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.