CHAPTER III.
IN PRIMORDIAL BIOGEN.
His penance done, the Mystic of Kankakee presented himself once more at the soda fountain. He was paler, slimmer and altogether more effective than before. He was faultlessly groomed in pearl gray. His head was held high—by an immaculate collar. He was shod in patent leathers, and white spats peeped chastely below his upturned trousers. His gloved hand grasped the middle of a large cane for support.
“Do you, William K. Vanderhook, hope or expect to marry Imogene Silesia Sheets?”
Young Mr. Vanderhook, who was replenishing the soda fountain, startled for the moment, dropped a large chunk of ice, thereby overturning several bottles of syrup.
“If—So—You—Must—Re—lin—quish—Her.”
“Now, what are you givin’ me?” growled Bill, as he turned upon his chum, and as he did so snapped the cover of the soda fountain with unnecessary violence.
“Merely this,” said Alonzo Leffingwell, slightly raising his monotone,—“You persuaded me to break my vow. You inveigled me into looking upon woman. I had warned you, pleaded with you to let me out of this. You heeded not. I hinted at penalties. You sneered. You did not believe me. You insisted. I yielded. But you have assumed the consequences. You have defied Destiny. But my unsophisticated friend, you have bound yourself to accept the results. You played with Fate. The law is relentless. Rash boy, you have invoked dire karmic consequences.”