The Complete Adventures of Toffee

by Charles F. Myers

  “Nonsense,” Toffee said. “They’re just a bunch of harmless children.”

  “So harmless,” Marc snorted, “they’ve danced the whole nation right down the path to extinction.”

  “Oh, that,” Toffee said, smiling secretively. “I wouldn’t worry about that. I wouldn’t waste the time.”

  “Oh, you wouldn’t, wouldn’t you?” Marc said annoyedly. “Well, let me remind you, Miss Cotton Brain, that you’re subject to the laws of extinction just as much as the rest of us. When I die you go with me, you know, and after the way you’ve messed up my final hours I will consider it a pleasure to perish just to get even with you. I will laugh as the bombs come crashing down on my roof.”

  “You’re doing me a terrible injustice,” Toffee said.

  At this point their conversation was abruptly concluded by a heavy rapping from the Chair.

  “The Chair addresses the young woman known as Toffee.”

  “If I’m known as Toffee,” Toffee snapped, “then call me Toffee. Stop making me sound like some loosemoraled hussy slinging her hips around in a Klondike saloon.”

  “Just remain seated,” the Chair said severely, “and speak into the microphone on the table. There are some questions for you to answer before we proceed.”

  Toffee eyed the Chair with raised eyebrows. “Okay,” she said. “Shoot.” She turned to Marc. “Stop nudging me.”

  “First of all,” the Chair said. “Please make a statement of your political affiliations.”

  “Political affiliations?” Toffee said, completely bewildered. “If you mean have I ever had anything to do with politicians, I haven’t. I might as well say that I think all politicians are a bunch of bums.” She turned again to Marc. “Are you ill, dear? Why are you making that awful choking noise?”

  Marc repeated the awful choking noise, and the Chair rattled for attention. The Chair also glowered through its glasses.

  “What the committee wants to know is which political philosophy do you embrace?”

  “None of them,” Toffee said. “I wouldn’t touch any of them with a pole, much less clasp them to my bosom as you suggest. Aren’t you getting a little lewd with all this talk about embracing?”

  “Let’s put it another way,” the Chair said with strained patience. “Of which nation are you a citizen?”

  “Why, none of them, of course,” Toffee said. “Not that they wouldn’t have me, you understand ...”

  PRECISELY at this point a door behind the Chair burst open, and a small, musty individual in shirt sleeves hurled himself into the room.

  “It’s come!” he piped. “It’s come!”

  “Has someone been praying rain?” Toffee asked innocently.

  The Chair rattled frenziedly. “Just what is it that’s important enough to justify this outburst?”

  “The news!” the little man jibbered. “I was working down in the Intelligence Department just now ...”

  “I wondered where they keep all the intelligence around here,” Toffee said. “I didn’t know they had a department for it.”

  “Shut up, can’t you?” Marc hissed. “You’ve made enough enemies already to last us out a lifetime.”

  “You Know Where!” the little man screeched. “You Know Where!”

  A murmur of apprehension moved through the room.

  “They’ve attacked?” the Chair asked quickly. “Has the attack begun? Speak up, man!” Then without waiting for a reply, he turned to the gathering at large. “I will now lead you all in prayer.”

  “No!” the little man cried. “No, no!”

  “You don’t want us to pray, you nasty little atheist?”

  “No!” the little man cried, “Yes! I don’t care! But there isn’t any attack! There isn’t going to be one! You Know Where was demobilized last night. It’s a positive miracle! Our agents report rumors about a religious revival going on there. Everyone is talking about an angel with red hair who appeared to the Leader and ...”

  Marc turned sharply to Toffee with the look of a man who has just been stung by a bee.

  “You . . .!”

  “Uh-huh,” Toffee said. “We had quite a romp last night, the Leader and I.” She spoke through a pandemonium of cheering, crashing bottles and mad guitar music.

  “Oh, bury me not on the lone praree!” the lanky Congressman chortled besottedly. “Where the coyotes howl ’cause there’s no whisk-ee!”

  The Chair added to the din in behalf of a moment of silence and received just a moment.

  “Let’s knock off for the day,” a voice yelled, “and get drunk!”

  “We did that yesterday,” the Chair said. “We have to think of appearances once in a while, you know. Besides, this new development puts a whole new face on things. It calls for action.”

  “What about me?” Toffee yelled. “I insist on being investigated.”

  “Please be quiet, young woman,” the Chair said. “You’re no longer needed here.”

  “Thank heavens!” Marc sighed. “Come on, let’s leave.”

  “Certainly not,” Toffee said. “I have other business to take care of.”

  “Oh, no! Marc cried, and slumped exhaustedly into his chair. “I’m too tired for any more!”

  “We must realize,” the Chair was saying, “that an opportunity has been placed in our hands. The enemy is helpless. Now is the time to strike!”

  THERE was a pause while this sank in, and then the cheering and roughhousing began again with greater vigor.

  “Rickety-rax!” One vaporish congressman giggled, slipping limply from his chair to the floor. “Rickety-rax! Give ’em the axe!”

  A colleague at his right launched a squadron of paper darts into the air as the guitarist twanged away an off-key rendition of the Air Corps Song. This musical interlude, however, came to an unhappy end as the gentleman across the table, finishing the pierced heart with a flourish, picked up an inkwell and emptied it into the bowels of the instrument. There was a splintering crash as the donner received his contribution, guitar and all, across the crown of his head. Undaunted, the man rose from his seat and launched into a lamentable immitation of Jolson doing a mammy song.

  “We’ll kill ’em!” the cry went up. “We’ll give it to ’em in the teeth, the dirty, yella, murderin’ rats!”

  “Gentlemen!” the Chair pleaded. “Gentlemen! Your enthusiasm and patriotic spirit is commendable. But let’s be constructive about this thing. Let’s declare war!”

  Toffee and Marc, who had been watching this display with rising emotion, got to their feet simuitaneously.

  “N-ow just a minute!” Toffee yelled. “Just a minute, you tramps!”

  “Precisely,” Marc said, steadying himself against the table. “Just a minute.”

  But their protest was unheard in the din of the merrymaking.

  “I can see,” Toffee said, lifting her hand, “that the time is due to take measures!”

  “For once,” Marc said, “I’m with you one hundred percent.” He moved to her side in a limp gesture of staunch support, blinking drowsily.

  Toffee eyed the revelling law makers with a selective eye. Her gaze fell to two rotund parties who, their arms clasped about each other’s shoulders, were dancing a polka in the aisle. As one of the bulbous rears swiveled in her direction, she let go. It was a direct hit on the target.

  With a searing cry the erstwhile dancer unclasped his partner and doubled over, his chops aquiver with an emotion too great for expression.

  His partner, at first, taken aback, eyed this inexplicable development with bleary gloom. Then he beamed with happy understanding.

  “Leap frog!” he yelled joyously. “Hey, fellas! Leap frog!”

  THE rush for the aisle was instantaneous and enthusiastic. As the playful congressmen lined up for the game, Toffee leaped to the top of the table and assumed a firing stance. Taking careful aim as the first gamester wheezed up the aisle and boosted himself aloft over the back of his suffering brother, she executed a neat wing shot wh
ich dropped her victim into place with a convulsion of shocked pain.

  “Fish in a barrel,” Toffee said gleefully.

  “Good,” Marc said, coming momentarily awake. “There! Get that gaffer on the rise!”

  And another congressman doubled in mid-air and came to earth with a rasp on his lips.

  “Stacking up nicely, eh?” Toffee said. “Makes a neat exhibit, all of them in a row like that.”

  The sport continued apace. It wasn’t long before the aisle was lined from end to end with tortured congressmen who moaned and wailed like lost souls taking hell’s post grad course. Texas, naturally, made the loudest noise.

  “Here, now!” he blurted. “What’s going on here? What do you fellows think you’re doing; you look like a lot of distressed cats who’ve found cement in the sand box. It doesn’t look at all nice. I’m surprised at you, Maine, for being mixed up in this sort of thing. You, too, South Dakota. Young woman, why are you standing on that table?”

  “When I go to the circus,” Toffee said, “I like to see everything. I wouldn’t want to miss this for the world.”

  “I thought I told you to go home. The Congress has finished with you.”

  “But have I finished with the Congress?” Toffee said. “That’s what I ask myself.”

  “Get out!” the Chair cried, definitely beginning to show cracks about the outer surface. “Please go home. Please!”

  “I’m afraid I can’t,” Toffee said. She nodded significantly toward the convulsed members. “I’d hate to go and leave so much unfinished business behind. Or should I say so much behind, unfinished business?”

  “Do you mean to say that you are in some way responsible for that repellent demonstration in the aisle?”

  “I take the credit proudly,” Toffee said. “Remember, I said I had a secret weapon? However, I must say that Mr. Pillsworth, here, has given me all sorts of moral support.”

  “Thank you,” Marc said with composure. “Glad to be associated with any enterprise of a worthwhile nature. I’m a real sucker for these toney clambakes.”

  “Toney!” The Chair snorted in outrage. “I suppose you are able to undo this disgraceful state of affairs?”

  “Oh, quite,” Toffee smiled. “In a twinkling. But I wonder if I really want to.”

  “You must,” the Chair said distractedly. “With all that moaning and groaning going on down there I can’t hear myself think.”

  “Heaven only knows why you should want to,” Marc said, “with your dwarfed powers of reasoning.”

  “QUIET!” the Chair snapped. “Young lady, I’m telling you to release those men from whatever unattractive thing is ailing them. That’s a congressional order!”

  “Okay,” Toffee said. “But with one stipulation.

  “And what is that, may I ask?”

  “That you follow the example of You Know Where—and follow it to the last bomb and factory.”

  “What! Are you actually suggesting that we demobilize the country?”

  “I’m telling you now,” Toffee said earnestly. “And I’m telling you to do it immediately. Get religion, brother.”

  “I see,” the Chair said quietly. His hand moved cautiously toward an alarm button.

  “I’m sorry,” Toffee murmured, “but I haven’t time to waste on any more guards.” She lifted her hand, made the necessary motion, and the Chair departed his moorings with a leap that sent his glasses sailing off into the air.

  “Murder!” he screamed, and crashed back into his seat in a fit of acute discomfort.

  “Well,” Marc sighed. “Fair’s fair. These boys have been giving everyone else that localized pain for years. Now they’re just getting a shot of their own medicine. By the way, what happened to that little man from Intelligence?”

  “He’s in with the congressmen,” Toffee said.

  Dusting her hands lightly, she turned away just in time to see a door swing open to permit the pompous entrance of several over-costumed and over-decorated individuals who had obviously played the army and navy game with the right set of loaded dice.

  One, however, stood ahead of and apart from the others. He glittered and shone with all the bogus brilliance of a dime store jewelry counter. From the peak of his duck tailed blonde hair to the tips of his two-toned shoes—passing quickly over his rust-red jacket and lemon yellow trousers—he was the absolute end and final gasp in well-upholstered commercial entertainers. As he stood impressively in the doorway his shirt front added the final touch of elegance by lighting up with the classical quote: Kiss Me Quick!

  “Good night!” Marc said. “President Flemm! And the heads of the War Department!”

  AS Toffee gazed on this fine new catch whole vistas of fresh achievement spread themselves before her. “Hail! Hail!” she said. “Deck the halls with poison ivy!”

  The President, having had his little joke, had since fallen into mood for a bit of tribute from what he considered his official flunkies—or straight men. As he waited for the Congress to rise in his honor—without result—an expression of petulance swept over his features. It wasn’t as though they weren’t aware of his presence; he made himself known surely. Then why didn’t the clods snap into it?

  He stepped imperiously to the head of the aisle, from whence there issued low sounds of displeasure and suddenly, with a start, found himself faced with a shattering view of a whole row of upturned bottoms.

  “Here, now!” he exclaimed. “What sort of greeting is this? If you men have some personal criticism to make against me there must be a nicer way of expressing it!” He swung about to the Chair, “Just who is responsible for this insulting ...!”

  The words jammed together in his throat at the sight of the Chair whose sightless eyes peered down at him with every evidence of complete loathing. He seemed to snarl. In fact, as the President watched, the Chair actually did bare his fangs and snarl.

  “Now, just a minute!” the President cried, taken aback. “Maybe we do have our little differences now and again, but there’s no need to get obstreperous about it. Now stop slavering at the mouth in that extraordinary way and tell those old fools in the aisle to turn around right end up.”

  The Chair only snarled again.

  “Oh, very well,” the President said coolly. “If that’s the attitude you want to take ...”

  “I don’t think you’re really going to get anywhere with him,” Toffee put in mildly.

  The President whirled about. “And who are you?”

  “You might say I’m in charge here,” Toffee said. “My friend and I think you’ll discover that Congress is suffering from sock—in a way.” She nodded to the Chair. “With that one, it’s something I said.” The big brass crowded in curiously from the rear and ogled Toffee with enormous appreciation. “Oddly, you are just the group I’ve been waiting to see. I’ve been wanting to tell you that the time has come for you to demobilize the nation—unload all that high-powered ammunition before it goes off and hurts someone.”

  The President merely stared at her for a moment. Then he shook his head. “Wouldn’t get a big enough laugh,” he said.

  “I take it you are replying in the negative?” Toffee asked.

  “You got it, sis,” the President said with his customary dignity. “Besides, just where do you get off telling me the time? Who signed you up for the act?”

  “Allow me to present credentials,” Toffee said, and raised her hand. “You’ll get a kick out of this.”

  A moment later President Flemm, quite to his own surprise, added acrobatic dancing to his list of talents. Toffee, aware that important persons required her best efforts, added a shot to the President’s neck, having already administered to the more logical location.

  President Flemm’s fine tenor assailed the air with ear-splitting clarity, as his companions edged away in terror. Clutching alternately at his neck and his rear, the man leaped about like a fan dancer deprived of her feathers before a meeting of young business executives. The President gave the perfor
mance of a man who was torn in his very soul.

  “Think that’ll get a laugh?” Toffee asked. And then, lest the President desired companions, she quickly added the efforts of the War Department. The effect was engaging in a primitive sort of way, though there was a great deal of clank and crashing of brass on brass.

  “Any time you gentlemen decide to sit one out,” Toffee said, “just let me know. There are plenty of telephones handy with which to spread the good news.”

  She and Marc retreated to the steps in front of the podium, picking up an abandoned bottle on the way. Toffee settled back comfortably and indulged in a long draft.

  Hey,” Marc said, “you might leave a swallow for me. I’m the one who needs the stimulant you know.”

  Toffee handed him the bottle, and for a moment they sat silent listening dreamily to the sounds of gnashing teeth and grunted curses that filled the air about them. Marc looked over to where the President and his cronies had fallen into a stupor of misery.

  “Looks like the government has collapsed,” he observed drowsily. “I might say it has a pain in its brass.”

  Even as he spoke, the President lifted an enfeebled hand and beckoned to them. “I think the President wishes a word with us.

  “Isn’t it thrilling,” Toffee said, “meeting all these important people on such intimate terms?” She tilted the bottle again. “Let’s toddle over and see what the old comic wants.”

  “This is excruciating!” the President panted as they approached. “You’ve got to stop it; it’s unbearable.”

  “Now you know how people felt about your jokes,” Toffee said. “I take ityou’re on the verge of capitulation?”

  “Over the verge,” the President grunted weakly. “Huh, fellas?”

  FOUR sets of clenched teeth bobbed up and down behind him, accompanied by the plaintive rattle of metal.

  “Good show, men,” Toffee said. “That’s using the old heads. Follow me to the telephones the best way you can and start the wires singing—my tune, of course.”