"Have a cigar?" said Ralph, producing two, handing one to Max, and proceeding to light the other. "You smoke, of course; every gentleman does."
Max never had, and did not care to, but was so foolish as to be ashamed to refuse after that last remark of Ralph's; beside having seen his father smoke a cigar occasionally, he thought there could be no harm in it.
"Thank you, I don't care if I do," he said, and was soon puffing away as if quite accustomed to it.
But it was not many minutes before he began to feel sick and faint, then to find himself trembling and growing giddy.
He tried to conceal his sensations, and fought against them as long as possible. But at length, finding he could endure it no longer, he threw the stump of the cigar into the fire, and rising, said, "I—I feel sick. I must get out into the air."
He took a step forward, staggered, and would have fallen, if Ralph had not jumped up and caught him.
"Here, I'll help you to the bed and open the window," he said. "Never smoked before? Well, don't be discouraged; I was deathly sick first time myself."
"I'm half blind and awfully sick," groaned Max, as he stretched himself on the bed. "Does it last long? can a fellow get over it without taking any medicine?"
"Oh, yes; you'll be all right after a little."
But Max was not all right when a servant came to the door to say that he was wanted down-stairs, as the party from Ion were about to return home.