"You're sure of that?"
"I'm not. But my bathroom scales appeared to be. This morning. Why?"
"Do you think Miss Joyce could lift you?"
I said thoughtfully, "Well, that's an idea. But I doubt it. She won't even let me try to support her."
"I'm serious, Mr. Mallory. Do you think she could lift you with one hand?"
"Don't be silly! Of course not. Nor could you."
"There's where you're wrong," said Pending firmly. "She can—and will."
He reached forward suddenly and twisted the metal cap on the stick in my hands. As he did so, I loosed a cry of alarm and almost dropped the baton. For instantaneously I experienced a startling, flighty giddiness, a sudden loss of weight that made me feel as if my soles were treading on sponge rubber, my shoulders sprouting wings.
"Hold on to it!" cried Pat. Then to Joyce, "Lift him, Miss Joyce."
Joyce faltered, "How? Like th-this?" and touched a finger to my midriff. Immediately my feet left the floor. I started flailing futilely to trample six inches of ozone back to the solid floorboards. To no avail. With no effort whatever Joyce raised me high above her head until my dazed dome was shedding dandruff on the ceiling!