His audience stood petrified.  Already Maurice had swallowed more than they had given Duke and still the liquor receded in the uplifted bottle!  And now the clear glass gleamed above the dark contents full half the vessel’s length—­and Maurice went on drinking!  Slowly the clear glass increased in its dimensions—­slowly the dark diminished.

Sam Williams made a horrified movement to check him—­but Maurice protested passionately with his disengaged arm, and made vehement vocal noises remindful of the contract; whereupon Sam desisted and watched the continuing performance in a state of grisly fascination.

Maurice drank it all!  He drained the last drop and threw the bottle in the air, uttering loud ejaculations of triumph and satisfaction.

“Hah!” he cried, blowing out his cheeks, inflating his chest, squaring his shoulders, patting his stomach, and wiping his mouth contentedly.  “Hah!  Aha!  Waha!  Wafwah!  But that was good!”

The two boys stood looking at him in stupor.

“Well, I gotta say this,” said Maurice graciously:  “You stuck to your bargain all right and treated me fair.”

Stricken with a sudden horrible suspicion, Penrod entered the storeroom in one stride and lifted the bottle of licorice water to his nose—­then to his lips.  It was weak, but good; he had made no mistake.  And Maurice had really drained—­to the dregs—­the bottle of old hair tonics, dead catsups, syrups of undesirable preserves, condemned extracts of vanilla and lemon, decayed chocolate, ex-essence of beef, mixed dental preparations, aromatic spirits of ammonia, spirits of nitre, alcohol, arnica, quinine, ipecac, sal volatile, nux vomica and licorice water—­ with traces of arsenic, belladonna and strychnine.

Penrod put the licorice water out of sight and turned to face the others.  Maurice was seating himself on a box just outside the door and had taken a package of cigarettes from his pocket.

“Nobody can see me from here, can they?” he said, striking a match.  “You fellers smoke?”

“No,” said Sam, staring at him haggardly.

“No,” said Penrod in a whisper.

Maurice lit his cigarette and puffed showily.

“Well, sir,” he remarked, “you fellers are certainly square—­I gotta say that much.  Honest, Penrod, I thought you was after me!  I did think so,” he added sunnily; “but now I guess you like me, or else you wouldn’t of stuck to it about lettin’ me drink it all if I kept on swallering.”

He chatted on with complete geniality, smoking his cigarette in content.  And as he ran from one topic to another his hearers stared at him in a kind of torpor.  Never once did they exchange a glance with each other; their eyes were frozen to Maurice.  The cheerful conversationalist made it evident that he was not without gratitude.

“Well,” he said as he finished his cigarette and rose to go, “you fellers have treated me nice and some day you come over to my yard; I’d like to run with you fellers.  You’re the kind of fellers I like.”