"Why--er--" said Rosythe; and stopped, completely bluffed.
"You ought not swear," I remarked, gravely; and then, "I must
explain. I got pounded by that mob; I was knocked quite silly, and
this gentleman found me, and healed me in a wonderful way."
"Oh!" said the critic, with genuine interest. "Mind cure, hey? What
line?"
I was about to reply, but Carpenter, it appeared, was able to take
care of himself. "The line of love," he answered, gently.
"See here, Rosythe," I broke in, "I can't stand on the street. I'm
beginning to feel seedy again. I think I'll have a taxi."
"No," said the critic. "Come with me. I'm on the way to pick up the
missus. Right around the corner--a fine place to rest." And without
further ado he took me by the arm and led me along. He was a
good-hearted chap inside; his rowdyisms were just the weapons of his
profession. We went into an office building, and entered an
elevator. I did not know the building, or the offices we came to.
Rosythe pushed open a door, and I saw before me a spacious parlor,
with birds of paradise of the female sex lounging in upholstered
chairs.
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