The maitre de knew when he was licked. Instantly, he let go of the urn and backed away. A look of great disillusionment came into his eyes. With a soul-searing sob he turned and sat down heavily on the steps.
"You've ruined me," he blubbered. "You've deliberately come in here and ruined my reputation. And I know who's behind it all; Felix of the Gaylord!"
"Oh, dear!" Toffee said. "Please don't do that. Don't cry. I just can't stand to see a man cry."
Cecil Blemish relinquished his hold on the urn and joined his brother at the ruined man's side. In the background, Marc sagged limply under the sudden weight.
"What's the matter with him?" Gerald asked.
"We've ruined him," Cecil explained briefly.
The maitre de shuddered with a new convulsion of self pity.
"Now, look here," Toffee said kindly. "There's no reason to go on like this. I'll tell you what. Why can't we all cooperate in this thing? We want food and you want to throw us out. Why don't we just compromise? We'll take a table and eat and then we'll let you throw us out. You can make a terrible scene, and we won't say a word." She turned to the Blemishes. "That's fair, isn't it?"
"Oh, very," Cecil said enthusiastically. "We're wonderful at being thrown out. We act cowardly as anything, we snivel."
"Oh, we snivel beautifully!" Gerald confirmed.