This was too much for our hero. After pulling wildly at his hair he let out a deep groan and collapsed into the wastebasket. Dr. Kukuheimer revived him with an ice pick. “Oh, God!” murmured Herman, “was there anybody saved?” “Sit up and I will tell you what’s the matter with you,” answered Dr. Kukuheimer. “You are among friends.” Herman sneaked a look at the empty screen, and sighed. “Yes,” spoke the doctor, “you are in a bad way. You have all the complexes. A wonderful case. My record shows you have a highly developed Oedipus Rex Complex, a homosexual complex and a distinct touch of necrophilia. You are also suffering from a pronounced masochistic neurosis with catamite tendencies, and it is obvious that you are a pathologic fetichist with malignant satyriasis compulsions.” Our hero, when he heard this, broke down and wept like a school boy. “What do you advise, doctor?” he gulped. “Well,” Dr. Kukuheimer answered, “I would suggest that you shoot yourself. The sooner the better.” Herman handed the clever man twenty-five charlies and staggered off the premises like a one-legged turtle. SCENE FIVE _In which Cutie Steps On the Gas_ SCENE FIVE Cutie, our little warm mamma, was decorating the flesh-pots this happy evening. Two lounge serpents named Morris and Bartlett had taken her to the Rainbo Gardens where there was a snake dance going on. At ten o’clock Morris had taken the count and Bartlett was sitting with his dogs hanging out of the window to cool. Cutie, however, was still in the ring. Our little twelve-cylinder butterfly had attracted a great deal of attention. As a dancer Cutie had Ruth St. Denis looking like a matzos peddler. St. Vitus himself would have copped fourth prize as a study in still life alongside of her. Nothing but a slow motion camera could do Cutie justice when she let her manners slip. Among the side line sheiks who were K. Oing our quicksilver stepper was Herman Pupick, the celebrated censor and reformer. Herman was in disguise. He was wearing a large black mustache and a pair of green spats. From a short distance Herman looked like a laboratory specimen playing hookey. Our hero had sneaked into the Garden in answer to the call of duty. Since his visit to Dr. Kukuheimer he had been working over-time censoring and reforming in a mad effort to put Cutie out of his mind. While this Nature’s Blunder was taking notes on the low stuff happening before his one eye, he suddenly let out a stifled squawk. Cutie herself had sailed past him. At first Herman thought it was all a dream. He pinched himself to see if he was awake. But he was dead from the neck both ways so it didn’t count. In the meantime, Cutie had discovered our hero. She penetrated his disguise at a glance. You can hide a light under a bushel but it is much harder for a pole-cat to conceal himself. “My Gawd!” cried Cutie, turning in her tracks, “If it ain’t nature’s little nobleman, Mr. Pupick.”