"Look here," he said bluntly, "you don't mean to say that you believe this seriously, do you?"
"Oh, no!" said the Flopper softly. "Nothin' like dat! Of course I don't believe it! I'm only guyin' myself—see? 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. "I was born dat way."
"And you expect to go down here and by some means, which I must confess is quite beyond my ability to grasp, be cured in a miraculous manner!"—Thornton smiled tolerantly.
"Sure, I do!" asserted the Flopper doggedly. "If he's done it fer de crowd dere, why can't he do it fer me? Didn't de postmaster say all yer gotter have is faith? Well, I got de faith—an' I got it hard enough to stake all I got on it. Dis time to-morrow—say, dis time to-morrow I wouldn't change places wid any man in de United States."
Thornton's tolerant smile deepened.
"I guess you're sincere enough," he said; "and I'm not trying to cut the ground of hope out from under your feet, as you put it out on the platform
