Therefore, when Ralph Conly came home for the Christmas holidays, and though four years older than himself, at once admitted him to a footing of intimacy, Max was both pleased and flattered.

Ralph’s manner, to be sure, was more condescending than was altogether agreeable, but that seemed not inexcusable, considering his superiority in years and knowledge of the world.

At Ion, Max played the part of host, taking Ralph up to his own bedroom to show him his books and other treasures, to the boys’ work-room, out to the stables to see the horses, and about the grounds.

To-day, at Roselands, it was Ralph’s turn to entertain.  He soon drew Max away from the company in the parlors, showed him the horses and dogs, then invited him to take a walk.

It was near dinner time when they returned.  After dinner he took him to his room, and producing a pack of cards, invited him to play.

“Cards!” exclaimed Max.  “I don’t know anything about playing with them, and don’t want to.”

“Why not? are you too pious?” Ralph asked with a sneer, tumbling them out in a heap upon the table.

“I’ve always been taught that men gamble with cards, and that gambling is very wicked and disgraceful, quite as bad as getting drunk.”

“Pooh! you’re a muff!”

“I’d rather be a muff than a gambler, any day,” returned Max with spirit.

“Pshaw! ’tisn’t gambling, unless you play for money, and I haven’t asked you to do that, and don’t propose to.  Come now, take a hand,” urged Ralph persuasively.  “There isn’t a bit more harm in it than in a game of ball.”

“But I don’t know how,” objected Max.

“I’ll teach you,” said Ralph.  “You’ll soon learn and will find it good sport.”

At length Max yielded, though not without some qualms of conscience which he tried to quiet by saying to himself, “Papa never said I shouldn’t play in this way; only that gambling was very wicked, and I must never go where it was done.”

“Have a cigar?” said Ralph, producing two, handing one to Max, and proceeding to light the other.  “You smoke, of course; every gentleman does.”

Max never had, and did not care to, but was so foolish as to be ashamed to refuse after that last remark of Ralph’s; beside having seen his father smoke a cigar occasionally, he thought there could be no harm in it.

“Thank you, I don’t care if I do,” he said, and was soon puffing away as if quite accustomed to it.

But it was not many minutes before he began to feel sick and faint, then to find himself trembling and growing giddy.

He tried to conceal his sensations, and fought against them as long as possible.  But at length, finding he could endure it no longer, he threw the stump of the cigar into the fire, and rising, said, “I—­I feel sick.  I must get out into the air.”

He took a step forward, staggered, and would have fallen, if Ralph had not jumped up and caught him.