"It's what we need to keep up the standard of variety," he said. "We're playing to the masses. Don't you like the rôle, Helena—it's the leading woman's."
"What do I do?" countered Helena non-conmittingly.
"Do?" echoed Doc Madison. "Why, you go down there like a whole parade and a gorgeous pageant rolled into one, in feathers and paint and diamond boulders in your ears—and you come out of it in a gingham apron and coy sunbonnet as sweet sixteen."
"Oh!" said Helena—and her eyes were on the curl of smoke from her cigarette again.
"Say," said Pale Face Harry suddenly, evidently still worried about his cough, "we ain't going to have no easy cinch of this."
"No," said Doc Madison, with a grim smile; "you're not! It's going to be the hardest work any of you have ever done—you've got to lead decent lives for awhile."
"Sure—dat's right," said the loyal Flopper; "but we stands fer anyt'ing dat de Doc says—an' dat goes!"
"It'll come hard on some of us," remarked Pale Face Harry, with a sly glance at Helena, which met with contemptuous silence.
Doc Madison leaned back, felt carefully at his carefully adjusted tie—and smiled engagingly.
"Well?" he asked. "Can you see them coming?"
