The Complete Adventures of Toffee

by Charles F. Myers

  Turning her attention back to the confusion on the floor, she was delighted to see that Marc and Mr. Culpepper had emerged from the “flail” and were dazedly looking about for some new, less hazardous enterprise. “Up here!” Toffee yelled, pointing to the window. “Up the ladder!”

  They reacted mechanically. They gazed dully at Toffee and the window, then started obediently toward the ladder. They were nearly to the top of the shelves when the two cops, finally weary of struggling with each other on the floor, got to their feet and observed these recent developments with considerable malice.

  “Oh, no you don’t!” one of them grated viciously. He lunged at the ladder and shoved it with all his might. As it shot away from his hand he let out a hysterical laugh. “There!” he yelled. “Now it’s your turn to look silly!”

  The ladder streaked away toward the open end of the section like a shrieking, avenging thing. Marc and Mr. Culpepper twined themselves to it and each other in a seizure of ironbound desperation.

  “Heh, heh, heh!” the cop cackled wildly, watching their terror. “That’ll teach ’em to make light of the law!” He turned his attention to Toffee. “Come down off there, you little witch,” he demanded.

  “Come and get me, lardhead,” Toffee hissed. “I’m holding out for squatter’s rights.”

  The cop accepted her invitation. Or at least he tried. Clutching the edge of a high shelf he attempted to swing himself upward. From there on, the natural laws of gravity took matters into their own hands. The entire bookcase teetered drunkenly for a moment, swayed forward, paused, then clattered downward. Toffee’s pursuer went down under a flood of literature, while Toffee sailed, lightly outward and landed with ease in the outstretched arms of the other policeman. All three of the participants in this rather singular incident were starkly surprised at its outcome.

  At the same moment a howling duet of horror announced the arrival of Marc and Mr. Culpepper at their dreaded destination. There was a thud and a crash as the ladder hit the end of its track and hurled its helpless cargo into the wall. A clatter, a moan and a groan marked the end of the operation.

  “Now look what you’ve done!” Toffee howled as the cop lowered her to the floor. “You’ve probably killed them!”

  A howl of outrage issued from the mountain of books at her side. A few slid from the top of the pile and the head of the deluged policeman jutted into view, eyes ablaze. “You haven’t increased my insurance value either, sister,” he said bitterly. He burrowed his way to freedom and gained his feet, staring evilly at the diminutive cause of his downfall. “I—hate—you,” he said with heavy emphasis.

  BY THE time Toffee and the cops arrived at the end of the section, Marc and Mr. Culpepper were just beginning to stir. Apparently their nervous systems had suffered the bulk of the damage, for they were not noticeably marked. The cops took them into hand.

  “Fun’s over boys!” the more unruffled of them said. “You won’t go skylarking again for a long, long time.”

  In the meantime, Toffee was staring back into the aisle, searching out the shelf on which she had last seen the infant Harpers. She made a little cry of surprise. The shelf was empty.

  “They’re gone!” she said. “They’ve gotten away. And after all the trouble we’ve gone through to bring those two crooks to justice!” A look of speculation crept into her eyes, and she turned to the nearest cop. She grabbed his arm with an urgent hand. “My babies!” she wailed dramatically. “My babies! They’re gone. You’ve got to find them! You’ve got to! I’ll kill myself!”

  “What’s that?” the cop asked mildly.

  “I’ll kill myself, Dumbo,” Toffee said sourly. “Go get my babies. They’ve run away.”

  “I don’t blame ’em. Where did they go?”

  “How should I know?”

  “Kill yourself, lady,” the cop said tiredly. “I’m too worn out.”

  “Why you . . . !” Toffee started. A sudden shriek from the foyer interrupted her. It was a scream with a purpose in life, it was ambitious, it was soul searing and nerve shattering.

  In a body, the cops and the apprehended fugitives ran to the doorway. Then they stopped, completely stunned by the spectacle before them.

  Two lank and very mature figures, clothed only to the essential degree in brief scraps of black velvet, were crawling serenely across the foyer floor. The ancient librarian, holding onto her counter to keep from slipping to the floor, was screaming her dreadful head off. The Harpers, apparently in the midst of escape, had suddenly and quite unbeknownst to themselves been restored to adulthood. At each movement the velvet wrappings were slipping a bit further afield. A number of people, some with books in their hands, were standing about the room in attitudes of fascinated bewilderment.

  Beyond the apparent chronological transformation, even stranger changes had been wrought in the Harpers. Their faces were no longer the works of art that they had previously been. Agatha was definitely moon faced, in a wall-eyed, colorless sort of way, and Chadwick’s handsome features appeared suddenly to have been run over by a steam roller.

  “Holy gee!” one of the cops breathed, recovering from the first shock of surprise. “It’s the homicidal Harpers!”

  “What a catch!” his companion exclaimed excitedly. “We’ll both get promoted, sure. Agnes and Chester Harper! They’re wanted for things that ain’t even got a name yet . . . in five continents!”

  In light of this sensational development, the ambitious policemen hastily abandoned their captives and started in pursuit of the Harpers.

  Agatha and Chadwick, at the sound of running footsteps, glanced up, caught glimpses of each other and became instantly animated. Springing quickly to their feet, they frantically clutched their brief coverings to them where they would do the most good, and started to run, their bare feet slapping dully against the tiled floor. They raced through the entrance and out onto the sidewalk, the policemen in hot pursuit.

  At the other end of the room Toffee plucked urgently at the sleeves of Marc and Mr. Culpepper.

  “Why hang around?” she asked, motioning them back toward the bookshelves. “Follow me, men.”

  THE three of them raced back to the aisle from which they had been so rudely ejected only a few moments before. They shoved the ladder to the far wall and hastily climbed toward the window. The window wasn’t so accessible as it had been before the pillaging of the end bookcase, but they managed to reach it without too much difficulty.

  Outside, the trio found themselves in a dead-end alley which was pleasantly bathed in bright moonlight. They did not tarry, however, to enjoy the scenery. Immediately upon hitting the pavement, Mr. Culpepper streaked out toward the sidewalk, and Marc and Toffee started out after him at a dead run. Then something happened.

  Ahead, they could see Mr. Culpepper skittering swiftly around the corner. Accordingly, it was only logical that they should be in the close vicinity of the little man’s flashing heels. But they were not. Their own progress, unlike Mr. Culpepper’s, suddenly lacked something in get-up-and-go.

  Their steps definitely lagged, and their breath came to them in rasping gasps. As they ran, they turned questionably to each other. Toffee screamed and stopped dead in her tracks. Marc came to a halt only a few steps distant. They gazed at each other in horror.

  All at once, they had become nothing more than a couple of doddering old wrecks. Toffee, no longer a voluptuous young redhead, was now a withered, greyheaded hag. And Marc’s transformation was no less startling, his clothes were hanging loosely over a shriveled frame that was noticeably hunched in the back. Both their faces were networked with wrinkles, and their eyes were dull with age. All of a sudden they had become old, very old.

  They stared at each other in silent bewilderment, too stunned to speak.

  In this dramatic moment, footsteps thundered in the mouth of the alley, and the two policemen appeared, running toward them. The first to reach them, grabbed Toffee roughly by the arm.

  “So!” he cried
triumphantly. “Got yuh! Thought you’d pull a sneak, eh?”

  “Hey!” the other cop yelled, arriving on the scene. “That ain’t them!”

  Toffee glanced quickly at Marc, then back at the cops. “Take your hands off me, young man,” she cried indignantly. “Have you no respect for old age?”

  “Gee, sorry, mother,” the policeman said apologetically. “We thought was someone else. Did you see a young couple with some babies runnin’ down here?”

  Marc shook his head. “Not a soul,” he said.

  The cops backed away, looking thoughtful.

  “Say,” one of them said, a note of suspicion in his voice. “What are you two doin’ down here at this time of night?”

  Toffee giggled coyly. “Why officer!” she exclaimed. “What a question!”

  The cop looked shocked. “You’re kiddin’,” he murmured.

  “It’s our fiftieth anniversary,” Toffee lied smoothly. “And right here, on this very spot, is where we first met. We thought it would be nice if we came back tonight.” She reached out and patted Marc’s hand with a pretty show of sentiment. “And it was, too, wasn’t it, lover?” she asked.

  “You two met in an alley?” the cop said, scandalized.

  “Of course not,” Marc put in quickly. “This was a park here in those days. Now, would you mind leaving us alone?”

  “You’d better not stay here,” the cop said. “These people we’re looking for are still at large and they’re clean outa their heads. You’d better go on home.”

  MARC and Toffee, accompanied by the cops, proceeded to the sidewalk, helping each other along in their sudden senility. They tottered up to the police car that was parked in front of the library and peered interestedly inside. Nearsightedly, they made out Agatha and Chadwick, sitting in the inner dimness, handcuffed to the door handles.

  “What vile looking people!” Toffee exclaimed elegantly. “How vulgar. I abhor vulgarity, don’t you, lover?”

  “Indeed,” Marc said primly. “Indeed I do, sweetheart.”

  Agatha’s scowling countenance instantly appeared at the window. The woman opened her mouth to say something, then, at the sight of the aged couple, changed her mind. A suspicion of something too fantastic to believe flickered briefly in her eyes, then disappeared in a flood of doubt.

  “Couldn’t be,” she murmured, sinking back into the dark reaches of the car. “But oh! how I wish it was!”

  “What a disagreeable looking creature!” Toffee said. She turned pleasantly to the policemen who were standing proudly at her side. “See that they get everything that’s coming to them, won’t you, boys?”

  “Yes, mam,” the cops chorused. “We sure will.”

  Agatha’s face reappeared in the window. “Say ...!” she started hotly.

  “Come, lover,” Toffee said, turning to Marc, “Don’t you think we should look for more refined company?”

  As they started down the sidewalk, Toffee turned back and waved daintily to the two policemen.

  “Goodnight, gentlemen!” she called.

  “Gee,” one of the cops said. “What a sweet old dame. It’s sure a shame they got the wrong street.”

  “What do you mean?” the other cop asked.

  “That alley they were in,” the first cop said. “There wasn’t no park there in the old days. There wasn’t nothin’ but a pickle factory. My old man used to work there.” He sighed. “I didn’t want to tell ’em . . . might of spoiled their evening, you know.”

  FOR the enfeebled couple it was a long, tortuous climb to the fourth floor and to Marc’s office. When they finally made it, they both collapsed into chairs and regarded each other bleakly.

  “This is worse than being children,” Toffee wheezed. “I could die.”

  “You may,” Marc said morosely. “We’ve got one foot in the grave already. Anyway,” he went on, “Agatha and Chadwick are taken care of.”

  “It hardly seems worth it,” Toffee said, “when things turns out this way. No matter what punishment they get, it’ll never be as bad as what’s happened to us.”

  They both sat up as the door to the outer office whined open and slammed to. Footsteps rattled through the silence, and then the door to Marc’s office edged open to make way for a small, ferret-like face.

  “There he is,” Toffee said. “The cause of it all. If I had the strength I’d strangle the little devil with my own two hands.

  Mr. Culpepper looked at them with interest. “I was afraid this would happen,” he said brightly. “I tried to warn you not to drink any more liquor, but you wouldn’t listen. Now your chemical action has been reversed. If you’d only waited twenty-four hours you’d have been all right.” He shoved the door open and stepped inside. “My!” he murmured, patting dust from his clothes, “I certainly had to run to get away from those cops. Why didn’t you follow me?”

  “We didn’t have to,” Toffee replied. “Thanks to you, there isn’t a soul in the world who would recognize us.”

  “Yes, yes,” Mr. Culpepper said, smiling. “We’ll fix that up right away. I have it all worked out. If you take the original dose of two pills you should return to what you were before you grew old. And there shouldn’t be any permanent after-effects,”

  “No!” Marc said. With a palsied hand he boosted his wasted frame out of the chair. “No more of those pills. Heaven only knows what they might do next.”

  “It could hardly be worse than what they’ve already done,” Toffee said. “And besides, I won’t stay this way for the rest of my life . . . what little there is left of it. You’ll take those pills if I have to fire them down your throat with a gun.”

  There were several heated exchanges before Marc finally gave in.

  “Oh, all right,” he said at last. “At this point I really don’t care what happens anyway.”

  “The reaction will be faster this time,” Mr. Culpepper said. “But don’t be alarmed. Everything will be all right.” He plucked two pills from the littered desk and handed them to Marc.

  Marc frowned at the pellets for a long time. Then, saying, “Here goes everything,” he popped them into his mouth. He turned to Toffee, “If we wind up in our infancy again, I’ll . . .”

  Suddenly he stopped; already Toffee’s image was blurring before him. The blackness was closing in fast this time. The room seemed to whirl. Round and round it went, then it stopped with a jerk. But Marc didn’t. He went sailing off into space . . . into unbroken blackness . . .

  TOFFEE gently removed her lips from Marc’s and gazed at the quiet valley through half-closed lids. Folding her hands beneath her head, she lay back on the mossy grass. They were resting on the topmost point of the sloping knoll.

  “You know,” Toffee mused, “I’m actually a little glad to be back here this time. That business with the pills was rather fatiguing; we kept being such unattractive things. Oh, it was lovely being with you again, but here, in the valley of your subconscious, I can at least count on being what I am.”

  “I wonder,” Marc said, “what age I’ll be when I get back.”

  “Oh, you’ll be back to normal, I’m sure,” Toffee said. “When you stop to think about it, it should work out just as Mr. Culpepper said.”

  “Then I’ll probably be dragged off by the cops the minute I show my face.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so. No one really ever got a very good look at you. After the cops showed up, we were in the shadows most of the time and moving too fast. Besides they’ll be looking for a couple with children.”

  Marc shrugged. “Maybe you’re right.” He sighed and stretched out on the grass at Toffee’s side. “It’s really very restful here,” he said.

  No sooner were the words out of his mouth than it happened, the earth began to rock beneath them. The little valley was seized by a spasm, it lurched crazily from side to side in an erratic see-saw motion. Marc dug his fingers into the grass, but it didn’t help; in a moment he was rolling swiftly down the side of the knoll, heading into a thick bank of blu
e mist. Behind him he could hear Toffee calling to him, but her words were muffled and unintelligible though her tone was cheerful and unworried.

  And then the mist closed over him, turned into fog and became dense and black.

  SOMEONE was shaking Marc’s shoulder when he opened his eyes, and he looked up into the anxious face of Mr. Culpepper.

  “The girl!” Mr. Culpepper was crying. “Gone! Entirely gone. I didn’t see her take any of the pills, but she’s gone!”

  Marc gazed dazedly around the room, heard himself echoing the word “gone.”

  “I didn’t mean to do anything like this!” Mr. Culpepper wailed. “I didn’t mean to destroy anyone.”

  To Marc, the room and his thoughts became clear in the same moment. He gazed at Mr. Culpepper’s anguished face and smiled. Perhaps the little man deserved the remorse he was feeling; perhaps it was his just payment for tampering too much with the natural order of things. Still ...

  “I’m sure she’s all right,” Marc said. “She probably just wandered out when you weren’t looking. She often does. Sometimes she just drifts away for whole months at a time. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  The little man looked up, smiled with relief. “She’s so pretty,” he said. “She’s an awful heller but she’s such a pretty one.”

  Two days later Marc was sitting at his desk, going through the morning mail, when Memphis opened the door and came in.

  “The boys are here,” she said.

  “Boys?” Marc asked, looking up.

  “You know. The applicants for the messenger boy job. There are several waiting. Shall I send them in?”