"I'd certainly like to give it away," Marc said testily. "I know just the person for it." "No one will take it, eh?" the druggist said. "That's human nature for you. It's like this fellow who tried to give away hundred dollar bills...." "I think we're at cross-purposes here," Marc broke in anxiously. "I have this gas, you see, and I want to get rid of it. Can you help me or can't you?" "Well," the druggist said undecidedly, "I suppose I can ask around. But tell me this, why do you want to get rid of this gas? Is there something funny about it?" "I'd hardly call it funny," Marc said stiffly. "It makes an awful noise." "Noise?" the druggist said. "Why should it make a noise?" "It just does!" Marc said angrily. "I can't control it." "Then no wonder no one will take it. There's your answer right there." "I think you must be mad," Marc said shortly. "I think one of us must be," the druggist agreed. He surveyed Marc's lean frame wonderingly. "Why do you keep on with this gas of yours if it makes these disgusting noises?" "I don't want to keep on with it," Marc said desperately. "That's why I came to you." "And on such a beautiful day, too," the druggist murmured sadly. A new thought struck him and he glanced up sharply. "Where do you keep this awful gas of yours?" "On my stomach, of course," Marc said hotly. "Where would I keep it?" Slowly the light of realization dawned in the druggist's face. "Oh! What you mean is you have gas on the stomach!" "Yes," Marc said, drawing himself up. "But there's no need to shout it out to the entire store, is there?" "You'll have to excuse me," the druggist said apologetically. "I don't know what's come over me today." His gaze reverted briefly to the legs across the aisle. "I guess there's something in the air this morning." "I guess so," Marc said shortly. "But do you have something for my gas?" "Why, surely," the druggist said grandly. He reached under the counter and produced a small brown bottle filled with a syrupy liquid. "A little mixture of my own. Just drink it down and your worries are over. Just put it in your pocket. I couldn't charge you after all we've been through together." Marc slipped the bottle into his coat pocket. He started to murmur his thanks, but the druggist's attention had returned permanently to harbor at the cosmetics counter. Marc shrugged and walked out of the store. There certainly was something in the air, Marc reflected as he strode toward the corner, an almost tangible kind of madness. The coming of spring had turned the world giddy. You could feel it everywhere. In the country, where spring was so much more in evidence, the feeling was probably just that much more intense.... But he tried not to dwell on that. * * * * *