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Updated: June 1, 2025
Wot fer?" said the Flopper, with withering spontaneity. "Noo Yoik fer mine." "Well, all right New York it is, then," agreed Doc Madison. "You're poor, but respectable and that brings us to the other point.
"Right here," smiled Doc Madison, handing him the clipping. "Here's a trainload and a bank vault full of them combined. Put it away, Flopper, and don't lose it. Lose anything you've got first lose your life. It's worth a private car to you with a buffet full of fizz, and Sambo to wait on you for the rest of your life. Get that? Don't lose it!"
"Say, Helena," protested the Flopper, "don't youse " But Helena stepped by him now. "Don't leave the Patriarch," she cautioned, turning on the threshold. "I I won't be late."
Some spoke to him now and in pity offered to get him a horse and wagon, offered even to carry him but the Flopper shook his head. "'Tain't goin' to be but a few minutes now," he panted in an exalted voice, "before I'm cured I got de faith to know dat I got de faith." And the crippled lad upon the crutch beside him urged him on.
"Eh?" inquired the Flopper. "I ain't on dere, Doc." "It's very simple," smiled Madison, "They'll want to convince themselves that they have got faith, that it's all bottled up and ready to have the cork drawn when called for, and they'll prove it to themselves by laying an offering upon the shrine as evidence of faith before the goods are delivered."
Flopper, or, as he called her, "Flopsie," the coachman, and Lady Winsleigh's own maid, Louise Renaud, a prim, sallow-faced Frenchwoman, who, by reason of her nationality, was called by all the inhabitants of the kitchen, "mamzelle," as being a name both short, appropriate, and convenient.
"Oh, hurry up and give us the rest of it," purred Helena. "We know we're an all-star cast, all right." "Very good," said Doc Madison and laughed. "Well then, the order of your stage cues will depend on circumstances and what turns up down there, but we'll start with the Flopper now. First of all, Flopper, you've got to have a name.
"Dis is de limit fer fair!" Perturbed and uncertain what to do, he tried to catch Doc Madison's eye again, but a movement in the crowd had hidden Madison. Some one in the crowd, the lingerie drummer, getting the grim humor of the situation, laughed and the laugh came like a challenge, taunting the quick-tempered, turbulent soul of the Flopper. "Come on, mister!" urged the boy excitedly.
"He's he's lookin' fer Helena." And then Madison shook himself together and smiled ironically. And at the smile the Flopper hurried on. Madison stepped out onto the porch. Helena! Helena! Within him seemed to burn a rage of hell; but it seemed, too, most strangely that for the moment this rage was held in abeyance, that something temporarily supplanted it this scene before him.
I'm just goin' dere fer fun an' spendin' me last red to get dere. Say" his voice snapped "wot do youse t'ink I am, anyway?" "Surely, Robert," said Mrs. Thornton gently, "it is evident enough that he believes it." Thornton did not look at her he was still gazing at the Flopper, his brows knitted. "How long have you been like this?" he demanded sharply. "All me life," said the Flopper.
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