you wear hatpins?"

"Hatpins!" blankly. "Not with this small hat, but what----"

"That means you're defenseless. If you're going to prowl
the streets of Chicago alone get this: If you double your
fist this way, and tuck your thumb alongside, like that, and
aim for this spot right here, about two inches this side of
the chin, bringing your arm back, and up, quickly, like a
piston, the person you hit will go down, limp. There's a
nerve right here that communicates with the brain.
That blow makes you see stars, bright lights, and fancy
colors. They use it in the comic papers."

"You ARE crazy," said Fanny, as though at last assured of
a long-suspected truth. The train began to move, almost
imperceptibly. "Run!" she cried.

Heyl sped up the aisle. At the door he turned. "It's
called an uppercut," he shouted to the amazement of the
other passengers. And leaped from the train.

Fanny sank into her seat, weakly. Then she began to laugh,
and there was a dash of hysteria in it. He had left a paper
on the car seat. It was the Star. Fanny crumpled it,
childishly, and kicked it under the seat. She took off her
hat, arranged her belongings, and sat back with eyes closed.
After a few moments she opened them, fished about under the
seat for the crumpled copy of the Star, and read it,
turning at once to his column. She thought it was a very