Still trembling with rage, Herman handed her one of his blackmailing cards.
“Here,” he said, “is my name and vocation.”
“Oh, Herman Pupick, Censor and Reformer,” Cutie read out loud. “My Gawd, the Arsenic Kid. Oh, Papa’s lost his teeth. Send for the monkey gland wagon. So you are a reformer?”
“Yes,” said Herman.
“What kind of reforming do you specialize in?” continued Cutie. “Maybe I can be a great help to you.”
“Sin,” answered Herman, “any kind of sin. Wherever I find things which incite to lewdness and debauchery, there my duty lies.”
“Amen, brother, mine too,” cried Cutie. And lifting up her dress she eyed her knee with concern. “I take it,” she murmured, “that splinters are not in your line.”
Herman Pupick closed his glass eye. For a moment he stood his ground. Then he fainted.
“Where am I?” he muttered five minutes later when his stricken senses returned.
“I’ll bite, where are you?” echoed Cutie. “When last seen you were counting moth balls in a Swedish restaurant.”