yerself, an' if--"

"'Board! All aboard!"--the conductor's voice boomed down the platform.

The young woman leaned forward in her chair toward the Flopper.

"I know what it is to hope," she said softly. "Will you come back into our car after awhile? I'd like to have you tell me more about this.

Please do."

"Sure," said the Flopper amiably. "Sure, mum, I will, if youse wants me to."

The crowd broke up, hurrying for the train; and the Flopper, dragging a valise along beside him, jerked himself toward the steps.

"Swipe me, if I ain't got a bite already!" said the Flopper to himself.

"An' outer a private car, too--wouldn't dat b.u.mp you! An' say, wait till you see de Doc t'row up his dukes when he listens to me handin' out me sterilized Englis.h.!.+"

The brakeman and a kindly-hearted fellow pa.s.senger helped the Flopper into the train--and thereafter for an hour or more, in a first cla.s.s coach, the Flopper held undisputed sway. The pa.s.sengers, flocking from the other cars, filled the aisle and seriously interfered with the lordly movements of the train crew, challenging the conductor's authority with pa.s.sive indifference until that functionary, exasperated beyond endurance, threatened to curtail the ride the Flopper had paid for and put him off at the next station--whereat the pa.s.sive att.i.tude of the pa.s.sengers vanished. The American public is always interested in a novelty, and on occasions is not to be gainsaid--the American public, as represented by the patrons of the Bar Harbor express, was interested at the moment in the Flopper, and they pa.s.sed the conductor from hand to hand--it was the only way he could have got through the car--and deposited him outside in the vestibule to tell his troubles to the buffer-plate.

The Flopper was in deadly, serious earnest; there was no doubt, no possible room for doubt on that score--one had but to look at the flush upon his cheeks and note the ring of conviction in his voice. Even Pale Face Harry's gibes and sneers melted before the unshakable a.s.surance, and he became, with reservations, noticeably impressed.

A metropolitan newspaper man was struck with the idea of a humorous series of articles to pay for his vacation, ent.i.tled, "Characters I Have Met In Maine"--and forthwith, perched on the back of the seat behind the Flopper, proceeded to sketch out the first one, with the mental determination to get off at Needley for the local color necessary to its climax.

A soap drummer nudged a fellow drummer whose line was lingerie.

"Ever do Needley?" he grinned.

The lingerie exponent had a sense of humor--he grinned back.

"My house is everlastingly rubbing it into me to open up new territory,"

said the soap salesman.

"Me too," responded the white-goods man.

"Needley," said he of the soap persuasion, "would be virgin soil for any drummer."

"I'd like to see the finish," said the lingerie man--still grinning.

"Well?" inquired the soap man--still grinning. "What do you say?"