"Stop that," yelled Toffee. "I've almost got it on." But her words were lost in an angry roar from the crowd.
"Just like my husband," murmured a matronly lady. "Never wants me to have a thing to wear. Look at that poor child—almost naked."
A salesgirl from the five and ten paused on her way to work.
"Just like my Oscar," she remarked bitterly, as she peered into the window. "No sense of the time and place."
Inside the window, a state of chaos had swiftly been reached. In their struggle, Toffee and Marc had managed to knock down several dummies and get themselves hopelessly entangled in the mess. The scene was now made up entirely of a horrible, wild mass of frantic arms and legs. Suddenly the mob became silent once more at the rather dismaying appearance of Miss Clatt in the window. She stopped short and surveyed the terrifying display with eyes that revolved like pin-wheels. Hastily, she gained the front of the window by a series of quick, side-stepping hops and pulled down the huge shade, shutting off the window from the street. Instantly a loud roar of disappointment was heard from the crowd.
"My, my," murmured Miss Clatt, as she reached into the heap of arms and legs in an attempt to disentangle the frantic couple.
Toffee was the first to emerge. Miraculously, she had somehow managed, during the struggle, to get into the evening gown. She smiled at Miss Clatt.
"I can't stand men who make scenes, can you?" she asked haughtily.
"I make scenes!" yelled Marc, casting a dummy aside.