“I demand to be released!” gasped the professor. “If you hang onto me you’ll regret it! I’m a desperate man! I’m dangerous!” He had managed to recover his teeth and thrust them back into his mouth, and now Fraud sought to mollify him by restoring his wig, which she placed on his head, hind side foremost. “If this is what the owner of a harem has to endure, I’m thankful I don’t own one,” declared Zenas. Then they patted his cheeks and sought in various ways to pacify him. “We like you,” they protested. “Well, you both have hanged queer ways of showing your affection, that’s all I’ve got to say!” he retorted. “Maybe old Lobster like to kiss me?” questioned Fraud. “No; old Lobster like to kiss me,” declared Fake. “Who told you so much?” sneered Gunn. “We say so, old Lobster have to kiss us,” asserted Fake. “Have to?” gasped the perspiring pedagogue. “Why should I?” “That rule,” explained Fraud. “We want it, no man get away less he do so.” A groan of genuine distress escaped the lips of Zenas. “I’m sure you don’t want it,” he hastened to say. “Just call Mr. Coddington. I’m very ill! I must see a physician at once! Please let me off!” But they were obdurate, both insisting on receiving a kiss from him. “It’s foolishness,” he declared. “You have veils on.” “Oh, we move um,” Fake hastened to say. “We move um,” echoed Fraud. “And then will you call the boss of the house?” “We have him called then,” they promised. “If this ever gets out, my reputation is blasted,” sighed the professor; “but I see no other way to escape from these creatures. I’ll have to submit.” He signified his willingness, whereupon both favorites again clasped him about the neck with an arm, while they prepared to lift their veils with their free hands. “Here goes!” he muttered, turning to Fraud. She lifted her veil. A squawk of astonishment and horror burst from Professor Gunn, for Fraud was black as midnight, with huge red lips, which were parted in a horrible grin. Brass rings dangled from her ears and her nose. “Heavens and earth deliver me!” panted the professor. Then he turned and saw the face of Fake. It was that of an old, haglike creature, wrinkled and hideous, while her mouth was filled with horrible black teeth. A shriek escaped the old man. Like a maniac he tore himself free from their clutches. “Help! Murder!” he yelled. “Come back, old Lobster!” they implored. But he scrambled to his feet and fled from the room, yelling for assistance at every step, and pursued by a burst of laughter from the dancing girls. The professor rushed from the room and into the arms of John Coddington and Colonel Stringer. They grasped him and held fast. “Let go!” he shouted. “Don’t let those creatures catch me! Let go!” “Well, by Jove!” drawled Coddington. “The man is crazy, don’t you know!” “What’s the matter with yo’, professah?” asked the colonel, in apparent amazement. “Have yo’ lost your senses, suh?”