"Who?"—Madison scowled irritably.
"De Patriarch, of course. He's noivous, an' gettin' worse all de time. He won't eat an' he won't keep still. He wants Helena, an' he keeps writin' her name on de slate—he's got me going fer fair."
"Well, I'm not Helena!" growled Madison. "Why doesn't she go to him?"
"Now wouldn't dat sting youse!" ejaculated the Flopper. "How's she goin' to him when she ain't here?"
"Not here?" repeated Madison sharply. "Where is she?"
The Flopper looked down his nose.
"I dunno," said he.
Madison stared at him for a moment—then he reached out and caught the Flopper's arm in a sudden and far from gentle grip.
"Out with it!" he snapped.
"I dunno where she is," said the Flopper, with some reluctance. "She ain't back yet, dat's all."
"Back from where?"—Madison's grip tightened.
The Flopper blinked.
"Aw, wot's de use!" he blurted out, as though his mind, suddenly made up, brought him unbounded relief. "Youse'll find it out anyhow. Say, she went off wid Thornton in de buzz-wagon yesterday, an' I put de Patriarch to bed last night 'cause she wasn't back, an' dat's wot's de matter wid him, she ain't showed up since an' he's near
