tter than a good view of their God in
action. And whichever girl he chose would leave six others eagerly
awaiting their turns, watching his every move with appreciative eyes.

And on top of that, there was Gerda, close by. He was trying to keep an
eye on her. But was she keeping an eye on him, too?

It didn't seem to matter much that she couldn't recognize him as William
Forrester. She could still see him in action with the seven luscious
maidens. The idea was appalling.

All afternoon, he had put off the inevitable by every method he could
think of. He had danced with each of the girls in turn for entirely
improbable lengths of time. He had performed high-jumps, leaps,
barrel-rolls, Immelmann turns and other feats showing off his Godlike
prowess to anyone interested. He had made a display of himself until he
was sick of the whole business. He had consumed staggering amounts of
ferment and distillate, and he had forced the stuff on the girls
themselves, in the hope that, what with the liquor and the exertion,
they would lie down on the grass and quietly pass out.

Unfortunately, none of these plans had worked. Dancing and acrobatics
had to come to an end sometime, and as for the girls, what they wanted
to do was lie down, not pass out--at least not from liquor.

The Chosen Maidens had been imbued, temporarily, with extraordinary
staying powers by the Priests of the various temples, working with the
delegated powers of the various Gods. After all, an ordinary girl
couldn't be expected to keep up with Dionysus during a revel, could she?
A God reveling was more than any ordinary mortal could take for long--as
witness the ancient legend concerned the false Norse God, Thor.

But these girls were still raring to go, and the sun had set, and he was
running out of opportunities for delay. He tried to think of some more
excuses, and he couldn't think of one. Vaguely, he wished that the real
Dionysus would show up. He would gladly give the God not only the
credit, he told himself wearily, but the entire game.

He glanced out into the growing dimness. Gerda was out there still, with
her brother and the oaf--whose name, Forrester had discovered, was Alvin
Sherdlap. It was not a probable name, but Alvin did not look like a
probable human being.

Now and again during the long afternoon, Forrester had got Ed Symes to
toss up more rocks as targets, just to keep his hand in and to help him
in keeping an eye on Gerda and her oaf,