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Updated: June 1, 2025
What was it? Environment? Yes; there must be something in that. It was having its effect even on Pale Face Harry and the Flopper. What was it that Harry, a surprisingly lusty farmhand now, had said to her a week or so ago: "Say, Helena, do you ever feel that while you was trying to kid the crowd about this living on the square, you was kind of getting kidded yourself? I dunno!
"It's a wise guy dat knows skirts," said the Flopper profoundly; then, with something approaching a sigh: "Say, Doc, dere's a lalapazoozoo, a peach down here." "Hullo!" exclaimed Madison, shooting a hurried and critical glance at the Flopper in the moonlight. "What's this, Flopper what's this? What have you been up to? You're supposed to be attending strictly to business."
"Say, Doc," he said, blinking furiously, "youse can wipe yer feet on me any time youse like dat's wot!" "All right, Flopper," said Doc Madison gravely. "When you've joined Tammany Hall good-night." He followed across the room, and from the doorway watched the two descend the stairs. "Good-night," he said again, then closed the door and came back into the room.
Doc Madison swung Helena lightly down from the table to the head of the couch, sat down beside her, one arm circling her waist, and motioned the Flopper to a chair then he leaned forward and watched Pale Face Harry critically, as the latter carefully replaced the shining little hypodermic in its case.
The Flopper, in good, if unfashionable and ready-made clothes, fresh linen, and a clean shave, turned a bright, intelligent face on the man at this remark. "I guess youse are de kind," he said, with a grim smile, "dat ain't had to kill yerself worryin' much about any kind of trouble, an' it ain't nothin' to you to cut de ground of hope out from another guy's feet an' let him slide.
The door before which he stopped, on a level with the street, might readily have passed for the entrance to one of the adjoining tenements, for it was innocent to all appearances of any connection with the unlovely resort of which it was a part and it was closed. The Flopper rang no bell.
He could understand Helena, and the Flopper, and Pale Face Harry now. With them it had come slowly, in a gradual concatenation, a progression, as it were, that had worked upon them, molding them, changing them day by day and he had been too blind to see, or, seeing, had measured the changes only by a standard as false as all his life had been false.
What was the end? "You were going to say something about Pale Face," she said, prompting the Flopper. "Something about Pale Face and Doc." "Yes," said the Flopper, and again the tip of his tongue sought his lips nervously. "Dat's why I don't want youse ter go out wid Thornton ter-night.
"Mabbe," announced the Flopper tactfully, "mabbe I'd better be gettin' back to me valise we're most dere, ain't we?" Mrs. Thornton turned toward him. "No; please don't go, Mr. Coogan it's too hard for you to get through the train. Sam will get your things as soon as he comes back. Do stay right where you are until we get to Needley." "No; don't think of going, Mr. Coogan," said Thornton savagely.
"I don't know, I am sure," he observed caustically, handing the letter to Miss Harvey, "how the medical profession would stand on this would your school endorse it, nurse?" Miss Harvey read it with her back to the others then she glanced at Mrs. Thornton and checked herself as she was about to speak. She folded the letter slowly and returned it to the Flopper without comment.
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