“Nutty!” he coughed, and touched his forehead.  “Nothing doing in the upper story—­some one ought to look after him.”

The Flopper, a crippled thing on the ground, fixed Pale Face Harry with a pointed forefinger.

“Youse don’t look like you had many weeps to spare for anybody but yerself—­yer fallin’ to pieces,” said the Flopper.  “I didn’t ask you nor any of youse to butt in—­I was talkin’ to dis lady here”—­he motioned toward a young woman in a wheeled, invalid chair, who, between a trained nurse on one side and a gentleman on the other, was regarding him with a startled expression in her eyes.

She turned now and spoke to the gentleman beside her.

“Robert,” she said, in a low, anxious tone, “do you think that—­that there can be anything in it?”

“Have you lost your head, Naida?” the man laughed.  “The age of miracles has passed.”

“But he is so sure,” she whispered.

“Poppycock!” said her companion contemptuously.

The Flopper, in good, if unfashionable and ready-made clothes, fresh linen, and a clean shave, turned a bright, intelligent face on the man at this remark.

“I guess youse are de kind,” he said, with a grim smile, “dat ain’t had to kill yerself worryin’ much about any kind of trouble, an’ it ain’t nothin’ to you to cut de ground of hope out from another guy’s feet an’ let him slide.  Mabbe you think I’m nutty too, because I know I’m goin’ to be cured—­but it don’t hurt you none to have me think so, does it?  Mabbe someday you might like to hope a little yerself, an’ if—­”

“’Board!  All aboard!”—­the conductor’s voice boomed down the platform.

The young woman leaned forward in her chair toward the Flopper.

“I know what it is to hope,” she said softly.  “Will you come back into our car after awhile?  I’d like to have you tell me more about this.  Please do.”

“Sure,” said the Flopper amiably.  “Sure, mum, I will, if youse wants me to.”

The crowd broke up, hurrying for the train; and the Flopper, dragging a valise along beside him, jerked himself toward the steps.

“Swipe me, if I ain’t got a bite already!” said the Flopper to himself.  “An’ outer a private car, too—­wouldn’t dat bump you!  An’ say, wait till you see de Doc t’row up his dukes when he listens to me handin’ out me sterilized English!”

The brakeman and a kindly-hearted fellow passenger helped the Flopper into the train—­and thereafter for an hour or more, in a first class coach, the Flopper held undisputed sway.  The passengers, flocking from the other cars, filled the aisle and seriously interfered with the lordly movements of the train crew, challenging the conductor’s authority with passive indifference until that functionary, exasperated beyond endurance, threatened to curtail the ride the Flopper had paid for and put him off at the next station—­whereat the passive attitude of the passengers vanished.