"I know I have," replied the youngster. "That's why I want my
smoke."

"Your wha-a-at?" insisted Tom. By this time light had begun to
dawn upon the bronzed, athletic young engineer, but he preferred
to pretend ignorance a little while longer.

"Say, don't you carry the makings?" demanded the boy.

"You'll have to be more explicit," Tom retorted. "Just what are
you up to? What do you want anyway?"

"I want the makings for a cigarette," replied the boy, shifting
uneasily to the other foot. "You said you'd pay me five dollars
a month and find me in everything, didn't you?"

"Yes; everything that is necessary to living," Reade assented.

"Well, cigarettes are necessary to me," continued the boy.

"They are?" asked Tom, opening his eyes wider. "Why, how does
that happen?"

"Just because I am a smoker," returned the boy, with a sickly
grin.

"You are?" gasped Tom. "At your age? Why, you little wretch!"

"That's all right, but please don't go on stringing me," pleaded
the younger American. "Just pass over the papers and the tobacco