“My Gawd,” she muttered, “he’s gone cuckoo again. Say,” she said aloud, “come out of it, Ophelia. You have had a large evening and there’s no use trying to stage an encore at this hour. Here, I think this sleeping bag will just fit you.” And our little life restorer held up the lavender pajamas. Herman Pupick stood with his one eye riveted on his hostess as if she were the chariot scene from Ben Hur. SEVENTH ACT _In which Herman Pupick Makes a Convert_ SEVENTH ACT When Herman Pupick, the celebrated censor and reformer came to life the next morning, he was dressed in a pair of silk lavender pajamas. Even so, he looked like a cross between a chop suey pedlar and the inside of an Odd Fellow’s coffin. “Good morning,” said Cutie, as our hero opened his one good eye to this unaccustomed sight at the foot of his haystack. For Cutie, risen from the morning tub, crowded her two hundred dollar kimona like a freshly inflated brand new inner tube. “My Gawd,” continued our heroine, after a long look at the piece of rat bait occupying the company couch, “I forgot all about you being out here. I must have got my dates mixed. You are Mr. Pupick, the celebrated censor and reformer, if I remember right.” “Yes,” moaned Herman, “but I must have met with an accident.” “All right,” said Cutie, “you can use the bathroom.” Ten minutes later, our hero came bounding out and stood jumping up and down in the middle of the room. “I have received a message,” he gurgled, “from on High. It is a plan to rid the country of all lewd and obscene literature overnight.” Throwing himself on the floor in front of Cutie, our hero sunk his false teeth into her ankle and barked for more. “You are my inspiration,” Herman cried. “Until you came into my life, I was only an ordinary censor and reformer. Now I feel new vigor in my veins. I feel strong enough to stamp out the entire sins of our age.” Cutie reached for a crowbar which was standing on the mantlepiece and as she did so her kimona carried the ball for ten yards around the left end. Herman couldn’t restrain himself and raised his voice in song. “When Jesus shows his shining face there is sunshine in my soul,” our hero chanted. “Stand up, poison ivy,” Cutie interrupted, kicking him under the chin, “and if you try to bite me once more I will play taps on your skull with this crowbar. I won’t stand for your making love to me unless you use a pair of iceman’s tongs and a mask. You are a very rough man, Herman, besides which you have a face which in its happiest moments reminds me of a cow pasture, it being so full of places I can’t look.” “Oh, my dear young woman,” our hero moaned, “you have failed to understand me. You are my inspiration for higher things. You do not know how lewd and wicked is the world. How dangerous it is for little children to grow up surrounded by lewd and obscene literature.” Herman’s potato head fell despairingly on Cutie’s knee.