The warning came too late; Marc had already downed a large swallow. He closed his eyes and gagged. Like Toffee, however, he forced a frozen smile through his tears and rubbed his stomach luxuriously. "Umm-umm," he managed to say. "It sure hits the spot." "And leaves it in ruins," Toffee agreed. "They must cook this stuff up in old lye vats." "Keep drinking," Marc whispered urgently. "And look happy." "Okay," Toffee said grimly. "I'll die with a smile on my face, but it'll be the lie of the century." She lifted the bottle gamely and drank. "Oh, boy!" she rasped through drawn lips, "this whiskey is the answer to a drunkard's prayer." Marc drank dutifully in turn. "You said it!" he announced, tears streaming from his eyes. "It's delicious!" "I could go on drinking it forever," Toffee wheezed, taking another gulp and clutching her throat. "It's so smooth!" "Makes you want more and more," Marc said, shaking his head to clear it after a third libation. "It gives you a real boost." "Let's not carry it too far," Toffee whispered. "If I drink any more of this mange medicine I won't be able to hit the barnside of a broad." "Broadside of a barn," Marc corrected her weakly. "But you're right. We'd better make the pitch while we're still conscious." Toffee nodded and made a great show of registering happy inspiration. "Say," she cried, "you know who would just love this whiskey?" "No," Marc replied like the second part in a minstrel skit. "Who?" "George!" Toffee said. "You remember good old George?" Marc nodded vigorously. "Wouldn't he be just crazy about whiskey like this?" "He certainly would. Crazy mad, he'd be. Isn't it too bad he's not here?" Then Toffee brightened. "But perhaps he is! You never can tell about good old George." "But when we were talking to him earlier he didn't answer." "Perhaps he misunderstood something one of us said," Toffee suggested. "Maybe he didn't understand our type of humor and got offended. You know, like when I said I was going to gouge his eyes out? A harmless remark to most people, but perhaps not so to good old George." "True," Marc said sagely. "George always was sensitive." He glanced around the room. "George?" he called. "If you're here, old man, how about having a drink with us? If we said anything to hurt your feelings we certainly didn't mean to." He paused to listen. There was a hesitant shuffling across the room. "Well ..." a voice said uneasily. Marc and Toffee exchanged glances of triumph. "You mustn't miss out on this, old man," Marc cajoled. "You really mustn't." "And it will make such a nice friendly gesture," Toffee put in, "to show that you forgive us our thoughtless little jibes." "Well," the voice returned, a shade less hesitant. "I am a little dry." "Of course you are," Marc said jovially, "and we have the very thing to bring you comfort and contentment. Just step over here and I'll give you this whole bottle." "No tricks?" George asked warily.