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?"

"Naturally," the old man nodded. "Can't give 'em away, you know."

"I should think not!" Toffee cried. "Not to me, you couldn't. I wouldn't have them if you paid me."

"I could give you a sample," the old fellow offered. His smile was starkly toothless.

Toffee edged quickly away. "No, thank you," she said loftily. "In fact, I'd really rather not hear any more about it. Why don't you just take your filthy-minded squeezings and slither back into the bushes where you came from? For my part, I'll just sit here and try to forget everything you've said."

"Well, okay," the old man said sadly, "but you don't know what you're missin'."

He started to turn away, but Toffee suddenly held out a restraining hand. It was too late now. She was already intrigued. Maybe there was something here she should know about. "Wait," she said, lowering her voice. "If you can tell me in a nice way, what's so terrific about these squeezings of yours?"

"They send you clean outa this world," the old man grinned. "Just a little bit, and you won't even know what hit you."

Toffee frowned. "It seems you could be a little more modest about it," she reproved. "Aren't you married?"

"Oh, Lord, yes," the old man sighed wearily.

"Doesn't your wife mind 

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