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Excerpt from The Miracle ManThe passengers began to pour from the long seats to the ground. The Flopper's hat was in his hand.About the PublisherForgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.comThis book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.

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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--

This is a narrative that deals with a con man named Doc. Together with his friends and with a man who could work miracles, he sets out to dupe a whole town. The naivet of those who believe without pondering has been analyzed here. At the same time the genius that enables the group to trick the whole town has been presented with astounding brilliance!

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This is a narrative that deals with a con man named ''Doc''. Together with his friends and with a man who could work miracles, he sets out to dupe a whole town. The naivet of those who believe without pondering has been analyzed here. At the same time the genius that enables the group to trick the whole town has been presented with astounding brilliance!

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.