"Good!" said Madison, smiling at her approvingly. "That sounds better. Now listen--and listen hard. From this minute this cottage is the Shrine. Get that?--Shrine. You've got to keep the hush falling here, and keep it falling all the time--a sort of holy, hallowed silence, understand? Lay it on thick--make the crowd stand back--make the guy that comes in here feel as though he ought to come in on his knees and as if he'd be struck dead if he didn't. Get the slow music and the low lights working. And keep the Patriarch well back of the drop except when he's on for a turn. Get me? He's no side-show with a barker in front of the tent--don't forget that for a minute. The harder it is to see the Patriarch and the less he's seen, the bigger he plays up when he's on. He goes to no man under any conditions, and the only man or woman that gets to him is through faith and supplication, and a double order of it at that. Keep the solemn, breathless tap turned on all the time." Helena looked at him with a strange little smile quivering on her lips. "It's a good thing I've got a sense of humor," she said slowly, "or else I think I'd--I'd--" "No, you wouldn't," said Madison cheerfully. "But time's flying. You're going to have visitors in a few minutes, and here's where the Patriarch gets tucked away out of sight behind the veil for a starter, leaving his presence hovering and throbbing all around in the air--you stay with him, Flopper, in a back room somewhere and hold his hand. Where is he now?" "In his armchair in the sitting-room," said Helena. "And he's still listening in that queer way he did out on the lawn. I think he knows in a little way what's happened." "That's good," said Madison; "it'll make him happy. Well, lead him gently into retirement. I guess that's all--now hurry." "Who is it that's coming?" interposed Helena quickly, as Madison started away from the window. Madison grinned. "Some friends of the Hopper's. Mr. and Mrs. Thankoffering--you'll like them immensely, Helena. The lady walks quite well now, and--" "Walks!" exclaimed the Flopper, who evidently had not assimilated Madison's previous reference to Mrs. Thornton. "De lady dat I come wid in de private car--_walks_?" "Of course," said Madison pleasantly. "Cured? All cured?" gasped the Flopper. "Of course," said Madison again--complacently. "Say," said the Flopper, "say, I'm goin' dippy. Another one de same as de kid, Doc?" "Same as the kid, Flopper--faith." "Swipe me!" said the Flopper helplessly. --XII-- "SAID THE SPIDER TO THE FLY" By the wheel-chair, Mrs. Thornton, her husband and Doc Madison were in earnest conversation--and around them was a mass of people. The crowd had divided into two, or, rather, was constantly coming and going between two points--young Holmes and Mrs. Thornton--and still the hysteria was upon men and women, still that wavering, moanlike sound floated over the lawn.