"I can't possibly sit
up, much less walk down-stairs. What will Mamma Vi and the rest say? I'm
afraid Grandpa Dinsmore will be very angry with me."
"He hasn't any right to be," said Ralph; "'tisn't wicked to smoke. But
I'll tell Art not to let him know what made you sick."
Just then the doctor came in. Sam had met him in the hall.
"What's the matter?" he asked; "sick, Max? Ah, you've been smoking?"
sniffing the air of the room and glancing at the boy's pallid face.
"Tell him it isn't dangerous. Art," laughed Ralph, "for I do believe he's
dreadfully scared."
"No, I'm not!" protested Max indignantly, "but I'm sick, and giddy, and
half blind. I never smoked before, and didn't know it would sicken me so."
"How many cigars have you smoked?" asked Arthur, taking hold of his wrist.
"Only half a one," said Ralph; "he threw the rest of it in the fire."
"The best place for it," said Arthur. "Don't be alarmed, my boy, the
sickness and all the other bad effects will pass off after a while; all
the sooner if you are breathing pure air. Ralph, open the door into the
hall and the one opposite. Then ring for Sam to kindle a fire in that
room.
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