"We only borrowed it for a moment," Toffee explained. "You can have it back when we're through with it."
"I suggest that the gentleman put it back where he found it right now," the maitre de said coolly.
"I can't put it back," Marc gritted breathlessly. "For the love of Mike stop bickering and give me something to eat. I'm feeling weaker by the second."
"If you'd put that urn back," the maitre de said with growing hostility, "you wouldn't feel so weak." He turned to Toffee. "Does the gentleman fancy himself as an ash tray? Is that it?"
"Of course not," Toffee snapped. "Give him a table."
"If I give him a table to carry will he put down the urn?" the maitre de asked confusedly.
"Not to carry," Toffee said. "Give him a table to sit at. And food to eat. Stop talking like an idiot."
The maitre de became petulant. "I won't give him a table until he gives back that urn." He turned to Marc. "Give it back."
"I won't," Marc said. "I can't."
The maitre de stepped back a pace, then glanced wretchedly at the silent diners behind him. All eyes were trained incredulously on him and the unwanted foursome. He cleared his throat self-consciously.