"I don't wanter smoke it," pleaded Alf, drawing back from the proffered pipe.
"You take matches, light that pipe and smoke it," insisted the cook, a man named Leon, in a tone that compelled obedience.
Poor Alf smoked wretchedly away. Finally, when he thought Leon wasn't looking, he tried to hide the pipe.
"Here, you keep that a-going!" ordered the cook wrathfully, wheeling upon the miserable youngster.
So Alf puffed up, feebly, and, when the pipe went out, he lighted the tobacco again.
"Here!" he protested, three minutes later, handing back the pipe.
"Smoke it!" gruffed Leon.
"I—-I don't wanter."
"Smoke it!"
"I—-I can't," pleaded Alf Drew, the ghastly pallor of his face bearing out his assertion.