When Marc reached the foyer of the lodge, he was surprised to find it completely deserted, except for the little manager. Astonishingly, at the sight of Marc, the fellow clasped his hands ecstatically before him and ran to meet him. "Oh, Mr. Pillsworth!" he cried. "You don't know what you've done! You just simply don't know! You've absolutely rejuvenated my guests with that little riot of yours. They all said they didn't know when they felt so young. They've all gone out in the woods for a picnic ... with beer! They took up a collection for the damage in the dining room, and...."
Marc wasn't listening. "Where's my wife?" he asked. "Where's Julie?"
"The pretty blonde young lady?" the manager asked.
"Yes, yes. Where is she?"
"Out on the veranda, I believe. Down at the far end, around the corner. Poor dear, she was crying terribly when she went out."
Marc turned and darted for the door. Then he stopped abruptly. A large hand had fallen over his arm and was holding him back. He looked up to see Pete standing beside him.
"Let go," he said impatiently, "I've got to find my...."
"Never mind," Pete said. "You just come along with me. Let's get it over with, huh? Marge and me, we want to get outa here."
"Get what over with? What are you talking about?"
"You know. Our deal."