you've got freckles!"

Marc winced; it was probably all too true. As a youngster he had been plagued with these disfigurements and he had been very sensitive about them. After all, being called "pitcher ears" and "leopard puss" hadn't been fun. Outgrowing these names had been his own personal triumph. And now all that was cancelled; he was back where he had started. He looked up woundedly.

"Look who's laughing," he said. "With that pot belly of yours, you're no glamour item yourself."

An expression of utmost horror swept Toffee's face as she ceased to stare at Marc and turned her attention to herself. One quick, shuddering glance told her the story. This time she screamed as though she really meant it.

"No!" she shrieked. "No! NOooooh! It isn't me! It isn't!" She turned on Marc, raging. "You did this! You swallowed those crazy pills!" Irrationally, she held her hand under his mouth. "Spit them out!" she demanded. "Spit them out this instant or I'll rip those revolting ears right off your despicable head!"

"Don't be disgusting," Marc said, looking away.

"You'll be surprised how disgusting I can really be," Toffee wailed, "if you don't do something about this."

"What can I do?" Marc asked helplessly. "After all the pills were Culpepper's idea, not mine. He's the only one that can do anything about it."

"Get him!" Toffee cried. "Get him! Ring him, call him, wire him, cable him! Only get him!" Her cherubic face began to pucker, her large eyes beginning to cloud. "Wouldn't you know that I'd have to suffer too, just because you were simple-minded enough to take a couple of pills! Wouldn't you know? Look at me! ... just a shapeless little chunk of blubber. I've got about as much appeal as a smudge pot. Less!"

"Stop your sniveling," Marc said crossly. "It isn't helping matters. And I've got to think."

"Why start now?" Toffee asked waspishly.

Marc thoughtfully rolled up his trousers and got to his feet. Full length, he was even stranger to look upon than when sitting down.

His coat sleeves hung limp at his sides, extending nearly a foot beyond his hands; his shirt collar, previously a perfect fit, was now a perfect scream; his scrawny neck jutted out of it like a wire coat hanger. When he 

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