The Miracle Man 
 
The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Miracle Man, by Frank L. 
Packard This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and 
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Title: The Miracle Man 
Author: Frank L. Packard 
Release Date: April 7, 2005 [EBook #15578] 
Language: English 
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE 
MIRACLE MAN *** 
 
Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Pilar Somoza and the Online 
Distributed Proofreading Team. 
 
THE MIRACLE MAN 
BY FRANK L. PACKARD 
AUTHOR OF GREATER LOVE HATH NO MAN, ETC.
NEW YORK GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS 
1914 
TO NEARLY EVERYBODY 
 
CONTENTS 
CHAPTER 
I 
THE "ROOST" 
II A NEW CULT 
III NEEDLEY 
IV THE PATRIARCH 
V A STRANGE CONVERSATION 
VI OFFICIALLY ENDORSED 
VII THE PATRIARCH'S GRAND NIECE 
VIII IN WHICH THE BAIT IS NIBBLED 
IX THE PILGRIMAGE 
X THE MIRACLE 
XI THE AFTERMATH 
XII "SAID THE SPIDER TO THE FLY" 
XIII REAL MONEY
XIV KNOTTING THE STRINGS 
XV THE MIRACLE OVERDONE 
XVI A FLY IN THE OINTMENT 
XVII IN WHICH HELENA TAKES A RIDE 
XVIII THE BOOMERANG 
XIX THE SANCTUARY OF DARKNESS 
XX TO THE VICTOR ARE THE SPOILS 
XXI FACE VALUE 
XXII THE SHRINE 
XXIII THE WAY OUT 
XXIV VALE! 
 
THE MIRACLE MAN 
 
--I-- 
THE "ROOST" 
He was a misshapen thing, bulking a black blotch in the night at the 
entrance of the dark alleyway--like some lurking creature in its lair. He 
neither stood, nor kneeled, nor sat--no single word would describe his 
posture--he combined all three in a sort of repulsive, formless heap. 
The Flopper moved. He came out from the alleyway onto the pavement, 
into the lurid lights of the Bowery, flopping along knee to toe on one 
leg, dragging the other leg behind him--and the leg he dragged was
limp and wobbled from the knee. One hand sought the pavement to 
balance himself and aid in locomotion; the other arm, the right, was 
twisted out from his body in the shape of an inverted V, the palm of his 
hand, with half curled, contorted fingers, almost touching his chin, as 
his head sagged at a stiff, set angle into his right shoulder. Hair 
straggled from the brim of a nondescript felt hat into his eyes, and 
curled, dirty and unshorn, around his ears and the nape of his neck. His 
face was covered with a stubble of four days' growth, his body with 
rags--a coat; a shirt, the button long since gone at the neck; and trousers 
gaping in wide rents at the knees, and torn at the ankles where they 
flapped around miss-mated socks and shoes. 
A hundred, two hundred people passed him in a block, the populace of 
the Bowery awakening into fullest life at midnight, men, women and 
children--the dregs of the city's scum--the aristocracy of upper Fifth 
Avenue, of Riverside Drive, aping Bohemianism, seeking the lure of 
the Turkey Trot, transported from the Barbary Coast of San Francisco. 
Rich and poor, squalor and affluence, vice and near-vice surged by him, 
voicing their different interests with laughter and sobs and soft words 
and blasphemy, and, in a sort of mocking chorus, the composite effect 
rose and fell in pitiful, jangling discords. 
Few gave him heed--and these few but a cursory, callous glance. The 
Flopper, on the inside of the sidewalk, in the shadow of the buildings, 
gave as little as he got, though his eyes were fastened sharply, now 
ahead, now, screwing around his body to look behind him, on the faces 
of the pedestrians as they passed; or, rather, he appeared to look 
through and beyond those in his immediate vicinity to the ones that 
followed in his rear from further down the street, or approached him 
from the next corner. 
Suddenly the Flopper shrank into a doorway. From amidst the crowd 
behind, the yellow flare of a gasoline lamp, outhanging from a 
secondhand shop, glinted on brass buttons. An officer, leisurely 
accommodating his pace to his own monarchial pleasure, causing his 
hurrying fellow occupants of the pavement to break and circle around 
him, sauntered casually by. The Flopper's black eyes contracted with
hate and a scowl settled on his face, as he watched the policeman pass; 
then, as the other was lost again in the crowd ahead, he once more 
resumed his progress down the block. 
The Flopper crossed the intersecting street, his leg trailing a helpless, 
sinuous path on its not over-clean surface, and started along the next 
block. Halfway down was a garishly lighted establishment. When near 
this the Flopper began to hurry desperately, as from further along the 
street again his ear caught the peculiar raucous note of an    
    
		
	
	
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