Madison's fists clenched, and his gray eyes glinted angrily. His hands had been tied like a baby's--like a damned infant's! Helena was getting away from him further every day, and he couldn't stop it--without stopping the game! He couldn't tell Thornton that Helena belonged to him--had belonged to him! He couldn't even evidence an interest in what was going on. He had to put on a front, a suave, cordial, dignified front before Thornton--while he itched to smash the other's face to pulp! Hell--that's what it was--pure, unadulterated hell! He couldn't get near Helena alone with a ten-foot pole, morning, noon or night--she had taken good care of that. And he wanted Helena--he _wanted_ her! It was an obsession with him now--at times driving him half crazy,--and it didn't help any that he saw her grow more glorious, more beautiful every day! Of course she knew she had him--had him where she knew he couldn't do a thing--where she could laugh at him--go the limit with Thornton if she liked. But, curse it, it wasn't only Thornton--that was what he could not understand--she had begun to keep away from him before ever Thornton had come back. Madison was near the porch now, and, raising his eyes, noted a supplicant going into the shrine-room--a woman, richly dressed but in widow's weeds, who walked feebly. The game went on by itself, once started--there were half a hundred more about the lawn! Like a snowball rolling down hill, as he had put it at the Roost. The Roost! If he only had Helena back there for about a minute there'd be an end of this! She'd go a little too far one of these days--a little too far--it was pretty near far enough now--and then there'd be a showdown, game or no game, and somebody would get hurt in the smash, and-- He lifted his eyes again, as some one came hurrying through the cottage door. It was the Flopper. And then to his surprise, he found himself being pushed unceremoniously from the porch and pulled excitedly behind the trellis. "What's the matter with you!" he demanded angrily. "Are you crazy!" "T'ank de Lord youse have showed up!" gasped the Flopper. "Say, honest, I can't do nothin' wid him--he's got me near bughouse." "Who?"--Madison scowled irritably. "De Patriarch, of course. He's noivous, an' gettin' worse all de time. He won't eat an' he won't keep still. He wants Helena, an' he keeps writin' her name on de slate--he's got me going fer fair." "Well, I'm not Helena!" growled Madison. "Why doesn't she go to him?" "Now wouldn't dat sting youse!" ejaculated the Flopper. "How's she goin' to him when she ain't here?" "Not here?" repeated Madison sharply. "Where is she?" The Flopper looked down his nose. "I dunno," said he. Madison stared at him for a moment--then he reached out and caught the Flopper's arm in a sudden and far from gentle grip. "Out with it!" he snapped. "I dunno where she is," said the Flopper, with some reluctance. "She ain't back yet, dat's all."