Stacy placed the stem to his lips, then, to the amazement of his fellows, drew heavily twice, forcing the smoke right down into his lungs.
Stacy's face grew fiery red, his cheeks puffed out. Smoke seemed to be coming out all over him. Ned declared afterwards that Stacy must be porous, for the smoke came out of his pockets. Then all of a sudden the fat boy coughed violently, and tumbled over backwards, choking, strangling, howling, while the Professor hammered him between the shoulders with the flat of his hand.
"You little idiot, why did you draw any of the stuff in?" whispered
Professor Zepplin.
"Da—-Da—-Dad to—-to—-told me to! Ackerchew! Oh, wow!"
More choking, more sneezing and more strangling. The Professor laid the boy on the grass a little distance from the table, where not a smile had appeared on a single face. The Indians were grave and solemn, the Pony Rider Boys likewise, although almost at the explosive point. The others had merely passed the Pipe of peace across their lips and handed it on to the next. In this manner it had gone around the circle.
Then all hands began dipping into the meat with their fingers. This was too much for the red-faced boy lying on the grass. He sat up, uttered a volley of sneezes then unsteadily made his way back to the blanket table and sat down in his place. The Indians paid no attention to him, though sly glances were cast in his direction by his companions. For once, Ned Rector was discreet enough not to make any remarks. He knew that any such would call forth unpleasant words from Stacy.
The fat boy helped himself liberally to the meat. He tasted of it gingerly at first, then went at it greedily.
"That is the finest beef I ever ate," he said enthusiastically.
"You shouldn't make remarks about the food," whispered Tad. "They may not like it."
"I hope they don't like it. There'll be all the more left for me."