I want," said Helena petulantly. Her chin went into her hands, and she stared wide-eyed at the breaking surf. "I wonder what it all means?" she murmured, with a mirthless little laugh.
Her thoughts began to run riot. What did it all mean? What was this faith? There was, there must be something in it. There was the Holmes boy—suppose it was only some nervous disorder—well, something had risen superior to whatever it was and had cured him. There was Naida Thornton—true, she was ill again—her heart, Mr. Thornton had said—but she could still walk, a thing she had not been able to do for a long time until she came to Needley.
Helena laughed again—oh, it was a good game! The Doc had made no mistake about that—but then, when it came to planting anything the Doc rarely did make a mistake. Fancy fifty thousand dollars in one haul! Fifty thousand in one haul! The bank had sent her a passbook with that amount to her credit. And that was only the beginning—hardly anybody had come yet, and already there was several hundred dollars more in real money that she had handed over to Madison from the offering box.
Money! They'd have more money than they'd know what to do with before they got through—there was nothing the matter with the game—all there was to do was to play it to a finish. And there wasn't the slightest risk about it—everything was given voluntarily. Oh, the game was all right—but somehow she wasn't happy—not
