"Yeah. Over in the sport's department. Last week she got him in a lion snare, but I guess she's back to her bear traps this week. They cripple him up so he can't get away so fast." "This Dolly," Toffee said. "She bears the manager ill will?" "Oh, no," the girl said. "She's crazy about him. She's been after him for years and never got anywhere at all. I guess she figures time's runnin' out." "And this sport's department," Toffee asked. "They have a department just for sports? I mean, is this manager considered a sport?" "He's game," the girl said. "Let's put it that way. The sports department is where they sell equipment." "At least this Dolly suits the locale to the action," Toffee said. Just then the atmosphere was rent with another bellow of agony. "Come on," Marc said. "The poor devil needs help." "Be careful," the girl called after them as they started away. "He's mean when he's cornered. Snarls and spits like a mad badger. And that Dolly, she's been mean all her life." Marc and Toffee hurried to the sports section and stopped at the entrance with a gasp of dismay. At the far end of the department a camping display was being utilized for a scene of mad action. A young man of immaculate and personable countenance, one foot held fast between the jaws of a mammoth bear trap, was energetically distorting his features and making loud sounds of dissatisfaction. The cause of his predicament, a large, athletic, sharp-featured female, wearing tortoise shell glasses and tennis shorts, stalked him from behind a teepee. She was carrying a baseball bat, and a mad light glittered in her eyes. It would have been apparent to even a retarded child with a disturbed psyche that the young man's chances were slim. As Toffee and Marc watched, the young lady with the glasses leered evilly from around the edge of the teepee and flourished her bat in a few practice swipes. "Ho-ha!" she cried with primitive triumph. "So I've got you at last, you stinker!" She paused to cackle fiendishly to herself. "You won't get away this time. I'm going to pound that thick coco of yours so hard you won't wake up for centuries. And when you wake up--you know what?" * * * * * The young man, who had ceased to snarl at the beginning of this overwrought recital, looked around apprehensively. "No," he said. "What?" "You are going to find yourself married, wed, hitched, spliced, mated, united, espoused, wived, coupled, joined and made one with me. You are going to be mine in twenty-three languages, in fifteen churches, ten civil ceremonies and a couple of uncivil ones I just thought up myself. How do you like them apples, Mr. Smart-stuff?" "No!" the young man yelped, reaching for the jaws of the trap. "No! Never!" "Let go of that trap!" the girl yelled. "I'll lop your ears off just for the sheer hell of it!" "We'd better lend a hand here," Marc said. "She'll kill him with love."