thing, and that was the only thing he cared about, the rest made no odds to him, he was going down to Needley to be cured—and he let them see Mr. Higgins' letter.
A porter from the rear car squirmed and wriggled his way down to the seat occupied by the Flopper.
"Mistah Tho'nton, sah," he announced importantly, "would like to see you in his private car, if you could done make it convenient, sah."
"Sure!" said the Flopper.
The passengers crowded up, standing on the seats and arm-rests, to make room for the Flopper to crawl down the aisle, while the porter preceded him to open the doors.
Through the car in the rear of the one he had occupied, the regular parlor car, the Flopper, a piteous spectacle, made his way—chairs turned, the occupants craned their necks after the deformed and broken creature, while smothered exclamations and little cries of sympathy from the women followed him along. The Flopper's eyes never lifted from the strip of carpet before him, but his lips moved.
"Gee!" he muttered. "Dis has de gape-wagon skun a mile. Wish I could pass de hat—I'd make de killin' of me young life. Pipe de hydrogen hair on de gran'mother wid de sparkler on her thumb an' weeps in her eyes, an' look at de guy wid de yellow gloves rolled back on his wrists to heighten de intelligint look on his face, dat she's kiddin'—I could play dem to a fare-
