"Yes, Your Honor," Marc said earnestly. "You see, I have been engaged in an experiment...."
"Enough!" the judge snorted. "Don't go on about it. It's too disgusting." With a forefinger he pressed his glasses to the bridge of his nose. "That settles it. The only thing for you to do, Pillsworth, is to prove your point to the court. In other words, demonstrate that you really are ... uh ... buoyant. Briefly, either you float, here and now, for the court or you go to the pokey and wait for a mental examination. And let me warn you against any mechanical devices."
"But, Your Honor!" Marc protested. "Only this morning I discovered that...."
"Float!" the judge demanded. "Go on. Float!"
An expectant quiet ensued as Marc stood miserably before the bench. Several photographers moved quietly forward, shifting fresh bulbs into their cameras. Toffee turned to Marc anxiously.
"Go on!" she hissed. "Show the old goat!"
Marc looked at her unhappily. "I can't!" he whispered.
During this interval, looking remarkably haunted for a ghost, George arrived at a position between Marc and Toffee. He gazed on Marc's face and frowned; there was no question about it, his mortal part had played him a foul trick; Marc was still alive. George was undecided as to how to meet the situation. His inclination was to stick around just for revenge, but there was the warning from the Council. Then, too, there was the possibility that Marc might tick off at any moment; after all, living in this earth world was an extremely perilous business from all that George had seen of it. In that case, everything would be all right. Weighing the pros and cons of the matter. George turned to regard Toffee for the first time. Instantly his mood brightened.
There was hardly anything that George could see about Toffee that he didn't like, and he could see virtually everything. Particularly, he admired her taste in clothes. Clearly, here was a girl who had a bit of flair and imagination. However, the small piece of metal sticking out untidily at the waist offended George's sense of perfection. That didn't belong there, he was sure of it. As George reached out to pluck away the offending blemish he had no idea that with the mere flick of a finger he was about to touch off a roaring panic.