“Sure,” said the Flopper earnestly.

“Well then, listen,” said Madison.  “The patients have begun to arrive—­there were three of them in to-day.  There’s no more circus parades—­everything’s under the tent after this.  I want you to wean the Patriarch entirely from that front room—­that’s to be free for anybody to enter so’s they can drink in atmosphere—­and see the contribution box.  But they don’t see the Patriarch.  Get his armchair into his own room, make him comfortable there—­get the idea?  Now, there’s no consultation hours—­the Patriarch can’t be seen just by asking for him—­the only chance they get at the Patriarch is by an exercise of patience that’ll work their faith up to a pitch that’ll do them some good.  The harder it is to get a thing, the more it’s worth and the more you want it—­that’s the principle.  See?”

“Sure,” said the Flopper, licking his lips.

“Sometimes,” Madison went on, “you’re to keep the Patriarch under cover for two or three days, while they hang around working themselves into a frenzy.  And when they do see him they have to scramble for it.  You don’t lead him out to them—­ever.  Make them waylay him when you take him for a walk—­make them crawl and hop and show they’ve got faith, make them believe they’ve got faith themselves—­we’ll get some more cures, or near-cures anyway, that way, and we won’t get them any other way, and we’ve got to have some sort of cures coming along fairly regularly.  Do you get me, Flopper?  If there’s a party on a cot a hundred yards away and he begs you to bring the Patriarch to him, say him nay.  Everybody has got to get into the reserved paddock by themselves—­tell them that no man can be cured who has not got the faith to reach the Patriarch by himself—­tell them to get up and walk to him—­tell them what you did.”

“Swipe me!” said the Flopper.  “Say, Doc, youse are de one an’ only.  I gotcher—­put it up to dem everytime.”

“Exactly,” said Madison.  “It’s their move every minute—­make them feel that if they don’t get what they’re after it’s their own fault—­that it’s their own lack of faith that’s to blame.  And the longer they have to wait to see the Patriarch, the more they become impressed that faith is necessary, and—­oh, well, psychology is the greatest jollier of them all.”

“Eh?” inquired the Flopper.  “I ain’t on dere, Doc.”

“It’s very simple,” smiled Madison, “They’ll want to convince themselves that they have got faith, that it’s all bottled up and ready to have the cork drawn when called for, and they’ll prove it to themselves by laying an offering upon the shrine as evidence of faith before the goods are delivered.”

“I gotcher!” said the Flopper enthusiastically.  “Why say, Doc, dat’s de way I’d do meself—­swipe me, if I wouldn’t!”