Marc whirled about to gaze in the direction she indicated. Then he sucked in his breath with a sharp gasp. Toffee had spoken the truth. Slowly, the rubble was rising from the floor of the basement to the ceiling. Some of it had already described the full journey and was hovering about the ceiling. Chairs, pieces of desk, desk drawers, fragments of equipment, scraps of metal were bobbing about next to the ceiling like apples in a washtub on Hallowe'en. Marc suddenly felt very lightheaded. In a matter of minutes the world had become an unfamiliar place; reality quickly slipped away from him and he was caught for a moment in a spell of moon-splashed madness. "My God!" he whispered. "I did it!" "You certainly did," Toffee said. "Now how are you going to get all that stuff down again?" * * * * * Unexpectedly, Marc jumped to his feet, made a quick lunge toward a small black book that was rising rapidly toward the ceiling. But he was too late; it moved beyond his reach and came to a solid rest against the ceiling. "Damn!" Marc said. "What is it?" Toffee asked. "The book that I recorded my formulas in," Marc said. "I have to have it. When this gets out...." Toffee rose to his side and placed her arms around his neck. "For heaven's sake!" Marc said. "Can't you think of anything else?" "It's difficult," Toffee said. "But at the moment I'm trying to help you. Lift me up and I'll reach the book for you." "Oh," Marc said. He held his hands down for her to step into, then boosted her up. As she rose above him he was surprised at how light she was. He glanced up. One hand on his shoulder, Toffee was stretching the other toward the wayward book. She didn't quite make it. She glanced down at Marc. "Hold steady," she said. Then she let go of his shoulder and stood upright, depending entirely on his hands for support. She reached out, caught hold of the book, and smiled down at him. It was just as she was bending down again that she lost her balance. In the next instant Marc's head and shoulders became the center of what seemed to be a dozen flailing arms and legs. In an effort to save the situation, Marc stepped back and held out his arms, just in time for Toffee to strike him solidly on the chest. In the tangle that followed they both tumbled to the floor. When Marc looked up Toffee was once more seated comfortably and safely on his stomach. She looked down at him and laughed. "Does it strike you that a certain monotony has come into our relationship?" she asked. "It strikes me that a certain pain has come into my stomach," Marc wheezed. "Would you be kind enough, I wonder, to take a seat elsewhere for a change? Or am I going to have to wear you like a watch fob from now on?" Toffee eyed his mid-section with scorn. "If you think that shriveled bladder of yours is so comfortable, you just ought to try sitting on it sometime."