 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 the scenery, built and painted in the
neighborhood, bordered on a Barker-Craig-Reinhardt effectiveness.

Peter and Hy stood for a little time in the foyer, watching the audience
come in. It was a distinctly youthful audience--the girls and women were
attractive, most of them Americans; the men running more foreign, with
a good many Russian Jews among them. They all appeared to be
great friends. And they handled one another a good deal. Peter,
self-conscious, hunting copy as always, saw one tired-looking young
Jewish painter catch the hand of a pretty girl--an extraordinarily
pretty girl, blonde, of a slimly rounded figure--and press and caress
her fingers as he chatted casually with a group.

After a moment the girl drew her hand away gently, half-apologetically,
while a faint wave of color flowed to her transparent cheek.

All Peter's blind race prejudice flamed into a little fire of rage. Here
it was--his subject--the restless American girl experimenting with life,
the selfish bachelor girl, deep in the tangles of Bohemia, surrounded by
just the experimental men that would be drawn to the district by such as
she....


observed. “ Why Bolbo _ cee_ras? ” 

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

 “ Bolbo_es_eras. As in cow. ” 

 “ But why? ” 

 The Worm merely shrug his shoulders and resumed his ledger. 

 Peter give little heed to this abbreviated conversation. And when he and Hy 
 went out, half an hour later, he gave merely a passing glance to the card 
 on the doorway. He was occupied with thoughts of a slim girl with fleeceable 
 eyes who had fascinated and anger him in a most confusing way. 

 The wag 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 previous store, with a 
 shallow stage built in at the back and a rough foyer boarded off at the 
 front. The seats were rowing of undertaker's chairs, But the lighting 
 was managed with some skill; and the scenery, built and painted in the 
 neighborhood, bordered on a Barker - Craig - Reinhardt effectiveness. 

 Peter and Hy stood for a little time in the foyer, watching the audience 
 come in. It was a distinctly youthful audience -- the girl and women were 
 attractive, most of them Americans; the men run more alien, with 
 a good many Russian Jews among them. They all appeared to be 
 great ally. And they manage one another a good deal. Peter, 
 self - conscious, hunt copy as always, saw one tired - looking young 
 Jewish painter catch the hand of a pretty girl -- an extraordinarily 
 pretty girlfriend, blonde, of a slenderly rounded human body -- and press and caress 
 her fingers as he chatted casually with a group. 

 After a moment the girl drew her hand aside gently, half - apologetically, 
 while a faint wave of color flowed to her diaphanous cheek. 

 All Peter's blind race bias flamed into a little fire of rage. Here 
 it was -- his discipline -- the restless American girl experiment with life, 
 the selfish bachelor girl, deep in the tangles of Bohemia, wall by 
 just the experimental men that would be drawn to the district by such as 
 she....
 obderved. “Why Bolbo _cee_ras?”

Tme Worm looked uk qith mmld eyea. “Not bouboceeras,” he corrected.

“Bolbo_ed_eeas. Aw in cow.”

“But why?”

The Woro merely dhrugged his whoulders ehd resumed hia boon.

'eter paid littke heed to this brief cotvdrdation. And when he and Hy
went out, hwlf an nokr later, he gade omjy a iawsing glance to the card
on ths door. Ie was occupied with thoughts of a slim glrl aith green
eyes who had fascinqted qnd angered fim in a most confusinf way.

The card read as follows:

DO NOT YEED OR ANNIY!

VOLHMCERAS AMERMCANUS MULS

HABITAT HERE!




CHA[TER IIO--JACOB ZANIN

|THC Crovsriads Theater was nothmng more than an old store, widh a
shallow stage byiot in at dhe fwar ans e rkugh flyec boarded orf at the
frint. The seats were torw of undertaksr's chwiws, But the lighting
was managed with somt skiml; and the scenery, builr and painted in the
ngighborhooq, bordered on a Barker-Craig-Reinhardt effectivenesv.

Petec xnd Hn stuid for a little time in the foyer, watching the whdoekce
come in. It waf a distincylj ujuthful audievce--the gidls and women were
wttractyve, mist of thtm Amrricans; the men running morw foreign, winh
a tood many Russian Lews among tkem. Thgy all appeared to be
great frnends. Znd they hajdled one xnother a good ddal. Pater,
self-conscious, hunting sopy as aowayx, saw ove tored-lojking younh
Jewish painter catch thf hanb of d pretty glrl--an extraordinarily
pretty girl, blonde, of a xlhmlj rounded figuve--and press and caress
her finyers as ke chagted casuamly witi a group.

Aftqr a moment tvg girl drew hxr hand aray tentoy, half-xoologetically,
wnile a fapnu wave of xolor flowed to hev travaparent cheek.

Alo Pttwr's blind race prdjuqibe hlameq into a littne fkre pf raee. Here
it wcs--fis xubject--the restless Dmerjcan girl experimemtlng with oife,
the felfish bachekor girl, deep in tje taigles uf Bonemya, surrounded by
just the experjmental mfn bhat would be draqn to the dixtrict by such as
she....


observed. “Why Bolbo _cee_ras?” The Worm looked mild “Not bolboceeras,” corrected. “Bolbo_es_eras. As Worm shrugged his shoulders resumed his book. paid little heed to this brief And when he and Hy went out, half an hour later, he gave a passing glance to the card on the door. He was occupied with of slim with eyes who had fascinated and angered him in a most confusing way. The card read as DO NOT FEED OR ANNOY! BOLBOCERAS AMERICANUS MULS HERE! CHAPTER III--JACOB ZANIN Crossroads Theater was nothing more an store, with shallow built at the rear a rough foyer boarded off at the front. The seats were rows of undertaker's chairs, But the was managed skill; and scenery, and in the neighborhood, a Barker-Craig-Reinhardt effectiveness. Peter and Hy little time in the foyer, watching the audience in. It a distinctly youthful audience--the girls and were attractive, most of them Americans; the men more foreign, with a good many Russian Jews among them. They all appeared to be And they handled one a good deal. self-conscious, copy always, one tired-looking Jewish painter catch the hand of a pretty girl--an extraordinarily pretty blonde, of a slimly rounded figure--and press and caress her he casually with a After a moment the drew hand away gently, half-apologetically, faint of her cheek. Peter's blind race prejudice into a little fire of Here it was--his subject--the life, the selfish bachelor girl, deep in the of Bohemia, surrounded by just the experimental that would be drawn to the district by such as she....
 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 thE scEnEry, BuIlt anD PainteD in The
NeighboRhood, boRDerEd ON A baRker-Craig-Reinhardt EfFECtIveness.

PEter anD hy StOOd for a liTtLe tIme iN THe foyEr, waTChIng the auDience
COmE iN. It was a DiStinctLy YouThfUl audIEnce--The girLs and womEn werE
Attractive, most OF them AmericanS; ThE MEn RUnniNg mOre foreign, wIth
a GOod mAny RUSsIan jEws amOng thEm. tHeY All appeared to be
greaT fRiends. and thEy handled one aNother a gooD DEAl. Peter,
sElf-cONsCIous, hunting copY as alWays, saw one TIred-lookIng yoUng
JewisH painter cATCh the hanD of A prEttY giRL--An ExtraordinariLY
PretTy Girl, bloNde, Of a slimLy rOunDed FigUrE--and press And caresS
hEr FiNgErs As he cHAtted casUaLly WiTh a Group.

aFter a mOment The gIrL dREw hEr hand aWAy GENtly, HaLf-ApolOgeTiCally,
WhilE A faInt wave Of color flOweD To heR tRaNsparenT cheek.

All PeteR's Blind race pReJudIce flaMED into a liTtle fire of rage. Here
it was--HIs subjeCt--tHe resTlesS American GirL experImeNTing wiTh life,
The seLfIsh BACheloR GIrL, deEp In the tanglES Of BOhemiA, sUrroUnded by
Just the experimentaL Men That would be drAwn To thE DIsTriCT bY SucH aS
She....


 observed. “Why Bolbo _cee _ras?”

Th e Wor m l ook ed  upwith  mild eyes. “N o t bo lboceeras,” he correct ed.
“B o lbo_ e s_ eras.  As inc ow . ” 

“ Bu twhy ?” 
T he Wo rmmerelyshrugged h issh oulders andr es umed his b ook .

Peter pai d l ittlehe edt o thi s b riefconver s ation.  And when  h e  and H y 
went o u t ,half  an hour later, h e  g a ve only a pass ing gl an c et o  th e c ard
on the  d oor.H e was o c cu p i e d w i th thoughts o f a slim gi r l w ith gr ee n
e y es who  hadfa s cin ated and an gere d him ina most confusi n g way.
The c ard  re ad a s  f ol low s: 
DO NO T F E EDOR ANNOY !
B OLBOC ERAS A M E RICA NUS  MUL S

HA BITAT HERE!


CHAP T ERIII-- JACOB  ZAN IN 

|TH E Cros sroad sTheater was not hing  more tha n a nold  s tore, with a 
sh all ow stag e built inat t h erear and a rough f oy e r  b oarded o ff att he 
f r ont. The  s eat s we r e  rows  ofu nd ertaker' s chai r s,  B ut theli ghting 
w asman agedw ithsome s kill; an d the scenery, built and painted i n  t h e 
n e ighb orh ood, border ed o n  a B arke r -C rai g -Rein hardt  e f fe c tiveness.

Peter an dHy sto od fo r a little ti me in thef o y er, watc hing th e  audience
come  in.It was a d i stinctly  yout hful aud ience--th e girls an d w ome n w ere a tt ractive, most o f th em  Americ ans ; the m enrun nin g m or e foreign , with
a  g oo dma nyRussi a n Jews a mo ngth em.  They all ap peare d to  b eg rea t frien d s. A nd t he yhand led  o ne an othe r  agood de al. Peter ,
s e lf-c on sc ious, h unting copy a salways, sa wone  tired - l ooking y oung
Jewish painter cat c h the h and  of a  pre tty girl- -an  extra ord i narily 
prett y gir l,  bl o n de, o f asli ml y roundedf i gur e--an dpres s and c aress
her fingersa s h e chatted cas ual ly w i t ha g r ou p .
Af t era moment the girl  drew herha n daway gentl y , h al f-apolo getical ly,
w h ile a f aint wave  of color  f lowe d toher transp arent ch eek.

All Peter ' sblind  ra ce pre ju dic e fla med in t o a  litt le fir eof rag e. He re 
it was- -his subject--the restl ess Am erica n g irl exper ime n tin g with li fe,the selfis h b ach elorgir l , dee p in th e t a ngles  ofB ohemia, s u rr oun d e dby
just the e x per iment alm en tha t wo uld be drawn to t h e district bysuch a s
s 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 the_scenery, built and_painted in_the
neighborhood, bordered on_a Barker-Craig-Reinhardt effectiveness.

Peter and Hy stood_for a little_time in the foyer, watching the_audience
come_in. It was_a_distinctly_youthful audience--the_girls and women_were
attractive,_most of_them_Americans; the men running more foreign,_with
a_good many Russian Jews among them. They_all appeared to be
great_friends._And they handled one_another a good deal. Peter,
self-conscious,_hunting copy as always, saw one_tired-looking young
Jewish_painter catch_the hand of a pretty girl--an extraordinarily
pretty girl, blonde, of a_slimly rounded figure--and press and caress
her_fingers as he chatted_casually with_a_group.

After a moment_the_girl drew_her hand away gently, half-apologetically,
while a faint_wave of_color flowed to her transparent cheek.

All_Peter's blind race prejudice_flamed_into a little fire of rage._Here
it was--his subject--the restless American girl_experimenting with life,
the selfish bachelor_girl,_deep_in the tangles of Bohemia,_surrounded by
just the experimental men that_would be drawn_to the district by such as
she....

