When the footsteps had died away Toffee and Marc, with renewed vigor, returned to their labors with the bottles and the babies.
"We'll have to hurry," Marc said. "That old hag had a look about her that definitely meant trouble if you ask me."
"I agree," Toffee said. She glanced down at Agatha. "And you didn't help matters any. You displayed your customary perverseness, I noticed."
The baby cocked an insolent eye at her. "You acted with rare intelligence, yourself," she said. "In my opinion you handled the situation like a jerk. I only shudder that all these strangers are laboring under the degrading notion that you are my mother."
The liquor flowed with increasing velocity. The eighth jigger had been administered when the footsteps sounded in the doorway beyond the book shelves. They entered the room and hurried forward as though they knew just where they were going.
"In there!" came the voice of the aging librarian. "They're in section five, throwing a regular wild party! They're drinking liquor and singing dirty songs and ... and ... contributing to the delinquency of babies! They're carrying on 'till you wouldn't believe it!"
"My!" a voice said, not untinged with pleased expectancy. "Sounds like the time we raided that house over on the other side...."
"Shut up," another voice said. "No matter what's goin' on behind them books, this is different. And don't you forget it!"
The footsteps drew closer and swiftly rounded the end of the section. The members of the Pillsworth party looked up in unison and saw two large, blue-clad policemen running toward them.
Toffee fairly threw Agatha into the arms of Mr. Culpepper. "Here!" she said. "I'll hold them off. You see that she gets the other two shots!" She sounded like the little Dutch boy about to cram his pinky into that dyke over in Holland. Agatha landed in Mr. Culpepper's lap with a thud and a burp.