And presently to Madison it seemed as though he had awakened from some terrifying dream, as, in the Patriarch's room again, he swept away a bead of sweat from his forehead, and stood and looked at the Patriarch and the Flopper.
The Flopper licked his lips, and pulled the Patriarch's chair forward—but his hands trembled violently.
"It's been gettin' me, Doc," he whispered, "an' I can't help it. It's been gettin' into me all de time. Say, I wisht it was over. Honest to God I do! Dis—dis makes me queer. Say, de Patriarch's got me, Doc—an'—an'—say—dere's been somethin' goin' on inside me dat's got me hard."
Madison did not answer—but he started suddenly—and as suddenly stepped to the window and looked out. Over the cries, the wailings, the confused medley of voices, growing lower now, subsiding, there had come the throb of a motor car.
Madison's eyes narrowed—that was supreme again. A car was coming to a stop before the porch—Thornton was helping Helena to alight.
Madison turned and caught the Flopper's arm in a fierce, imperative grasp.
"You keep your mouth shut—do you hear?" he flung out, clipping off his words. "You haven't seen me to-day—understand!" And, dropping the Flopper's arm, he stepped quickly across the little hall to Helena's door, opened it, went in—and closed the door behind him.
