ashed into a brewery wagon and at the bottom of the
column a taxi has run over a golden-haired little girl at play.

But why has Raymond S. Cotton, wealthy clubman and financier and
prominent in north-shore society circles, disappeared? Society circles
are agog. Sometimes society circles are merely disturbed. But they are
always active. Society circles are always running around waving
lorgnettes and exclaiming, "Dear me, and what do you think of this? I am
all agog." The police are combing the city for a woman in black last
seen with the prominent Mr. Cotton in a notorious cafe. But a man is to
be hanged in the County Jail. "The doomed man ate a hearty breakfast of
ham and eggs and seemed in good spirits." Fancy that!

"Flames Destroy Warehouse, Two Firemen Hurt." This, in small apologetic
type like a footnote on a timetable. Inconsiderate firemen who take up
important space on a crowded day!

Apology ceases. Here is something that requires no apology. It is
extremely important. Wilbur Jennings, prominent architect, has defied
the world and departed for a Love Bungalow in Minnesota with another
man's wife. A picture of Wilbur in flowing bow tie and set jaws defying
the world. Also of his inamorata in a ball gown, eyes lowered to a rose
drooping from her hand. Various wives and chubby-faced children, and the
inamorata's Siberian hound, "Jasper." What he said. What she said. What
they said. Opinions of three ministers, roused on the telephone by
inquiring reporters. The three divines are unanimous. But Wilbur's tie
remains defiant.

Arm in arm with Wilbur, his tie and his troubles, his epigrams and his
Love Bungalow, sits an epidemic of clairvoyants. There is an epidemic
of clairvoyants in the city. Five widows have been swindled. The police
are combing the city for ... a prominent professor of sociology on the
faculty of the local university interrupts. The prominent professor has
been captured in a leading Loop hotel whither he had gone to divert
himself with a suitcase, a handbook on sex hygiene, and an admiring
co-ed.

This, waiting for an hour to pass, the city reads. Crimes, scandals,
horrors, holocausts, burglaries, arsons, murders, deceptions. The city
reads with a vague, dull skepticism. Who are these people of the
newspaper columns? Lusting scoundrels, bandits, heroes, wild lovers,
madmen? Not in the streets or the houses that tick-tock through the
night.... Somewhere else. A troupe of mummers wandering uns