"I've steered you three through a few deals," said he impressively, "that have sized up big enough to keep you out of the raw vaudeville turn you, Harry, and you, Flopper, are so fond of, and that would have put Helena here on easy street, if you hadn't blown in all you got about ten minutes after you got your hands on it--but I've got one here that sizes up so big you wouldn't be able to spend the money fast enough to close out your bank account if you did your damnedest! Get that? It's the greatest cinch that ever came down from the gateway of heaven--and that's where it came from--heaven. It couldn't have come from anywhere else--it's too good. And it's new, bran new--it's never had the string cut or the wrapper taken off. It's got anything that was ever run beaten by more laps than there are in the track, and it's got a purse tied on to the end of it that's the biggest ever offered since Adam. But you've got to work for it, and that's what I brought you here for to-night--to learn your little pieces so's you can say 'em nice and cute when you get up on the platform before the audience." The Flopper's tongue made a greedy circuit of his upper and under lips, and he hitched his chair closer to the table. A flush spread over Pale Face Harry's cheeks, and his eyes, abnormally bright, grew brighter. "You're all right, Doc," he assured Doc Madison anxiously. "You're all right." "U-uu-mm!" cooed Helena excitedly. "Go on, Doc--go on!" "Listen," said Doc Madison, his voice lowered a little. "I found this tucked away as a filler in a corner of the newspaper this evening. It's headed, 'A New Cult,' with an interrogation mark after it. Now listen, while I read it:" A NEW CULT? Needley, Maine, offers no attraction for aspiring young medical men. One who tried it recently, and who pulled down his shingle in disgust after a week, says competition is too strong, as the village is obsessed with the belief that they have a sort of faith-healer in their midst to whom is attributed cures of all descriptions stretching back for a generation or more. The healer, he adds, who rejoices in the name of the Patriarch and lives in solitude a mile or so from the village, is something of an anomaly in himself, being both deaf and dumb. We-- "But that's all that interests us," said Doc Madison, as he stopped reading abruptly and lifted his head to scrutinize his companions quizzically. Pale Face Harry's eyes had lost their gleam and dulled--he gaped reproachfully at Doc Madison. Helena's small mouth drooped downward in a disappointed _moue_. Only the Flopper evidenced enthusiastic response. "Sure!" he chortled. "Sure t'ing! I see. De old geezer'll have a pile of shekels hid away, an' he lives by his lonesome a mile from de town. We sneaks down dere, croaks de guy wid de queer monaker, an' beats it wid de shekels--sure!" Doc Madison turned a sad gray eye on the Flopper.