"Yes, I know all about that," the chief interposed. "Go bring the postage box and place it in the truck." "The which? Oh, you mean the mailbox!" Whedbee walked across the street to the square green box with the rounded metal top. Another of the globes had been attached to the mailbox, and the legs had been burned loose from the concrete sidewalk. Confidently, Whedbee lifted the light object, carried it to the truck, and deposited it inside. "Bleachers there," said Chief Grindstaff. "What you say, chief?" "Stands there. No, stand there." Patrolman Whedbee stood by the back of the truck. Chief Grindstaff placed a device like an atomizer under Whedbee's nose and released the spray. * * * * * Miss Betsy Tapp awoke after not more than one hour of fitful sleep. The door to the garage apartment shook under the tattoo of a heavy fist. Miss Tapp's heart thudded somewhere inside her thirty-eight-inch bosom. She lay rigid in darkness penetrated only by the glimmer of a distant street light. The knocking ceased. Boards creaked on the platform outside the door. A face appeared at the window, a face in complete shadow except for two eyes that glowed with greenish light. Miss Tapp, unaware of the disarray of her nightgown, sat upright. The alarm clock on the floor by the bed clacked in the stillness. The tap in the kitchen cubicle dripped. Timbers, contracting in the cool of early morning, popped faintly. "I need to marry you," the face said. "I was wrong tonight. Forgive me." "Fred?" Miss Tapp gasped in sudden joy. "Open the portal," Fred said. Wrenching metal curlers from her permanently waved hair, Miss Tapp bounded to the door. She released the catch and threw herself at the figure on the landing. Fred purred, "I want to marry you. I was wrong tonight. Forgive me." "Oh, Fred," Miss Tapp sighed. "I knew you'd come back! You just had too much to drink! I forgive you, Fred! We'll--" "Yes. Bring your rayon crepe with tall tucking." "What, Fred?" "Bring your garb, your clothing. Hurry." Miss Tapp skillfully fought a blush. "Oh, Fred! I'm sorry. I'll be dressed in a minute!" Fred slowly stated, "I want to marry you. I was wrong tonight. Forgive me." He walked into the apartment and rapidly gathered and rolled together the dress and undergarments scattered on and about the chair. He stuffed the spike-heeled shoes into pockets of his black fur suit and lifted Miss Tapp in his arms. "We're eloping!" Miss Tapp sighed as Fred carried her down the outside stairs. A _Honeychile Bakery_ truck, with rear doors open, waited in the driveway. Fred tossed the roll of clothing and the slippers into the truck, and swiftly sprayed Miss Tapp. * * * * *