without hesitation, the Flopper began to mount, his knee
thumping from step to step, his dangling leg echoing the sound in a
peculiar; quick double thump. He reached the first landing, went along
it, and started up the second flight--but now the thumping sound he made
seemed accentuated intentionally, and upon his face there spread a grin
of malicious humor.

He halted before the door opposite the head of the second flight of
stairs, opened it, wriggled inside and shut it behind him.

"Hullo, Helena!" he snickered. "Pipe me comin'?"

The room was a fairly large one, gaudily appointed with cheap
furnishings, one of the Roost's private parlors--a girl on a couch in
the corner had raised herself on her elbow, and her dark eyes were fixed
uncompromisingly upon the Flopper, but she made no answer.

The Flopper laughed--then a spasm seemed to run through him, a horrible
boneless contortion of limbs and body, a slippery, twitching movement,
a repulsive though almost inaudible clicking of rehabilitated
joints--and the Flopper stood erect.

The girl was on her feet, her eyes flashing.

"Can that stunt!" she cried angrily. "You give me the shivers! Next time
you throw your fit, you throw it before you come around me, or I'll make
you wish you had--see?"

The Flopper was swinging legs and arms to restore a normal channel of
circulation.

"Y'oughter get used to it," said he, with a grin. "Ain't Pale Face Harry
come yet, an' where's the Doc?"

"Behind the axe under the table," said the girl tartly--and flung
herself back on the couch.

"T'anks," said the Flopper. "Say, Helena, wot's de new lay de Doc has
got up his sleeve?"

Helena made no answer.

"Is yer grouch painin' you so's yer tongue's hurt?" inquired the Flopper
solicitously.

Still no answer.

"Well, go to the devil!" said the Flopper politely.

He resumed the swinging of his arms and legs, but stopped suddenly a
moment later as a step, sounded outside in the hall and he turned
expectantly.

A young man, thin, emaciated, with gaunt, hollow face, abnormally bright
eyes and sallow skin, entered. He was well, but modestly, dressed; and
he coughed a little now, as though the two flights' climb had overtaxed
him--it was the man who had headed the subscription list to the Flopper
half an hour before in front of Black Ike's Auditorium.

"Hello, Helena!" he greeted, nodding toward the couch. "I shook the
rubber-neck bunch at Ike's, Flopper. That was a peach