“That’s the last drink of that stuff he gets in this place!” muttered the waiter, shaking his head and staring after Defarge. “He’s been up against it hard. Never saw a fellow take to that dope so suddenly as he has, and he’s gone down like a rock in less than a week. Next time I’ll refuse to serve him.”
CHAPTER XI.
HOW SKELDING QUIT.
“It’th a thame!” declared Lew Veazie, standing before Chickering’s fireplace, his feet as far apart as his short legs would comfortably permit, while he inhaled the smoke of a cigarette with the air of one long accustomed to the things.
“That’s so, chummie,” agreed Ollie Lord, regarding Lew with a look of admiration. “It’s a howling shame!”
“They say his mind is affected,” said Rupert, who had gently seated himself in a position that would bring the least possible strain on the knees of his handsomely creased trousers.
“Oh, no doubt of it!” nodded Julian Ives from the opposite side of the table, pressing a hand against his beautiful bang, as if he feared the air might disturb its symmetry, or it might fall off.
“It must have been an awful disappointment to him,” solemnly croaked Tilton Hull.
“Poor fellow!” sighed Chickering. “The whole college is talking about it. He was a ‘Deke’ man, and yet he failed even to get into Wolf’s Head.”