"Naw! Wot fer?" said the Flopper, with withering spontaneity. "Noo Yoik
fer mine."

"Well, all right--New York it is, then," agreed Doc Madison. "You're
poor, but respectable--and that brings us to the other point. Before you
go down there, Helena's going to start a little night-school with a
grammar, and teach you to paddle along the fringe of the great American
language so's you won't fall in and get wet all over every time you open
your mouth."

"My!" exclaimed Helena. "Won't that be nice!"

"I hope so," said Doc Madison drily. "And don't run away with the idea
that I'm joking about this--that goes. I don't expect to make a
silver-tongued orator out of you, Flopper, and perhaps not even a
purist--but I hope to eradicate a few minor touches of Bad Land
vernacular from your vocabulary."

"I've gotcher--swipe me!" grinned the Flopper. "Me at school! Say,
wouldn't that put a smile on de maps of de harness bulls, an' de dips,
an' de lags doin' spaces up de river!"

"Quite so," admitted Doc Madison pleasantly.

"You won't laugh when I get through with you," remarked Helena, her eyes
on the curl of smoke from her cigarette.

"There's just one more thing," went on Doc Madison, "and I'm through
with you, Flopper. Don't come down there looking like a skate--that's
too raw. Get new clothes and a shave--and keep shaved. And from the