“Oh, right away--almost instantly.” “What! Is your imagination strong enough to--See here, Ches”--Burns leaned forward “you're taking the stuff by mouth, of course?” Chester's eyes went down. “Why--I tried it that way--but it was so slow.” Burns ejaculated something under his breath; the quick colour, always ready to flare under his clear skin, leaped out. “Gardner gave you a hypo, I suppose?” “Yes.” “So you went and bought a syringe and taught yourself the trick. Suppose you give me a look at it.” Like a shamed schoolboy Chester unwillingly drew forth the small case from his pocket. Burns received it. He opened it and took out the tiny instrument. “It looks like a very good one,” he observed with a sort of deadly quietness, and with one motion of his big fingers snapped the glass barrel in two. At this Chester took fire. “That's going a little too far!” he burst out in wrath. “Is it? Thought it was you who had gone too far. It's up to me to bring you back--while I can. Getting this little fiend out of the way is the first step. Keep cool, Ches--and I'll try to do the same, though it makes my blood boil to think how little you've cared for my lectures to you on this very thing.” “I have cared. But I had no idea.” “Well, you have one now. It's taken you five weeks to acquire enough of a habit to give you some trouble to drop it. You're that sort and that's the way it works, anyhow. I wonder you came to me to-night. Found yourself out of the stuff and didn't like to try to get it here where folks know you?” “If you want to put everything in the most disagreeable way you can--yes,” admitted Chester testily. “That's precisely what I want to do. Put it in such a disagreeable way that your backbone'll stiffen up a bit and give us something to start with. If I make you mad all the better--so long as you don't go back to fools like Gardner, who never hesitate to give a fellow like you a sample of what that drug'll do for 'em:” “What are you going to do? I shan't sleep to-night, and I've got to be in the office to-morrow morning.” “When's your vacation due?” “Not till week after next.” “Arrange to take it now.” “I can't. Stillinger's off on his, Monday morning.” “Could you have yours now if he waited?” “Yes, but I wouldn't ask him.” “I would.” Burns took down the receiver of his desk telephone. “Red, stop--I don't want--”