“Not if you see things when you do it.”
“See things? Wot do you mean, Tom Rover?”
“They tell me that you imagined you saw snakes the other day when you were smoking.”
“You go on about your business! You played me a trick, that’s what you did!”
“It’s queer how cigars affect some people. They get nervous and think the end of the cigar is crawling,” went on Tom, earnestly. “Now, if I was affected that way I wouldn’t smoke.”
“Say, Tom Rover, I want you to understand——”
What the station agent wanted Tom to know was never divulged, for at that instant the cigar commenced to swell at the lit end and then an ashy-colored “worm” commenced slowly to uncurl, reaching a length of a foot or more. Ricks took the cigar in his hand, held it at arm’s length and viewed it with horror.
“It’s another one of ’em!” he groaned.
“What’s the matter, Mr. Ricks?” asked Tom, calmly.
“This cigar! Did—did you play this trick on me?”