"By and by, Helena," he said, patting her hand. "Well, Flopper, well, Harry--what do you say?" The Flopper pushed back his chair and stood up hesitantly like a man unexpectedly called upon for an after-dinner speech. He stood there awkwardly a moment gazing at Doc Madison, his tongue slowly circling his lips; then, with a gulp, as though words to express his feelings were utterly beyond him, he turned and started for the door. Pale Face Harry, as he rose, shoved out his hand. "I don't deserve my luck to be in on this," he said modestly. "Only, Doc, push it along on the high gear, will you--I ain't going to be able to sleep thinking about it." He looked at Helena a little undecidedly--and compromised on brevity. "'Night, Helena," he flung out. "Oh, good-night, Harry," she smiled. The Flopper turned at the door and came back a few steps into the room. "Say, Doc," he said, blinking furiously, "youse can wipe yer feet on me any time youse like--dat's wot!" "All right, Flopper," said Doc Madison gravely. "When you've joined Tammany Hall--good-night." He followed across the room, and from the doorway watched the two descend the stairs. "Good-night," he said again, then closed the door and came back into the room. "Well, Helena?" he remarked tentatively. "Well--Garfield?"--Helena clasped her hands around one knee and rocked gently. "Don't be familiar, Helena," Doc Madison chuckled. "Is that all you've got to say?" "I'm busy thinking about The Great American Play," she said pertly. "There's one thing you forgot." "What's that?" he asked, still smiling. "The curtain on the last act," she said. "The getaway." Doc Madison shook his head. "Nothing doing!" he returned. "There's no getaway. It's safe--so safe that there's nothing to it. We don't guarantee anything, and there's no entrance fee to the pavilion--all contributions are strictly voluntary." "That's all right," said Helena. "But of course we can't really cure them. We can get them going hard enough to make them think they are for awhile, but after they've thrown away their crutches and got back home--what then?" "Well, what then?" inquired Doc Madison easily. "They'll yell 'fake!' and swear out warrants," said Helena, her dark eyes studying Doc Madison. "Not according to statistics," replied Doc Madison, and his lips twitched quizzically at the corners. "According to statistics they'll buy another crutch and come back to buck the tiger again. Say, Helena, to-morrow, you go up to the public library and read up on shrines--they've been running since the ark--and they're running still. You never heard any howl about them, did you? What's the answer to those cures?" "That's different," said Helena. "That's religion, and they've got relics and things."