At the corner the signal turned to red and as the traffic moved forward in a rush, Marc stepped back to the curb to wait. Lost in his own thought, he was not aware of the small hawk-beaked individual who had stopped beside him until a pallid, nervous hand tugged lightly at his sleeve. From his height of six feet two, he turned to look down annoyedly at the crown of a drab bowler hat and the shoulders of a shabby brown suit. Shiftily the little man glanced sideways, then grinned up at him. "Hey, man," he said furtively, "how about a look at some hot stuff straight from Paris, France. It's the real thing." "I beg your pardon?" Marc said stiffly. "You know," the little man said with an odious wink, "dames with their skin showin'--all the way down." With the quick movement of a conjurer he turned his hand and produced for Marc's edification the photograph of a dark-haired, not-so-young lady, peering back lasciviously over a shoulder that was bare clear down to the soles of her feet. Flushing with surprise and embarrassment, Marc looked away. "That's one of the tame ones," the little hustler said. "Man, the others will stone you! Dig?" "I do not dig," Marc said tersely, "and I do not wish to be stoned. Please go away." "You mean you don't care about feminine pulchritude?" the little man asked in a scandalized tone. "I am not interested in dirty postcards," Marc said. "As a respectable married man...." The little man made a sharp sound of alarm. "You got trouble, man," he said. "Respectable and married too! I bet you're a big bomb around the house. There's nothin' a woman hates worse than bein' married to a respectable married man." Mercifully, the light chose that moment to change, and Marc turned away. The nervous hand, however, again caught at his sleeve. "Hold up, man," the little man said urgently. He produced a small brown bottle from the inner reaches of his disreputable suit. "I like to see people happy, man, and if ever I saw a guy in a bind, it's you. So, in your case, I'll make you an extra special exception. I'll give you a crack at this single last remaining bottle of genuine French Elixir." "Let go of my sleeve," Marc said evenly. The hand, nevertheless, remained. "You see here, right in front of your own eyes, one of the rare, unattainable hard-to-get exotic spring tonics of the world. It lifts the spirit and opens the eyes. It ain't harmful or habit-formin'." Marc frowned severely. "I am not, nor do I care to become, a dope addict." "This ain't no dope, man," the little man insisted. "I told you! It gives a guy a new perspective." "From which he can more clearly look at the photographs of naked ladies? If that's your idea of...."