The Flopper tucked the clipping into the mysterious recess of his shirt.

“Say,” he said earnestly, “if you say so, Doc, it’ll be here when dey plant me.”

“All right, Flopper,” nodded Doc Madison.  “And now let’s get down to cases.  I’ve been able to pay my club dues lately, and there’s money enough on deck to buy the costumes and put the show on the road.  I start for Needley as soon as I can get away.  When I’m ready for the support, you three will hear from me—­and in the meantime you lay low.  Nothing doing—­understand?  You’ll get all the lime-light you want before you’re through, and it’s just as well not to show up so familiar when they throw the spot on you that even the school kids will know the date of your birth, and the population will start in squabbling over the choice of reserved niches for you in the Hall of Fame.  See?”

The Flopper, Pale Face Harry and Helena nodded their heads with one accord.

“Give us the whole lay, Doc,” urged Pale Face Harry.  “And give it to us quick.”

“Me mouth’s waterin’,” observed the Flopper, licking his lips again.

Helena lighted another cigarette, and swung herself back to her perch on the head of the couch.

Doc Madison surveyed the three with mingled admiration and delight.

“The world is ours!” he murmured softly.

“Oh, hurry up and give us the rest of it,” purred Helena.  “We know we’re an all-star cast, all right.”

“Very good,” said Doc Madison—­and laughed.  “Well then, the order of your stage cues will depend on circumstances and what turns up down there, but we’ll start with the Flopper now.  First of all, Flopper, you’ve got to have a name.  What’s your real name—­what did they decorate you with at the baptismal font back in the dark ages?”

The Flopper scrubbed at his very dirty chin with a very dirty thumb and forefinger.

“I dunno,” said the Flopper anxiously.

“Well, never mind,” said Doc Madison reassuringly.  “Maybe you are blessed above most people—­you can pick one out for yourself.  What’ll it be?”

The Flopper’s thumb and forefinger scratched desperately for a moment, then his face lighted with inspiration.

“Swipe me!” said he excitedly.  “I got it—­Jimmy de Squirm.”

Doc Madison shook his head gravely.

“No, Flopper, I’m afraid not,” he said gently.  “That’s another weak point in your interpretation of the role, that I’ll come to in a minute.  We’ll give you an Irish name by way of charity—­it’ll help to make your classical English sound like brogue.  We’ll call you Coogan—­Michael Coogan—­that lets you off with plain Mike in times of stress.”

“Swipe me!” said the Flopper, with perfect complacence.

“Glad it pleases you,” smiled Doc Madison, “Here’s your lay, then.  You’ve got to remember that you were born crooked and—­”

Helena giggled.

“I didn’t mean it”—­Doc Madison’s gray eyes twinkled.  “You are waking up, too, Helena.  I mean, Flopper, you’ve got to remember that you were born twisted up into the same shape you are in when you hit Needley.  You come from—­let’s see—­we’ll have to have a big city where the next door neighbors pass each other with a vacant stare.  Ever been in Chicago?”