retty. Extraordinary eyes, green with brown in 'em--but green. And
built like a boy. Very graceful.”

“Hm!” mused Hy.

“Do you know her?”

“Sounds like Sue Wilde.”

“Not--”

“Yes, the Walrus's child.”

“What's _she_ doing, playing around the Village?”

“Oh, that's an old story. She left home--walked right out. Calls herself
modern. She's the original lady highbrow, if you ask me. Sure I'll go to
see her. Even if she never could see me.”

Later, Hy remarked: “The old boy asked me yesterday if I had her
address. You see he knows we live down here where the Village crowds
circulate.”

“Give it to him?”

“No. Easy enough to get, of course, but I ducked... I'm going to hop
into the bathtub. There's time enough. Then we can eat at the Parisian.”

Peter settled down to read the sporting page of the evening paper.
Shortly the Worm, clad now, drifted back to the Morris chair.

They heard Hy shuffle out in his bath slippers and close the outer
door after him. Then he opened the door and came back, He stood in the
doorway, holding his bathrobe together with one hand and swinging his
towel with the ether; and chuckling.

“You worm!” he observed. “Why Bolbo _cee_ras?”

The Worm looked up with mild eyes. “Not bolboceeras,” he corrected.

“Bolbo_es_eras. As in cow.”

“But why?”

The Worm merely shrugged his shoulders and resumed his book.

Peter paid little heed to this brief conversation. And when he and Hy
went out, half an hour later, he gave only a passing glance to the card
on the door. He was occupied with thoughts of a slim girl with green
eyes who had fascinated and angered him in a most confusing way.

The card read as follows:

DO NOT FEED OR ANNOY!

BOLBOCERAS AMERICANUS MULS

HABITAT HERE!




CHAPTER III--JACOB ZANIN

|THE Crossroads Theater was nothing more than an old store, with a
shallow stage built in at the rear and a rough foyer boarded off at the
front. The seats were rows of undertaker's chairs, But the lighting
was managed with some skill; and 