Soon after Fleming Stone rose to go. “Thank you very much,” he said politely, “for your half-hour. And, by the way, have you any cachous? I find I haven’t any with me, and after smoking, you know, before going back to the ladies——”
“Yes, yes, I know; but I don’t happen to have any. But wait a minute, I believe Tripp has some.”
He threw open the door and gave a quick whistle.
A boy appeared so suddenly that he could not have been far away, and, moreover, his sharp black eyes and alert manner betokened the type of boy who would be apt to be listening about.
His hand was already in his pocket when Mr. Taylor said to him, “Tripp, didn’t I see you have a small bottle of cachous?—those little silver pellets, you know.”
“Yessir;” and Tripp drew forth a half-filled bottle.
“That’s right. Give them to the gentleman.”
“Oh, I only want a couple,” said Fleming Stone, taking the vial which Tripp thrust toward him. “Where did you get these, my boy?”
The boy blushed and looked down, twisting his fingers in embarrassment.
“Speak up, Tripp,” said the landlord sternly. “Answer the gentleman, and see that you tell the truth.”