There was a pause while this sank in, and then the cheering and rough-housing began again with greater vigor.
"Rickety-rax!" One vaporish congressman giggled, slipping limply from his chair to the floor. "Rickety-rax! Give 'em the axe!"
A colleague at his right launched a squadron of paper darts into the air as the guitarist twanged away at an off-key rendition of the Air Corps Song. This musical interlude, however, came to an unhappy end as the gentleman across the table, finishing the pierced heart with a flourish, picked up an inkwell and emptied it into the bowels of the instrument. There was a splintering crash as the donner received his contribution, guitar and all, across the crown of his head. Undaunted, the man rose from his seat and launched into a lamentable imitation of Jolson doing a mammy song.
"We'll kill 'em!" the cry went up. "We'll give it to 'em in the teeth, the dirty, yella, murderin' rats!"
"Gentlemen!" the Chair pleaded. "Gentlemen! Your enthusiasm and patriotic spirit is commendable. But let's be constructive about this thing. Let's declare war!"
Toffee and Marc, who had been watching this display with rising emotion, got to their feet simultaneously.
"Now just a minute!" Toffee yelled. "Just a minute, you tramps!"
"Precisely," Marc said, steadying himself against the table. "Just a minute."
But their protest was unheard in the din of the merry-making.
"I can see," Toffee said, lifting her hand, "that the time is due to take measures."