“That’s a rope,” said Martin derisively.
“It’s a very deadly poison,” said Bob sternly, “and it’s very—very—what’s the word, Joe?”
“Lingering?” asked Joe.
“Insidious,” suggested Willard.
“Insidious, that’s it! Sometimes the patient suffers for weeks.”
“Well, I haven’t eaten any hemp,” said Martin crossly. “I haven’t eaten anything, confound it! I’m mighty near starved! Maybe that’s what the trouble is. If it wasn’t so late I’d go out and get a sandwich or a piece of pie or something.”
“What you need is hearty food,” said Bob. “A nice steak and onions, for instance.”
“Shut up! I hope you choke!” Martin fairly gibbered. “I wish you had it! I wish you all had it, you gang of grinning apes! You make me sick!” In proof of the latter assertion he shuddered violently, hurriedly produced his bottle of soda-mint tablets and, keeping his lips very tightly closed, agitatedly unscrewed the top. The others watched with almost painful intensity. Martin inverted the bottle, seized a tablet and popped it into his mouth. Instantly a strange, haunted look came over his face. He swallowed once, his eyes round and alarmed, and then the tablet came out of his mouth even quicker than it had gone in and he laid hands on his stomach and closed his eyes.
“What is it?” asked Bob anxiously. “Feeling sick, Mart?”
“Sick! I—I’m dying! They—they’re full of it!”