"I don't see how I'll ever get to sleep, though," Marc said. "With so much on my mind it doesn't seem possible." Toffee nodded thoughtfully. She glanced around, looked at George. "Hey, George!" she called. "Do you know what Marc was just telling me about you?" The ghost looked up. "He said you were the lousiest ghost in the racket. He said he wouldn't hire you to haunt a rabbit hutch." An expression of dismayed hurt came over George's face. "Well?" Toffee said. "Are you just going to sit there and take it? He also said you wear second hand ectoplasm. If I were you I'd belt him over the head with something." George slowly roused himself from the scaffolding and drifted down to earth. He confronted Marc. "Did you say all that?" he asked woundedly. Marc exchanged a quick glance with Toffee. "Well, not exactly," he said. "All I said, really, was that you can't haunt worth sour apples." "Oh, yeah?" George said. A menacing scowl came into his face. "Yeah," Marc said. "You couldn't scare a nervous kitten." George's face flushed with anger. "I could too," he said. "You and how many Frankensteins?" Marc asked. "Why, you...!" George exploded. "Go tell your mother she wants you." Marc said. "Stop wasting my time." George whirled about, reached down and picked up a large chunk of wood. He waved it under Marc's nose. "Don't you talk to me like that!" he said. "Beat it, you phony, before you get your sheet dirty," Marc sneered. "You're not scaring anyone." That did it. With an unintelligible burst of wrath and hurt pride, George lifted the block of wood and brought it down on the top of Marc's head. Then suddenly he started back, his mouth agape. It wasn't that Marc had slumped, unconscious, in his chair ... that was only to be desired and expected ... but Toffee, with a slight rattle of her chains, had mysteriously disappeared before his very eyes. "Oh, my gosh!" George quavered. "How spooky!" At the same moment, attracted by the noise of the chains, the Blemishes abandoned their work and advanced rapidly onto the scene. They surveyed the empty chair with wonder, then turned to George. "What happened?" they chorused. "What did you do?" George looked at them helplessly. "I don't know," he said. "I hit him and she vanished. That's all." "Good grief!" Cecil said. He thought quickly. "She must be somewhere inside the building. She couldn't get out." He turned to Gerald. "Let's hunt her out." Just as they were turning away, Marc stirred and lifted his head from his chest. With great effort, he opened his eyes and glanced at the empty chair beside him. He smiled. "What happened?" he asked with great innocence. * * * * *