"'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!