"Any time you gentlemen decide to sit one out," Toffee said, "just let me know. There are plenty of telephones handy with which to spread the good news."
She and Marc retreated to the steps in front of the podium, picking up an abandoned bottle on the way. Toffee settled back comfortably and indulged in a long draft.
"Hey," Marc said, "you might leave a swallow for me. I'm the one who needs the stimulant, you know."
Toffee handed him the bottle, and for a moment they sat silent listening dreamily to the sounds of gnashing teeth and grunted curses that filled the air about them. Marc looked over to where the President and his cronies had fallen into a stupor of misery.
"Looks like the government has collapsed," he observed drowsily. "I might say it has a pain in its brass."
Even as he spoke, the President lifted an enfeebled hand and beckoned to them. "I think the President wishes a word with us."
"Isn't it thrilling," Toffee said, "meeting all these important people on such intimate terms?" She tilted the bottle again. "Let's toddle over and see what the old comic wants."
"This is excruciating!" the President panted as they approached. "You've got to stop it; it's unbearable."
"Now you know how people felt about your jokes," Toffee said. "I take it you're on the verge of capitulation?"
"Over the verge," the President grunted weakly. "Huh, fellas?"