“The government is paying me $29 a week to clean up the nation,” said our hero simply, taking Cutie in his arms one evening, “and I can do more good where I am.”
Mrs. Pupick didn’t read the newspapers because she had no interest in rape. When Herman failed to report for his farina the first morning, Mrs. Pupick was worried. She feared he might have been run over by a kiddie car.
All that day she sat and waited. At night she prayed and sang hymns. But it did no good. So at dawn she telephoned her neighbor’s husband who was a dog catcher for a Greek restaurant and asked him if he had seen our hero.
When he said he hadn’t seen Herman for two days, Mrs. Pupick put on her Sunday wig and sat in front of the parlor window.
On the ninth day this onion sack was rewarded for her vigil. Looking out of the window, she saw her missing link parading down the street with three dizzy broads hanging on his arms. “The Lord have mercy on my poor soul,” gulped Mrs. Pupick, and fell to the floor with a crash.
When she opened her eyes, Herman was bending over her. He had unbuttoned her cast iron shirt waist to give her air. Mrs. Pupick pulled the rug over her in confusion and sat up.
“Where have you been?” she demanded.
Our hero breathed with relief.
“Thank God you are alive!” he lied like a dog. “I have been busy censoring and reforming, my dear. I want you to meet my assistants.”
Taking a fire gong out of his pocket Herman smote it with a monkey wrench. Three vampires leaped out of the kitchen in response. One of them was Cutie, the other two were her sisters in God.