Toffee nodded thoughtfully. She glanced around, looked at George.
"Hey, George!" she called. "Do you know what Marc was just telling me about you?" The ghost looked up. "He said you were the lousiest ghost in the racket. He said he wouldn't hire you to haunt a rabbit hutch."
An expression of dismayed hurt came over George's face.
"Well?" Toffee said. "Are you just going to sit there and take it? He also said you wear second hand ectoplasm. If I were you I'd belt him over the head with something."
George slowly roused himself from the scaffolding and drifted down to earth. He confronted Marc.
"Did you say all that?" he asked woundedly.
Marc exchanged a quick glance with Toffee. "Well, not exactly," he said. "All I said, really, was that you can't haunt worth sour apples."
"Oh, yeah?" George said. A menacing scowl came into his face.
"Yeah," Marc said. "You couldn't scare a nervous kitten."
George's face flushed with anger. "I could too," he said.