of the gorgon," said Nickie, vengefully. Our reprobate
hero was a man who knew no remorse of conscience.

CHAPTER XIV.

MARDI HAS A NIGHT OFF.

PROFESSOR THUNDER was hurt in his professional pride by the signal
failure of his Museum of Marvels in Rabbit township. In the first place,
the great impresario had been guilty of a grievous blunder in selecting
Rabbit for a two-night's pitch, but things had been going so remarkably
well of late, due mainly to the eccentric adventures of the Missing Link,
that the boss was getting proud, and was beginning to feel that his
astounding galaxy of unparalleled attractions would draw well in the dead
centre of the Old Man Plain. Rabbit township was making his error plain
to him.

Usually when the caravan bounded into a township, with the little bells
on the horses jingling gaily, and Madame Marve, dressed in a somewhat
brief and too youthful costume, enthroned on the box seat, playing a
rattling tune on the cornet, the people turned out in crowds to welcome
it, and the children swarmed, eager for a peep at the hidden mysteries.

It was different at Rabbit township.

The caravan dashed into Rabbit with the customary velocity and the
regulation rattle, but Rabbit did not trouble itself.

"Blarst my eyes!" growled the Professor, when the camp was made; "even
the dogs didn't bark! What sort of a boneyard is this we've struck?"

As a matter of fact, Rabbit was a moribund township. The rabbits had
eaten up the surrounding country, and now they were beginning to eat up
the township. So voracious was bunny that when a man went missing it was
gloomily concluded that the rabbits had eaten him, and the township took
no action, subsiding in despair. Most of the people had left. Those who
remained did so because they couldn't afford to shift, or because they
were too lazy to go.

Professor Thunder had been doing good business, and his expenses were
light. He could afford to play tricks, but he played a foolish prank in
trying to amuse Rabbit township. Rabbit was incapable of being amused.

There remained an open hotel at Rabbit, and the Professor called on its
proprietor to gather useful information concerning the inhabitants, their
tastes and habits. He found Schmitz, the portly proprietor, sprawling on
his own bar counter, embracing a bottle of squareface with a loving hug.
The two arms of Schmitz caressed the bottle, his cheek was pressed
amorously to the cork. The eye of Schmit