"Sure!" he chortled. "Sure t'ing! I see. De old geezer'll have a pile of
shekels hid away, an' he lives by his lonesome a mile from de town. We
sneaks down dere, croaks de guy wid de queer monaker, an' beats it wid
de shekels--sure!"

Doc Madison turned a sad gray eye on the Flopper.

"Flopper," said he pathetically, "your soul, like your bones, runs to
rank realism. No; we don't 'croak de guy'--we cherish him, we nurse him,
we fondle him. He's our one best bet, and we fold him to our breasts
tenderly, and we protect him from all harm and danger and sudden death."

The Flopper blinked a little helplessly.

"Mabbe," said the Flopper, "I got de wrong dope. Some of dem words you
read I ain't hip to. Wot's anymaly mean?"

"Anomaly?"--Doc Madison reached for his glass, tossed off the contents
and set it down. "It means, Flopper, in this particular instance," he
said gravely, "that there shouldn't be any interrogation point after the
heading."

Again the Flopper blinked helplessly--and his fingers picked uncertainly
at the stubble on his chin. The other two gazed disconsolately--and
Helena a little pityingly as well--at Doc Madison.

Doc Madison flung out his arms suddenly.

"What's the matter with you all?" he demanded sarcastically. "You look