"Human!" Lennox burst out in contempt, grinding his eyes with his knuckles.
"You need a bath and some food," Cooper said firmly. "Leave us go home. On your feet, Beaver Patrol. Watch it! You've got your hand in something."
"Robust Juvenile No. 4," Lennox muttered, peering at the makeup jar.
"Robust and juvenile men.... Forward!"
They left the dressing room, turned out the lights and mounted the spiral staircase. A new work-light had been hung from the iron grid high above the stage. Mason's dressing room was open and an informal party was in progress, Mason had the dummy in one hand and a bottle in the other. He was going through a comedy routine while Grabinett, Ween, Irma and a dozen others shrieked with laughter.
As Cooper and Lennox passed the door, the dummy cackled: "Ah! The Thinker and the poor man's Paderoosky. Merry Christmas, boys."
Lennox pulled to a stop despite Cooper's urging. "Peace on earth, good will to all men," he answered savagely. "For five thousand dollars can you tell us what it means?"
Grabinett, Ween and Mason glared at Lennox with hatred. He scowled back and then permitted Cooper to lead him to the stage door. As they plunged out into the sleet, he growled: "I'll fight."
"Who?"
"I don't know ... but I'll fight. I'll go down fighting, and I won't go down."