"This is Graduation!" Stoker shouted happily. "Never mind the question: the Answer's power!"
Its fine explosive sound made him repeat the word, and me join in. "Power! Power!" I pulled another lever, and the entire catwalk slowly descended towards the next lower balcony; yet another, and the nearest furnace door yawned to afford me my first clear glimpse of the fire inside — a boundless, flickerless, terrifying white-orange glow, like one compressed and solid flame, the heat of which even at fifty meters had like to have singed my fleece.
"Wrong lever!" Stoker laughed, and having pushed it back and pulled two others he rushed me off the catwalk and onto the lower balcony. Moments later a crane-bucket swinging furnacewards (at my command, it seems) crashed through the catwalk rail and spilled its molten contents directly on the switchboard. Sparks flew, bells rang, men with masks and hoses swarmed to the catwalk, which soon disappeared in a pall of steam.
"Come on, before the whole flunkèd place blows!" Stoker opened a nearby door marked aid station, and grinning at the high-voiced cries and oaths that issued forth, beckoned me in. Standing in the middle of the room (a small one, better lit than the Furnace Room and much quieter once the door closed) was the victim of his recent prank; shirt off and trousers down, she had been being ministered to by three other women, brawny workers all, who had smeared white ointment on her soot-grimed bosoms and husky posteriors. One of the women who had come wrathfully forward now smiled and said, "Oh flunk, it's the Chief! You sure fixed Madge."
"She had it coming," Stoker said cheerily.
Upon our entry Madge had spun from us and snatched up her breeches; seeing who we were now she let them fall and grumbled, "Sonofabitch, all I done was goose you. Look what you done!" She thrust towards us her injured hams. "Like to took the skin off!"
"No! Let's have a look, Madgie." He pretended to examine her closely, turning her around by the hips and frowning at the blisters. "Striking effect, George, isn't it?"
"Quite striking," I agreed. And in truth, for all her sweat and dishevelment, the naked laborer was not without a hefty beauty: her short black hair was bound by a grease-stained rag, under which her wide, coarse-featured face beamed mischievously; her arms and waist were thick, her hips ample, her thighs well-muscled, her legs unshaved. Aware she was being made game of, she nonetheless exhibited herself with pride and petulance, hands on hips; and while she was in no way comparable to Anastasia, astonishing indeed were the white-salved bosoms against the brown skin, their nipples puckered stoutly under our gaze. Just as fetching was her spirit: having turned full circle she seized her examiner's hair and rubbed his face into the salve, seeing to it he got a beardful despite his merry oaths. The other women chuckled and vowed good-naturedly he had got no more than his desert; by way of compensation for his prank Stoker granted Madge relief from the balance of her shift — on condition she accompany us, just as she was, to a costume party which he said was in progress in the Living Room.
"I wondered why your pal had that get-up on!" she said. The prospect of appearing naked and bedaubed before strangers nowise dismayed her; she agreed to go with us, stipulating only that she be permitted to improvise a mask for the sake of her modesty and wear her high-top safety shoes for the sake of her toes, which were afflicted with corns. Stoker consented and fetched a new flask from the first-aid locker while the woman shucked off her denims. Her two companions, loudly envious of her good fortune, pitched in to repaint her, improving their earlier effort with bright-colored tinctures from the locker: her nipples and deep-punched navel they ringed concentrically with red against a white-salve background; bright yellow ointment banded all her limbs and set off cleft and dimples of her strong brown rump. Her hair they left bound in the kerchief, and by way of a mask wound her head in gauze bandage, outlining eye-, nose-, and mouth-holes with red antiseptic. Though they laughed and teased as they worked, wagering their chief would appear next morning with a multicolored beard, they were much impressed when they stood back to view the finished product, which I applauded vigorously.
"Aw, you're beautiful, Madgie," one of them said. "You'll knock their eyes out."
"Pretty as a picture," said the other. "Ain't she, Chief? I just wish I could see their faces when you walk in. Have loads of fun, honey."
"Don't dare breathe a word to Harry!" Madge pleaded happily. "He'd have a conniption!" She looked down at her body. "Wish to Pete we had a mirror in here. Flunk it all, Mr. Stoker, we need a mirror!"
Stoker slipped his arm around her waist and offered her the flask. "Here's all you need, Madgikins." He dismissed her attendants, bidding them notify his own that we were gone to his Spring-Carnival party in the Living Room, and promising that Madge would have much to report on the morrow. The woman stood erect, shod and painted, in the middle of the room, and tipped the flask up — the 'action thrust out her bull's-eyed belly (hard as G. Herrold's, by the look of it) and flexed the muscles of her ribs and shoulders.
"By George!" I exclaimed.
She saw how I gazed at her, and winked as she drank. "You ain't badlooking yourself, kid." Feet apart and arms akimbo now, she ignored Stoker's playful strokings from behind. "So where's the party?"
I rushed at her with a joyous cry, seized her by the hips, and would turn her about for a proper mounting. She laughed, game enough, but did not at once understand just what I wished, and Stoker took advantage of the little confusion to intervene.
"Plenty of time later, old fellow."
"Later nothing! Bend over, ma'am! I'm George the Goat-Boy."
But he inserted himself between us with a grin and would not be pushed away. "You forget you're already spoken for."
"You think I can't do the pair of them?" I demanded.
"Attaboy!" Madge cheered.
"I'll show you who's potent," I vowed.
But Stoker, though he beamed approval of my attitude, insisted we move on to the party, and clasping each of us firmly about the shoulders, let us through the rear of the Aid Station into a long dim corridor, just wide enough for three to walk abreast. Light-headedly I complained, "Supposed to be so potent. I think you're jealous."
Stoker only hooted, and Madge laughed too. We paused to pass the flask around, and I found myself leaning against the wall for support as I drank.
"Jealous he ain't, lamb," Madge said. "Not a jealous bone in him! He caught me and Harry going to it in the Aid Station once and didn't say a word, did you, Mr. Stoker? Just stood there and watched." Her voice turned mischievous. "I figured that was why he'd brought you along — so he could watch us."
"Tales out of school!" Stoker scolded, and pinched her near buttock. She sprang forward with a squeal, then around behind me to escape him. I growled and snatched at her gaudy breasts, which by virtue of their paint slipped from my grasp, and the three of us then raucoused down the corridor. At the end was a double door labeled living room: Madge reached it first, found it locked, and turned breathless and laughing to face us. Stoker came up next, but instead of having at her he drew a ring of keys from his trouser-pocket and commenced to search through them. She turned then to me, held back by my limp; and seeing I was still all hot resolve, shrank laughing to the door and held out her arms to fend me off.
"Now, pet!" she warned merrily. "Mind what the Chief said! Not till later, when you're done with Miss Stacey!"
"He's not my chief," I declared, and hoisting my wrapper, laid hold and approached at the ready.