"Oh, stop it," Toffee said. "We have business to attend to."
"Business?"
"Yes. As long as I've gotten myself all materialized to save the world I suppose I might just as well pitch in and get it over with. Business before pleasure, as they say. I figure I can have these world affairs you've been brooding over set ship-shape in less time than it takes a flat-chested girl to shuck on her girdle. Then I'll be free to concentrate on you without interruption."
"No!" Marc said suddenly. "I don't know why I waste my time listening to this prattle. Save the world! Indeed! I'm taking you down to the office where you can't harm anyone and leave you there till you decide to evaporate. Both the world and I have enough headaches already."
"You've dropped your drapes," Toffee observed mildly.
"Hang the drapes!" Marc said forcibly and, taking a hitch in his gaping pajamas, strode into the bathroom ... and locked the door.
Driving, particularly toward the center of the city, had lately become hazardous; the motorist never knew what insanity awaited him just around the next corner. At an intersection Marc stopped the car before a group of white-haired, bonneted old ladies who were gleefully engrossed in a game of croquet that had something to do with knocking your opponent's ball into an open manhole. At the sound of Marc's horn one of the aged gamesters glanced around demurely and peered at him through silver-rimmed glasses.
"Can it, you creep," she shrilled. "You wanna louse my shot?"
She might have said more except that her attention was suddenly drawn to the manhole, where the grimy head of a workman rose slowly like a soiled and rather timid moon. Lifting her skirts delicately so that only the minimum of ankle was exposed the lady minced daintily forward and belted the head a stunning blow with her mallet. Without a murmur the head retreated once more into the deeps of the city sewage system.