"You mean this here is yore car?" Pete asked. "Sure," Marc patted the car fondly. "All mine." Pete glanced at Marge. "Shall we do it?" "Yeah," Marge said, helping herself to the jug. "We ain't got all night." * * * * * Marc and Toffee watched interestedly as Pete wedged an immense hand into his coat pocket and set it into a complicated series of fumbling motions. Presently, the hand seemed to locate what it was searching for and emerged once more into the bright moon light. It was holding a gun. "Put up your hands," Pete growled, "before I blow your heads off." Then he glanced at Marge uncertainly. "Is that right?" he asked. The blonde nodded. "You could put more guts into it, maybe, but it'll do in this case." Pete nodded with satisfaction and turned back to Marc. "Will you give me the keys to this here car, please?" he asked politely. "Me and Marge, here, are goin' to steal it, if it's all the same to you." "Oh, for the love of Mike!" Marge snorted disgustedly. "Now you've went and messed it all up. Don't be so polite. How many times do I have to tell you? And don't ever say please. Tell 'em to hand over the keys and no funny business. Make it sound professional. When you're snatchin' a valuable article like a car, the victim's entitled to a first class hold-up with plenty of rough talk. Please, he says! What're people gonna think?" Pete grinned at Marc apologetically. "Marge is coachin' me," he said. "She's learnin' me the profession. Only I'm kinda dumb. I always louse up." "Oh, I don't know," Toffee put in kindly. "I don't think you were so bad. I think a bit of politeness in a stick-up lends a refreshing new note. It's original." "See, Marge!" Pete said triumphantly. "Did you hear? I'm original." "You're the original dope," Marge snapped. "I don't care what she says, we're stickin' to standard methods. If they were good enough for my old lady, they're good enough for me. Now get them keys, and let's blow." For a moment Pete looked crestfallen. "Sometimes," he murmured, "I wish I was just a juvenile delinquent again." Then, with a sigh, he jammed the gun into Marc's ribs. "Hand over them keys, buddy," he snarled. "And no funny business, see?" Marc turned unconcernedly to Marge. "I like the other way better too," he said. "It's got more class." "Who's runnin' this stick-up?" Marge said angrily. "Do I tell you your business? This is what I get for messin' with amateurs." "Aw, Marge," Pete pleaded. "You ought'n to talk like that. I'm tryin' hard to do like you tell me." "Sure," Toffee broke in. "Anyone can see he's sincere, and that's the important thing. Anyone who's sincere is bound to get ahead. You'll be proud of Pete someday. He may get to Sing Sing before you do, yourself." "You stay out of this," Marge rasped, nearly at the end of her rope. "He's my boy friend, and I'll train him my way."