[Ill.u.s.tration: The home in the woods.]
IV.
It was now after eleven o"clock, and it would soon be time for the truants to return home.
The hut which they had built was not very tight, but it kept the sun out; and the boys were so well pleased with it that they agreed to come there again in the afternoon. They wished the forenoon had been much longer, for their fun came to an end too soon.
"Now, boys, we will have a smoke," said Joe, as they seated themselves in the house.
"Yes; and we haven"t any too much time," replied Ben Tinker, as he took the cigars from his pocket.
"Have you any matches?"
"To be sure I have. What"s the use of cigars without any matches?
Take a cigar, Tom."
Tommy took the cigar, and though he had some doubts about smoking it, he did not like to be behind his companions in anything. He thought it would make him sick, as he had known it to do to others.
He did not want to smoke it, but he had not the courage to refuse.
He was proud, and did not want to have the other boys any smarter than he was. They thought it was manly and big to smoke, for I don"t believe either of them could have liked the fumes of a cigar.
They had not smoked enough for this.
Ben lighted a match, and then his cigar. Joe, as dignified as any old smoker, took a light from him; and both of them puffed away, and felt as big as though they were doing some great thing.
"Have a light, Tommy?" asked Ben. "If you are going with us, you must learn to smoke."
"All the fellers that are anything smoke," added Joe.
"Then I"ll smoke," replied Tommy. "I used to see lots of gentlemen smoking cigars in Broadway, in New York, when I was there."
"Of course you did."
Tommy put the cigar into his mouth; he did not like the taste of the thing, but he felt that it was a good cause, and he was willing to be a martyr. Ben lent him his cigar to light it by; and with a little instruction from his friends, he was soon able to puff away as smart as any of them.
It was not half so bad as he had feared it would be. It did not make him sick, at first, and he thought he was one of that kind who can smoke without learning.
He felt as big as his companions then, for the wrong idea that smoking was smart had taken full possession of him.
There are some savages who paint their faces--they think it is smart; we don"t think so. Some Indians wear bits of tin fastened to the ends of their noses--they think it looks pretty; we don"t think so.
It does not follow, therefore, that every thing that looks smart is so. A little boy, or any boy, with a cigar in his mouth, is a disgusting sight to sensible people. We never heard of any man who thought it was smart for boys to smoke, or to make use of tobacco in any way.
"Now, Tom, tell us something about New York while we are smoking,"
said Ben.
"Well, I will, if you wish me to do so; but I have got almost tired of talking about New York. Everybody wants to know what I saw there."
[Ill.u.s.tration: Some Savages who paint their faces.]
"Do they?" laughed Joe.
"Yes; I don"t like to say no to them, for I am willing to help along those who don"t know as much as I do."
"Do you mean to say we don"t know as much as you do?" demanded Ben, angrily.
"Well, you haven"t been to New York--have you?"
"What if we haven"t?"
"Then, of course, you can"t know so much as I do. I was there a week."
"If you say that again, I"ll pound you," said Ben, rising.
"There"s a stump for you, Tom," added Joe.
Tommy had not a great deal of courage; but, in a little while, Joe Birch managed to get up a fight between his little companions. He showed Tommy how to strike; and the two boys went into the matter like real bruisers.
[Ill.u.s.tration: The fight in the woods.]
Of course, Tommy Woggs got whipped--and it served him just right.
His face was scratched, and one of his eyes was very red. Just then he thought he should not tell another boy that he did not know as much as he did.
The quarrel was soon made up; for after Ben Tinker had thrashed the little boaster he was satisfied, and Tommy did not dare to be cross. By this time they had to start for home.
Tommy had not got half way to his father"s house before he began to feel dizzy, and to realize a very unpleasant feeling at the stomach. But he hurried home as fast as he could, which was not very fast, for he was sick in earnest now.
He staggered into the parlor, where his mother was sewing. He felt very bad then, and wished, with all his heart, that he had gone to school, and kept away from the bad boys.
"I feel sick, mother," said Tommy, as he threw himself into a chair.
"Why, Tommy! You are as pale as a ghost," exclaimed his mother, looking up from her work. "What ails you?"
"I feel sick at the stomach. I want to go to bed."
Whatever were the doubts Mrs. Woggs had in the morning about her son"s sickness, she had none now. His pale face and blue lips were evidences of his condition.
Taking him by the hand, she led him upstairs, and put him into bed.
Then she called Dr. Woggs, who was in his library, to come upstairs and see him.
"Poor boy; he is real sick," said his mother, as the doctor entered the room. "He is just as pale as death, and could hardly walk upstairs."
"What ails him?"
"He is sick at the stomach, just as he was this morning. It was too bad to send him to school when he felt so sick. I knew he was ill then."