“Dear boy, I’m sorry you are suffering,” Violet said, leaning over him, “but I hope you will never try it again.”

“Papa smokes,” he said, “so I thought it was all right for me.”

“No,” said Mr. Dinsmore; “a grown person may sometimes do safely what is dangerous for a younger one.  You have my sympathy this time, Max, but if ever you make yourself sick in the same way again, I don’t think I shall pity you at all.  He will hardly be able to go home to-day, Arthur?”

“No, sir; leave him here in my care.  To-morrow he will probably be quite recovered, and I will drive him over in my gig.”

“Would you like me to stay with you, Max?” Violet asked, laying her cool hand on his forehead.

“Or me?” asked her mother.

“No, thank you, Grandma Elsie and Mamma Vi,” he said.  “You are both very kind, but Walter and Gracie wouldn’t know what to do without you; and I shall do very well.”

“Yes,” said Ralph, “I’ll help Art take care of him.  I ought to, as I gave him the cigar that sickened him so.”

Mr. Dinsmore and the ladies then bade good-by and went down-stairs, the doctor accompanying them, leaving the two boys alone together.

“Do you begin to get over it, old fellow?” asked Ralph.

“No; I’m wretchedly sick,” said Max.  “I think I’ve had enough tobacco to last me all my days.”

“O pshaw! it won’t be half so bad next time, and pretty soon won’t sicken you at all.”

“But what should I gain to pay me for all the suffering?”

“Well, it seems sort o’ babyish not to smoke.”

“Does it?  I’ve never seen Grandpa Dinsmore smoke, and I don’t believe he ever does, nor Uncle Edward, nor Uncle Horace either.”

“No, they don’t, and Art doesn’t, but they’re all sort o’ pious old fogies,” Ralph said, with a coarse laugh.

“I wouldn’t talk so about my own relations, if I were you,” returned Max, in a tone of disgust.

“Of course I shouldn’t let anybody else say a word against them,” said Ralph.

Arthur’s entrance put an end to the conversation.  He inquired of Max if the sickness were abating; then sitting down beside him, “Boys,” he said, “I want to talk to you a little about this silly business of smoking and chewing.”

“I’ve never chewed,” said Max.

“I’m glad to hear it, and I hope you never will, or smoke again either.  How would you like, Max, to have a cancer on your lip?”

“Cancer, sir?  I wouldn’t choose to have one for anything in the world.”

“Then don’t smoke, especially a short pipe, for it often causes cancer of the lip.  I cut one out of a man’s lip the other day; and not long ago saw a man die from one after months of agonizing pain.  Tobacco contains a great deal of virulent poison, and though some persons use it for many years without much apparent injury, it costs many others loss of health and even of life.  It weakens the nerves and the action of the heart, and is a fruitful source of dyspepsia.”