been in wrong and
unhappy all her life, because she had never met her mate. The same
bein' a big, husky, red-blooded cave man which would club her senseless
and carry her off to his lair. Had she ever met anybody like that?
The stout dame says not lately, but when poor Henry and her had first
got wed he was a Saturday night ale-hound and once or twice he had--but
never mind, she won't speak ill of the dead. The professor says he can
see that nobody of the real big-league calibre has crossed her path as
yet and that her husband's spirit had told him in confidence only the
other day that one night he got to thinkin' what a poor worm he was to
be married to Cleopatra, and it had been too much for his humble soul
which bust.

The dame nods and starts to weep.

"Poor Hennerey!" she says. "He ain't stopped lyin' yet. I should
never have wed him, but how did I know that my fatal beauty would prove
his undoing?"

"Ain't that rich?" pipes Honest Dan in my ear.

The professor has a coughin' spell, and when he calmed himself, he says
he has just got in touch with Marc Anthony and he's pullin' the wires
to have him come back to earth so's their souls can be welded together
again and if she will come back in a week, he'll be able to tell her
some big news. He said it was bein' whispered around among the spirits
that Marc Anthony was on earth now, eatin' his noble heart out because
he couldn't find her.

Then he suddenly shuts the gate, and the dame staggers out, overcome
with joy and the smell of that incense which would have made a glue
factory quit. Honest Dan beats it around and opens the door for her.
They wouldn't take a nickel off her then, because they was savin' her
for the big play.

About a week after our visit to the Temple of the Inner Star, the Kid
comes runnin' up to my room at the hotel one mornin' and busts in the
door. He's got a newspaper in his hand and he slams it down on the bed
and kicks a innocent chair over on its side.

"I hope they give him eighty years!" he hollers.

"Who's your friend?" I asks him.

"Friend!" he screams. "Why, the big psalm-singin' stiff, I'll murder
him!"

"They's just one thing I'd like to know, Kid," I says. "Who?"

"That cheap, pan-handlin' crook that Dan Leduc wished on me!" he yells.
"That rotten snake I kept from dyin' in the gutter, that baby-stealin'
rat which claims he's a medium! Professor Bunko--that's who!"

I grabbed up the paper and all over the f