As I had finished my cigar and exhausted my newspaper, I tried to amuse myself by watching the game. When the cards were passed to the lean stranger he shook his head and pushed them over to his partner.
"Deal for me," he groaned; "I've got an awful pain in my side. It seems like pneumonia, but it may pass in a minute."
The group looked solicitous, and the sportsman, taking a black bottle from the pocket of his hunting-bag, said:
"Take some of this, man; you musn't fool with a pain like that."
"I come from the State of Maine," said the sufferer, "and I'm opposed to strong drink. But, rather than delay the game, gentlemen, I'll take a little as medicine."
"Of course; it's the only thing to do," interrupted the other players.
The man from Maine put the bottle to his lips, and then coughed and said that he didn't know whether the liquor did it, but that he certainly felt better.
At the town of Newburyport the lanky representative of the Pine Tree State was left alone at the card table. I was becoming interested in him. As we crossed the bridge over the Merrimac I lost sight of him for a moment, but when the train had passed the State line I walked forward in the car. My invalid friend was playing seven-up with a swarthy stranger.
Dropping into a seat, I patiently waited for developments. We were due to reach Portsmouth at 10.40. I looked at my watch from time to time and then at the man from Maine. I saw that he began to get uneasy. His face showed signs of suffering and he coughed violently. He went from one spasm into another until it seemed that he could not recover his breath.
The brakeman brought some water in a tin cup. The suffering man motioned him away, gasping, "I wouldn't dare (cough) to take water (cough); it makes it worse."