Herman was just about to thank her when he happened to look at the table next to him. On that table in plain view were all the books he had suppressed in the last ten years.
This terrible sight restored our hero to himself. Staggering to his feet he let out the famous Pupick war cry and fell upon the dreadful volumes.
“How dare you?” he cried, “fill your home with such lewd and obscene books as these? Don’t you know they are corrupt and dangerous influences? No young girl should be allowed to handle them.”
Wounded though he was, our hero seized the literature which his pure soul found so offensive and tore it into shreds. When he got through, the room looked as if a nanny goat had been sleeping in it.
Just as our bruised and battered killjoy had finished his job, Cutie appeared in the doorway. She was a little overdressed for a Ziegfield chorus, but nobody in their right mind would have barred her out of a school for the blind. She was holding a pair of large lavender pajamas with fancy buttons on the jacket, in her hand. When she saw the room full of torn paper she came to a full stop and sighed.
“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.
