Martin gulped and almost swallowed his tablet. “Gee! I guess I’d find someone if I had to,” he said. “Maybe, though, it’s more imagination than anything with me. You know you can imagine all sorts of things, and I guess onions wouldn’t be very hard, eh?” “N--no,” said Joe, “but I have a hunch that your theory is about right, Mart. It certainly sounds mighty reasonable to me.” “I don’t see how you make that out,” replied Martin shortly. “If it was really a case of--of being poisoned I guess I’d be a lot worse now than I am. It’s been going on two days, and anyone knows that poison acts pretty quick.” “Some poisons,” answered Bob significantly. “But there are others that act--er--very slowly. There’s hemp, for instance.” “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!” “What are? Full of what?” asked Joe. “The tablets.” Martin opened his eyes slowly, and gazed in horror at the questioner. “They’re full of--of onion! Oh, gee!” “Nonsense,” said Bob cheerfully. “How could they be? Let’s see them.” Martin weakly brought them forth from his pocket and held them out with averted head. Bob removed the lid and held the bottle to his nose. “I don’t smell anything,” he said. “Do you, Brand?” “Not a thing,” replied Willard gravely. “You try, Joe.” “Well, there’s a faint--ah--medicinal odor apparent,” said Joe judicially, “but as for onions--” “Let me smell,” demanded Martin. He took the bottle and put it to his nostrils. Then it went flying across the room and its contents rolled merrily about the floor. “It is!” he yelled. “They are! Can’t you fellows smell it?”