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“Undt vhy shall we haf t’at owfool troubple? No-o, t’at vould kill me! I am not a cat to keep me alvays clean–no more as a hogk to keep me always not clean. No, I keep me–owdside–inside–always so clean as it comes eassy, undt I leave me so dirty as it comes eassy.”

XIII

I took his arm into mine–his hand was hot–and drew him on alone. “Undt t’ose vomens,” he persisted in the vestibule, “t’ey are more troubple yet as t’eir veight in goldt! I vish, mine Gott! t’ere be no more any vomens ut all, undt we haf t’e shiltern by mutchinery.”

On the outer steps I sprang with others to save a young girl, who had stumbled, from pitching headlong to the sidewalk. Once on her feet again, after a limp or two she walked away uninjured; but when I looked around for my real charge he was not in sight. I hurried to Fontenette and his wife a few steps away, but he was not with them. The three of us turned back and came upon the rest of our group, but neither had they seen him. Our other neighbor said he must have got into a car. I asked Senda if it was likely he would go home without trying to find us, and she replied that he might; but when we had all looked at one another for a moment she dded, with a distinct tremor of voice–and I saw that she feared temptation and conscience had unsettled his wits–“I sink he iss not ve’y vell. I sink he is maybe–I ton’t know, but–I–I sink he iss not ve’y vell.” She averted her face.

She agreed with us, of course, that there was no call for alarm, and Mrs. Smith and I had to plead that we could not, the six of us, let her go home, away downtown, alone, while we should go as far the other way and remain all night ignorant of her husband’s whereabouts. So our next door neighbor, my wife and I went with her, and his wife and the Fontenettes went home; for a conviction probably common to us all, but which no one cared to put into downright words, was that the entomologist, whether dazed or not, might wander up to one of our homes in preference to his own. In the street-car and afterward for a full hour at her house, Senda was very silent, only saying now a little and then a little more.

“He iss all right! He vill sure come. Many times he been avay se whole night. Sat is se first time I am eveh afraid; is sat se vay when commencing to grow old? Yes, I sink sat is se reason.”

When we had been at her cottage for nearly an hour, my neighbor started out on a systematic search; and half an hour later, I left Mrs. Smith with her and went also.

About one o’clock in the night, I came back as far as the corner nearest her house, but waited there, by appointment, with my neighbor; and very soon–stepping softly–he appeared.

“No sign of him?”

“None.”

“You don’t suppose he’s done himself any violence, do you?” he asked.

“No, no. O no.”

“And yet,” he said, “I think we ought to tell the police at once.”

I advanced some obvious objections. “At any rate,” I said, “go in, will you, please, and see if he hasn’t come home, while we were away.”

“Why, yes, that is the first thing,” laughed he, and went.

As I waited for him in the still street, I heard far away a quick footstep. By and by I saw a man pass under a distant lamp, coming toward me. I looked with all my eyes. Just then my neighbor came back. “Listen,” I murmured. “Watch when that man comes under the next light.”

He watched. “It’s Fontenette!”

“Well,” said the Creole as he joined us, “he’s yondeh all right–except sick.