“But not easy to do, I presume you mean. I never smoke unless I drink something. Two beers make me feel like it. You might join us for once.” “Wouldn’t think of torturing myself. I dislike cigarettes. It’s a cultivated taste, you know. I confess that one of those things would be certain to make my head feel bad, and it might upset my stomach.” “Well, you’re queer!” cried Dick Whisper. “A chap who’s knocked around as much as you have generally smokes.” “Most of them do,” acknowledged Frank. Bart also declined, and again one of the students reminded a companion that Hodge was bound to imitate Merriwell. “Have a drink on me,” invited Frank. “It’s my turn.” They protested, declaring he was their guest and could not buy. But he insisted. He even threatened to stop and take no more drinks unless permitted to order. This brought them round and they gave in. Black Tom was grinning in a manner that exposed every tooth in his head when he appeared with the drinks. “Heah yo’ is, gemmans,” he said, with unusual freedom. “I hope yo’ ’s habin’ a good time. Make yo’se’fs right at home. Anything else I can bring yo’, gemmans?” Fillmore glared at him. “What’s the matter with you, you black rascal?” he cried. “You act like you’ve been drinking yourself.” “Oh, no, sar! Nebber, sar! Boss don’ ’low me to drink when I’m on duty, sar. I’s just pleased to see yo’ enjoyin’ yo’se’fs. Yah! yah! yah!” “Get out, you grinning monkey!” “Yes, sar! yes, sar!” But Tom waited in the background until the round had been disposed of, when he gathered up the glasses, carefully taking the “chasers” left by Frank and Bart. “When yo’ wants me again I’ll be at yoah disposal, gemmans,” he said, as he departed, giggling queerly. The next time Black Tom appeared with an order he caught his toe on the doorsill just as he was coming out onto the veranda. “Oh, Lordy!” he gasped. Sprawling he went, with a great crash, beer and splintered glasses flying in all directions and bespattering some of the students. “Oh, Lordy!” repeated the colored man, as he sat up and gazed around, his eyes rolling queerly and a look on his face that made the spectators roar. “I’s a-gwine ter git the old Sachet fer this!” he declared. “What’s the matter with you, you blundering, black scoundrel?” demanded Fillmore. “Never saw you act so oddly.” “Somefin’ sholy moved just as I was a-gwine teh step frough the do’,” declared Tom, as he gathered himself up unsteadily. “Whoa, dar! It moved ag’in! Is de groun’ shakin’ ur nuffin’?” “He’s drunk!” declared Dick Whisper. “Hastings will give it to you, Tom.” “Dat’s right, he will. He’ll be hoppin’ mad about de smash. But de flo’ gave de funniest wiggle. Yah! yah! yah! It done tickle mah foot.” Then the negro went off into a spasm of laughter. “You’ll lose your place if you don’t brace up, Tom,” said Fillmore. “Here comes Mr. Hastings now.” “Oh, Lordy!” gasped the colored man, his manner changing with astonishing suddenness. “I’s do’ fo’!”