Felix was the exception. He had retained his hat and his horn, and, whatever fun might still be going, he was ready to join it. That, incidentally, might give you some idea of what Felix was like. After all, he hadn't happened upon us in that second floor hall without warning.

The ME's boys had finished their on-the-spot examination and the body had been removed for autopsy. The meat wagon, therefore, was not out in front of the house any more, but the cluster of squad cars was still there and there was a cop on the door downstairs to screen any comings and goings. There was, furthermore, the crowd of curious onlookers gathered in the street and a couple more cops to hold them at a decent distance.

Just put yourself in Felix's place for a moment. You're a taxpayer, householder, landlord. You've been away from home for the New Year festivities, but now the party is over and you come home. Defining sobriety in the limited sense of being free from the clinical symptoms of the effects of alcohol ingested and not yet eliminated from the system, you are sober.

You still have your paper hat and you're wearing it, but then, it is an extraordinary paper hat and, in addition to anything else you may be, you are also the sculptor who created that most peculiar dame out in the back yard. It's not too much to assume that you will have a more lasting interest in paper hats than will Mr. Average Citizen.