The Varmint Part 59

d.i.n.k approached the ominous black cigar to his nose, sniffed it rapturously and c.o.c.ked a knowing eye.

"Aha!"

"Real Havanas!"

"They certainly smell good!"

"Swiped 'em off my brother-in-law, forty-five centers."

"I believe it. Say, what do you call 'em?"

"Invincibles."

The name threw a momentary chill over Stover, but he instantly recovered.

"I say, we ought to have a couple of hatpins," he said, turning the cigar in his fingers.

"What for?"

"Smoke 'em to the last puff!"

"We'll use our penknives."

"All right--after you."

Stover cautiously drew in his first puff. To his surprise nothing immediate happened.

"How is it?" said McCarty.

"Terrific!"

"Do you inhale?"

"Sometimes," said Stover, with an inconsequential wave of his hand.

This gave McCarty his opening; besides, he was deceived by Stover's complete manner.

"d.i.n.k, I'm afraid you're smoking too much," he said earnestly, puffing on his cigar.

"Oh, no," said d.i.n.k, immensely flattered by this undeserved accusation from McCarty, who smoked forty-five-cent cigars.

"Yes, you are. I know it. Trouble with you is, old boy, you never do anything by halves. I know you."

"Oh, well," said Stover loftily.

"You're smoking too much, and that's not all, d.i.n.k. I--I've wanted to have a chance at you for a long while, and now I'm going for you."

"h.e.l.lo----"

"Now, look here, boy," said Tough McCarty, filling the air with the blue smoke, "I'm not a mammy boy nor a goody-goody, and I don't like preaching; but you've got too much ahead of you, old rooster, to go and throw it away."

"What do you mean?" said d.i.n.k, champing furiously on his cigar, as he had seen several stage villains do.

"I mean, old socks," said Tough, frowning with his effort--"I mean there are some fellows here who are worth while and some who are not, who won't do you any good, who don't amount to a row of pins, and aren't up to you in any way you look at it."

"Are you criticising my friends?" said Stover, who had just pa.s.sed an even more unflattering judgment, due to the Welsh-rabbit episode.

"I am," said McCarty, pa.s.sing his hand over his forehead with difficulty.

Stover was just about to make an angry reply when he looked at McCarty, who suddenly leaned back against the tree. At the same moment a feeling of insecurity overtook him. He started again to make an angry answer and then all pugnacious thoughts left him. He sat down suddenly, his head swam on his shoulders and about him the woods danced in drunken reelings, sweeping grotesque boughs over him. Only the earth felt good, the damp, muddy earth, which he all at once convulsively embraced.

"d.i.n.k!"

The sound was far off, weak and fraught with mortal distress.

"Has it hit you, too?"

d.i.n.k's answer was a groan. He opened one eye; McCarty, p.r.o.ne at his side, lay on his stomach, burying his head in his arms.

At this moment a light patter sounded about them.

"It's beginning to rain."

"I don't care!"

"Neither do I."

Stover lay clutching the earth, that somehow wouldn't kept still, that moved under him, that swayed and rose and fell. Then things began to rush through his brain: armies of football-clad warriors, The Roman whirling by on one leg of his chair, Dennis de Brian de Boru Finnegan prancing impishly, sticking out his tongue at him, whole flocks of Sunday preachers gesticulating in his direction, crowds of faces, legs, arms, an old, yellow dog with a sausage in his mouth----

Suddenly near him McCarty began to move.

"Where are you going?" he managed to say. "For Heaven's sake, don't leave me."

"To the pond--drink."

McCarty, on his hands and knees, began to crawl. Stover raised himself up and staggered after. The rain came down unheeded--nothing could add to his misery. They reached the pond and drank long copious drinks, plunging their dripping heads in the water.

Gradually the vertigo pa.s.sed. Faint and weak they sat propped up opposite each other, solemnly, sadly, glance to glance, while unnoticed the rain spouted from the ends of their noses.

"Oh, d.i.n.k!" said Tough at last.

"Don't!"

"I thought I was going to die."

"I'm not sure of it yet."

"I had a lot I wanted to say to you," said Tough painfully, feeling the opportunity was slipping away.