in his best. Mr. Bingham had discovered a billiard table at the Inn, and was knocking the balls around when Clif found him. "Get your cue, son," he said. "You'll find one there with a tip if you look hard. I haven't whaled you for a long time!"
Clif, who didn't care much for billiards, consented to humor the other, but he had no idea of spending the evening in such unexciting fashion, and when eight o'clock arrived he hauled an unenthusiastic parent across the street to Freeburg's one palace of amusement, the Coliseum. The Coliseum was about the size of the library back home in Providence, but it was clean and it offered good, if not recent, pictures. Mr. Bingham professed to be greatly awed by the red, white and blue splendor of the exterior and embarrassed Clif somewhat by insisting on viewing the gaudy and startling pictures in the small lobby painstakingly before purchasing tickets from the interested young lady who chewed her gum so rhythmically inside the glass cage. Aware of the curious stares of theater-going Freeburg, Clif tugged at his father's arm.
"Oh, come on, dad!" he begged.
But Mr. Bingham was not to be hurried. "I want to be sure," he declared sedately, "that everything is quite proper, Clif. You know there's a good deal being said these days about the influence of moving pictures on the young, and I'd very much dislike to have you tell me in later years that you traced your downfall to the night I took you to see—now what the dickens—ah, here it is—to see 'Outlawed by
