"I shouldn't wonder his head aches," Toffee mused. "He's the most loaded spirit I've ever seen." She giggled. "A spirit full of spirits."
"This," Marc said sourly, "is no time to crack bum jokes." He opened the car door and stepped out onto the road. "I'll have to change that tire."
A moment later, business-like scrapings and clankings in the rear of the car announced that Marc had set to work. Toffee leaned back and gazed absently out of the window. There wasn't much to see, only a lot of trees and bushes. And everything, to her way of thinking, was entirely too quiet. For a time she toyed with the idea of rousing George, but finally decided against it.
Then there was a faint rustling sound and Toffee glanced up to see a man scurrying out of the bushes at the side of the road. He was old, except for his eyes, which were remarkably blue and clear, though rather eclipsed by two enormous shaggy eyebrows. The rest of his face was nothing more than a tangle of yellowish grey hair, for there was no telling where his hair left off and his beard began. His clothes were in such a state of disintegration as to make them unattractive to street urchins in sub-zero weather.
"Howdy," the old fellow rasped. He locked a bony hand over the edge of the car door and peered at Toffee nearsightedly.
"Howdy," Toffee replied, glad even for this diversion. "What can I do for you?"
"I was wonderin'," the old fellow said with sudden shyness, "if you'd like some squeezin'?"
Toffee started visibly. "Aren't you being a little direct?" she asked coolly. "Do I look like the sort that would be interested in your squeezings?"
"They're mighty good," the old fellow went on hopefully. "I'll let you have 'em at a bargain, too."
"What!" There was real shock in Toffee's voice. "You expect me to pay you for these ... ah ... squeezings, as you so quaintly call them?"