all me Lefty if you
want to. I'm not your darlin' Billy."

"I tole the truth and you hate me for it!" she said hotly. "I was
afeered of that."

"'Afeered!'" I sneered. "All that corn pone and chitterlin's dialect!
You can cut that out, too, can't you? Wasn't that just part of your
local color?"

"Sort of," she admitted, switching to the neutral American dialect.
"Yes, I can cut that out, too, Lefty."

"Good. I'm willing to take a couple of chances with that old goat,
because I believe in you. I saw you in action in Nevada, and you sold
me that you have some Psi powers. We'll work on your healing, as
Maragon suggested. But I want to have your precognition tested. Just
keep your mouth shut about it here in the Lodge, do you hear?"

She nodded.

"All right," I said. "I'll have to make some arrangements, or Maragon
will have my scalp. In the meantime, why don't you fix up so we can go
out to dinner?"

She gave me a look of adoration that would have curdled fresh milk.
"Oh, Lefty, I'd love that." And then her face fell. "But I don't have
a thing to wear!"

I don't think she was exactly a moocher. She _didn't_ have anything to
wear, when I thought of it. "Sure," I said more mildly. "Well, that's
the good part of getting some training here. The Lodge will take care
of your needs. Just call the girl on the desk and say you need some
clothes. She'll send somebody over from one of the department stores."

Pheola's eyes grew round. Ordinarily she squinted when she wanted to
see anything. "What should I get?"

"Start from the skin and work out," I told her. "Tell the department
store you'll be working in an office, and that you'll need a couple of
cocktail dresses and wraps for evening, too. Get lots of shoes. O.K.?"

Was it ever!

I had an idea that clothes would be quite a change for Pheola. I had
met her only three days before, in a Nevada gambling house. She'd made
for me like a lode-star, called me her Billy Joe and announced that I
would be her next husband. I'll tell you, that was a shocker. I'm not
about to marry anybody. She was as tall as I was, which isn't so very
much for a man, skinny to the point of emaciation, wearing a
"borrowed" dress that didn't fit, and had that unmistakable slatternly
look that you associate with white trash. On top of that, she was vain
enough about her bucktoothed and pointed-nose features to keep her
glasses in her purse, and as a result she went around peering at you
from a