"de Patriarch's been askin' fer youse yesterday an' to-day."
"Asking?" repeated Madison.
"Sure," said the Flopper. "He can scrawl if he is blind, can't he? He scrawls yer name on de slate. We can't tell him nothin', an' he's kinder got de fidgets like he t'inks youse had flown de coop."
"That's so," said Madison. "It is rather difficult to communicate with him, isn't it? I guess we'll have to get him some raised letters."
"What's them?" inquired the Flopper.
"I don't know exactly," Madison answered. "I never saw any, but I believe they have such things. Been asking for me, has he? Well, I'll fix it to see him to-morrow. Where did you say Helena had gone?"
"I said she was out," said the Flopper. "If you ask me where, I'd say de same place as last night an' de night before—down to dat private car wid his nibs. Say, dere's some class to dat guy all right, an' I guess Helena ain't got her eyes shut."
"Hey!" ejaculated Madison. "What do you mean?"
"Well, he's got de rocks, ain't he?" declared the Flopper. " Why shouldn't she be after him? Dat's wot we're here fer, ain't it, de whole bunch of us?—an' she ain't t'rowin' us, is she, if she sees a chanst to pick up somet'ing on her own?"
Madison turned quickly on the Flopper.
"You mean," he said sharply, "that there's
