Forrester sighed happily to himself. That, he thought, ought to take care of Alvin for a while.
"Lord Dionysus," Kathy asked in that same innocent tone, "what are you pointing at out there?"
The girl was decidedly irritating, Forrester thought. "Pointing?" he said. "Ah, yes." He thought fast. "My target-tosser. I fear that his religious fervor has led to his being overcome."
The girls all turned round to look but, of course, Forrester thought, they could see nothing at all in the darkness.
"My goodness," Bette said.
"But if he's unconscious," Kathy put in, "why were you pointing at him?"
Forrester told himself that the next time the Sabbatical Bacchanal was held, he would see to it that an intelligence test was given to every candidate for Dionysian Escort, and anyone who scored as high on it as Kathy would be automatically disqualified.
He had to think of some excuse for looking at the man. And then he had it—the game he had planned. It was really quite a nice little idea.
"I hate to see the poor mortal miss out on the rest of the evening," Forrester said, "even if he is asleep now. And I think we may have a use for him."
He gestured gently with one hand.