The old man shook his head. "Don't know why it should be," he mused. "You city people sure do get some strange notions in your heads." "We don't hold a candle to you country people," Toffee retorted. "But I suppose, being up here alone and all, squeezings do begin to take on a certain importance after a while." "That's right," the old man agreed. "They're mighty comfortin' on a cold night. Mighty nice when everyone's scrouged up around the fire." "Scrouged up?" Toffee asked timidly. "You mean you have to be scrouged up for these squeezings?" Marc suddenly appeared at the opposite window, wiping his hands on a rag with an air of finality. He regarded the old man mildly. "What can I do for you, old timer?" he asked. "For heaven's sake!" Toffee cried imploringly. "Don't ask him!" "What?" Marc stared at her questioningly. "The old boy's as daffy as a snowball in July," Toffee whispered. "He's wild on the idea of going around squeezing people. He claims it's more darned fun. Says he has some sort of new technique or something where people get all scrouged up, whatever that means. He started harping about it the minute he got his nose out of those bushes. It's the worst thing I've ever listened to." "I saw you folks stopped down here," the old man put in, "and I thought you might like some real mountain squeezin's. How about it, mister?" "You see!" Toffee cried. "He's off on it again. Him and his squeezings! It's likely that if I have to listen to any more about either of them I'll be a gibbering idiot." The old man looked distressed. "I think there's somethin' serious wrong with that gal," he told Marc regretfully. "I didn't want to tell her to her face, but she's too excitable. She got all skitterish just because I tried...." "And who wouldn't get skitterish," Toffee snapped, "with old gophers leering out of the bushes, trying to squeeze them? It's enough to unbalance anyone." "I didn't try to squeeze you, lady," the old man retorted with unexpected heat. "And I didn't leer neither." Anger suddenly flared in Toffee's green eyes. "Don't you try to deny it, you old hayseed!" she yelled. "I remember every word you said." * * * * * Marc rushed into the breach. "Stop this wrangling," he commanded. "Let's get to the bottom of this thing." He turned to the old man. "Did you or did you not try to ... ah ... squeeze this young lady?" "At my age?" the old man asked forlornly. "What do you think? I just came down here to sell you folks some corn squeezin's. I didn't know it was goin' to make all this trouble. Now I just want to forget the whole thing and go away. I think I'll go into the hog business." "Corn squeezings?" Marc asked. "What's that?" "It's a kind of likker," the old man said uninterestedly, as though it really didn't matter any more. "I make it myself. I got a still up yonder on the mountain. Right now I'm goin' up there and lay into the damn thing with a sledge hammer."