"The way I came in," Marc replied sourly, "I didn't see anything." "Oh, of course not," Toffee agreed. "Just looking down that way and seeing you here all of a sudden, I forgot for a moment that you were from outside. Well, just so you'll know, this is the Miscellaneous Information chamber of your mind. You've never been here before. You've only seen the valley of your mind." She smiled demurely. "I guess you're just naturally drawn to wherever I happen to be. But I do wish you'd seen the sign. It's an idea I got from outside, in your world. It's all lit up with mental impulses ... just like neon. It's really beautiful." Marc winced. That his mind might someday become a mental replica of Broadway was the most repulsive idea he'd had to face in weeks. Toffee would be setting up a chain of "Grey Matter" hot dog stands next. "Miscellaneous Information?" he asked, uncertainly. "Yes," Toffee said, with the professional air of a paid guide giving a fifty cent tour. "In a year's time, you pick up more odd facts and figures than you think. If they were left lying around, your mind would look like a city dump. So at the end of every fiscal year, it's my job to gather them all together and file them alphabetically under topic headings. Then, it's always here when you need it, unless it's too out of date. See what I mean?" Marc nodded slowly. "I guess so," he said, and his voice was laden with uncertainty. "But don't you think it's a little creepy?" "Nonsense!" Toffee cried, dismissing the idea. Then her smile suddenly faded and her eyes became hard. "And while we're on the subject," she said menacingly, "there's something I'd like to ask you." "What's that?" * * * * * Turning to a small table nearby, she picked up a stiff white card, and flipped it angrily under his nose. "Just you tell me," she demanded hotly, "How you happened to pick up the bust measurements of the entire Gaities chorus!" Marc's expression was one of utter stupification for a moment, then it relaxed. "Oh, that!" he exclaimed with false heartiness. "Yes, that!" Toffee echoed ruthlessly, placing one hand on a smooth hip. "That's easy to explain," Marc went on quickly. "It all had to do with the advertising agency. We handled some ads for the Gaities." "Ads?" Toffee sneered. "You mean they advertise things like _that_!" "Well, no. Not exactly. It was really the show that we advertised." "What a show it must be!" Toffee exclaimed sarcastically. "That Miss Flare La Greer must be a fair sensation every time she sets foot on a runway. With measurements like that, I wonder that there's any room left for the rest of them." "Don't be vulgar," Marc put in without hope.