“Thought it might be a lead quarter,” said Dan.
“Fever near, sir; fever near!”
“Eh?”
“I said fever near.”
“What’s that?”
“That’s a phrase of reassurance spoken in my new universal language.”
“Your new what?”
“Universal language,” replied Ned gravely, seating himself on the railing. “It’s away ahead of Esperanto, while as for Volapuk—why, Volapuk’s dead and buried. The beauty of my system—”
“What do you call it?”
Ned’s hesitation was infinitesimal, and he answered without the flicker of an eyelash. “Tookeranto. As I was saying, its greatest beauty is its simplicity. You merely change the first letters of your words; I think transpose is the word I should have used. For instance, I say to you, ‘That’s a pice shair of noes you have,’ and you understand me at once.”