"You're just loaded," growled Marc. "You can't stay here and I can't turn you loose in that get-up." He indicated her brief costume. "You could buy me some clothes," suggested Toffee. Silently, Joseph shuffled into the room, halted just behind them and fixed his eyes firmly on the ceiling. He cleared his throat with a bark that would have done _Lassie_ all kinds of credit. Marc started from his seat as though he had been kicked. "Breakfast," announced Joseph in a voice that made it sound like a direct accusation. * * * * * As the elevator door closed behind Marc and Toffee, a low whistle issued from the cage. The operator had let them out in the basement, whether from confusion or discretion, Marc couldn't be sure, but decided that perhaps it was all for the best. By keeping Toffee low and behind him, they managed to get to the car in the downstairs garage without attracting too much attention. Once out in the street, Marc felt better, but the ordeal to come had him worried. Toffee had insisted on selecting the clothes in person. "Now get what you need," instructed Marc, "but get it in a hurry. And above all, get something to put on just as soon as we get inside." Toffee nodded excitedly. By repeating the crouch and run routine, they managed to get into the store safely, and luckily it was still early enough that only a few customers were about. Marc quickly hid Toffee behind a clothes rack and went in search of an understanding saleslady. He spotted a neon marker at the other side of the store that said: "Ladies' Ready-to-Wear," and made his way in that direction. As he entered the department a tousled, gray head jutted from behind a plaster figure and Marc started back in alarm. Two beady, black eyes rolled crazily and the teeth were bared, clenching an amazing number of straight pins. Slowly a gnarled hand appeared beneath the chin and the mouth spewed the pins into it and broke into a horrible grimace that was apparently meant to be a smile. "I'm Miss Clatt." The small, piping voice sounded somewhat lost in the horrible head. "May I help you?" Slowly the head moved from behind the figure, dragging with it a small, well padded body, perched precariously atop a pair of delicate pipe-stem legs. "I need an outfit," stammered Marc. "A complete outfit." "Oh," replied Miss Clatt disappointedly. "You'll find Men's Furnishings on the third floor--just take the elevator." "You don't understand," said Marc hurriedly. "It's a lady's outfit I want." Miss Clatt looked disapproving. "You'll find a theatrical costumer in the next block." "No, no, I want it for a lady. She's with me, waiting up front there." Marc gestured toward the main entrance. "I'd appreciate it if you'd hurry. She hasn't any clothes." Miss Clatt's hand went to her throat and her eyes began to roll again. "Naked?" she whispered. "No, of course not," replied Marc with dignity. "She's wearing a robe."