"Say! you always carry around a full case to flash on the fellows—I see you," cried Lance.
"Ye—es," admitted Purt.
"Tell the truth, sir! How many of the horrid things have you left at home?"
Purt looked up at her, blinked a couple of times, swallowed like a toad that has snapped up a live coal, and then blurted out:
"Nine hundred and ninety!"
At that a howl of laughter went up from the crowd.
"And—and you—you've nev—never smoked even one?" gasped Laura, at last.
"Not until to-day," replied the sadly abashed Purt.
"Oh, hold me, somebody!" cried Lance. "And he's had those cigarettes for three months, I know!"
"Purt, you'll be the death of us yet," declared Chet Belding, wiping his eyes.