"Get out of your way!" Toffee flared. "You should be ashamed of yourself! Picking up a girl's man when her back is turned--and on public dance floors too! And at your age!"

Mrs. Housing seemed to explode.

"How dare you! I should think that you had caused enough trouble,--you little floosey!" It was apparent to her that this was the young lady who had unseated Jack's reason. At this point Jack did, indeed, appear somewhat demented. Through the ensuing uproar, he tried valiantly but vainly to make himself heard, and seemed merely to be babbling to himself. Toffee was beside herself with rage.

"Why, you--you--you old back issue," she yelled. "You outsized pick-up!" She swung her foot behind her and calculated the distance to Mrs. Housing's shin. Unfortunately, her heel caught on the rung of Mr. Kently's chair. That good gentleman, unconcerned of the tumult raging just behind him, was, at the moment, determinedly offering a toast to his wife on the occasion of their twenty-fifth anniversary. He lifted his glass, and with the words: "And to you, my dear--," tossed its entire contents neatly into Mrs. Kently's face. Toffee had jerked the chair swiftly from under him. Mrs. Kently shot out of her chair with a scream designed for blood chilling.

Across the room, a guest, somewhat befogged by too much drink, raised a heavy head and shouted: "Murder!" at the top of his lungs. Across from him, his companion looked up with startled eyes and quietly slid under the table, unconscious. The man looked down at her without concern.

"Can't stand the sight of blood," he explained to no one in particular.

The center of this excitement suddenly dissipated itself with the stately, if hurried, departure of Mrs. Housing and her obedient husband, but the fever of hysteria had already spread to the remaining guests and was raging unabated. The orchestra, caught in the spirit of the occasion, struck up a raucous rendition of "The Beer Barrel Polka." Several guests, similarly inspired, rapped their partners rather ungentle over the head with whatever bottles were at hand. The door to the manager's office opened briefly and slammed to. Finally, Marc managed to fight his way through to Toffee.

"Now, see what you've done!" he yelled.

"So this is night clubbing," squealed Toffee delightedly.

"We have to get out of here," Marc guided her away from the dance floor.

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