VI
Through the silent, deserted streets toward the railroad station John Webster walked with his new woman, Natalie, the Beautiful Washing Machine Girl. He walked with one foot on the curb and one in the gutter. Up and down he went, as with alternate step he now rose toward heaven on the higher foot, now sank toward earth on the lower. It pleased him to walk thus. It seemed to typify the conflict of life, the struggle between the higher and lower natures. Natalie, carrying both bags, wept unceasingly, but inaudibly.
“That is fine,” thought John Webster. “She weeps with dignity. But she walks with both feet on the sidewalk.”
“Come, woman,” he said. “Walk as I do, with one foot in the gutter. That will do for a starter. Both of them and all the rest of you will be in the gutter, when I am through with you. Better get used to it gradually.”
Natalie, still weeping, audibly now, obeyed. And so there in the darkness of the night, John Webster and his pro tempore soul mate, Natalie, the congenital dumbbell, went on their way, up and down, up and down, one foot in the gutter, one on the curb.
VII
They came to where narrow strips of grass bordered the sidewalk. These gave John Webster a new and glorious thought.
“See the grass strips!” he cried; “the beautiful grass strips! All flesh is grass; therefore, let us strip also.”
He began, unsystematically but vigorously, enthusiastically, to remove his clothing. Natalie’s weeping now lost all its dignity. She bellowed enormously. She woke the echoes and a policeman.
And, so you see, there is John Webster in a great house maintained by the State of Wisconsin for all who think such great thoughts. He is free from the worries of women, wives and washing machines; carefree in all respects save one—his straitjacket is obviously a ready-made garment.