At this point Herman’s one good eye bulged out of his head like a ripe mushroom. One peek at Cutie’s injured fox trotter filled him with a nameless rage. “How dare you!” he cried, addressing Officer Murphy. “How dare you take advantage of this maiden’s mishap and expose her person to the lewd eyes of this crowd? Unhand her!” Officer Murphy dropped the hem of Cutie’s dress and a great sigh went up from the cock-eyed multitude. “Come with me,” Herman spoke, a ring of authority in his voice, and seizing Cutie’s arm he escorted her to the new Methodist Book Store in the Temple Building, for our hero was a great reader. “Now,” said Herman, mopping his brow, “you are safe. Be not afraid.” “Say, bozo,” Cutie said, handing him an O. O., which would have discouraged Former Attorney General Daugherty, “what kind of a racket is this? I am just an honest little kiddie trying to get along.” From which it can be seen that our heroine thought it was a pinch. Still trembling with rage, Herman handed her one of his blackmailing cards. “Here,” he said, “is my name and vocation.” “Oh, Herman Pupick, Censor and Reformer,” Cutie read out loud. “My Gawd, the Arsenic Kid. Oh, Papa’s lost his teeth. Send for the monkey gland wagon. So you are a reformer?” “Yes,” said Herman. “What kind of reforming do you specialize in?” continued Cutie. “Maybe I can be a great help to you.” “Sin,” answered Herman, “any kind of sin. Wherever I find things which incite to lewdness and debauchery, there my duty lies.” “Amen, brother, mine too,” cried Cutie. And lifting up her dress she eyed her knee with concern. “I take it,” she murmured, “that splinters are not in your line.” Herman Pupick closed his glass eye. For a moment he stood his ground. Then he fainted. “Where am I?” he muttered five minutes later when his stricken senses returned. “I’ll bite, where are you?” echoed Cutie. “When last seen you were counting moth balls in a Swedish restaurant.” “Ah, it all comes back to me now,” gurgled our woozy smut hound. “God drew a veil before my eyes to shut out that evil spectacle.” And lifting his fanny off the floor Herman pointed his forefinger at our heroine. “You spawn of Hell,” he cried, “you painted Jezebel, don’t try to work your sinful wiles on me. I know you for what you are, a cigarette smoking, rum guzzling creature of the underworld. Begone to your devil’s lair. You soul wrecker luring innocent men to their doom with your corruptions.” “Say,” Cutie broke in, “you poor kidney-footed clown, you one-eyed leftover, how do you get that way? What Lost Manhood advertisement have you been reading? Go on, get back into your manhole before some enterprising undertaker lays a lamp on you.” “Me trying to lure you,” Cutie continued, having taken a fresh breath. “I would just as soon get amorous with a blue-nosed Mandril. A gimp like you takes my appetite away for a week. Come on, beat it, poison ivy, before I start calling you any hard names.”