, I
pooh-poohed it and steered her off, and then she lost interest in me
right away. But she's right, Mr. Hunt. There's a lot of that kind of
whispered stuff in the air, and I'm mighty glad Susan's off for a year
or two where she can't run into it. It'll all die out before she's back
again, of course."

"I hope so," was my reply; "but the source of these rumors is very
persistent--and very discreet. They start from Mrs. Arthur; they must.
But it's impossible to trace them back to her. Jimmy, she means to make
New Haven impossible for me, and I've an idea she's likely to succeed.
Already, three or four old acquaintances have--well, avoided me, and the
general atmosphere's cooling pretty rapidly toward zero. So far as I'm
concerned, it doesn't much matter; but it does matter for Susan. She may
return to find her whole future clouded by a settled impression that in
some way--indirectly--or even, directly--she was responsible for my
wife's sudden death."

"It's a damned outrage!" exclaimed Jimmy. "I don't know Mrs. Arthur, but
I'd like to wring her neck!"

"So would I, Jimmy; and she knows it. That's why she's finding life
these days so supremely worth living."

Jimmy pondered this. "Gee, I hate to think that badly of any woman," he
finally achieved; "but I guess it doesn't do to be a fool and think
they're all angels--like Susan. Mother's not."

"No, Jimmy, it doesn't do," I responded. "Still, the price for that kind
of wisdom is always much higher than it's worth."

"Women," began Jimmy---- But his aphorism somehow escaped him; he
decided to light a cigarette instead....

And on this wave of cynicism I floated him off with me to _The Puppet
Booth_.

IV

From the point of view of eccentric effectiveness and _reclame_ wonders
had been wrought with the small, ancient, brick stable on Macdougal
Street; but very little had been or could be done for the comfort of its
guests. The flat exterior wall had been stuccoed and brilliantly
frescoed to suggest the entrance to some probably questionable side-show
at a French village fair; and a gay clown with a drum, an adept at
amusing local patter, had been stationed before the door to emphasize
the _funambulesque_ illusion. Within, this atmosphere--as of something
gaudy and transitory, the mere lath-and-canvas pitch of a vagabond
_banquiste_--had been cleverly carried out. The cramped little theater
itself struck one as mere scenery, which was precisely the intention.
T