"Oh," said Miss Clatt as if that explained everything, then on second thought added: "Oh, dear!" * * * * * Swiftly they moved across the store with Marc in the lead and Miss Clatt hopping along behind him. Marc stopped before the clothing rack and parted the coats hanging on it, only to be greeted by the blank wall. "I left her right here," he said turning to Miss Clatt in bewilderment. But the old lady wasn't listening. "Gracious," she said. Her eyes had begun to rotate again and she was staring toward the sidewalk. Marc followed her gaze and saw what appeared to be a small riot before the store. Leaving the bewildered Miss Clatt by the rack, he raced for the door and forced his way into the crowd. "It's just shameful what these stores will do for publicity," said a lady's voice. "Just shameful!" "Stop crowdin', Bud," said a little man as Marc shoved past him. "I want to see too. Ain't seen anything like this since I got married." Marc stretched to his toes and peered into the window. It was even worse than he had expected. There in the show-case was Toffee. She had managed to get a black evening gown off one of the mannikins and was trying to put it on without removing the robe. This operation led to a series of maneuvers that would have sent any professional stripper into paroxysms of envy. Occasionally she paused in her questionable activities to smile at the crowd about the window and acknowledge the resultant cheers of encouragement. Marc wheeled about and fought his way wildly back into the store. "Heavens," gasped Miss Clatt as he raced past, almost knocking her down. "What a strange young man--so impetuous!" Frantically Marc clawed at the show-case door and finally got it open. "Stop that!" he yelled as he jumped into the case. "But you told me to get something to wear right away," cried Toffee. At Marc's appearance in the window, the crowd became momentarily silent, awaiting developments. Marc ran to Toffee and, getting between her and her audience, tried to disengage the black dress. "Stop that," yelled Toffee. "I've almost got it on." But her words were lost in an angry roar from the crowd. "Just like my husband," murmured a matronly lady. "Never wants me to have a thing to wear. Look at that poor child--almost naked." A salesgirl from the five and ten paused on her way to work. "Just like my Oscar," she remarked bitterly, as she peered into the window. "No sense of the time and place." * * * * *