"You're going to sit there and smoke a couple of those museum cigars, for our delectation and amusement." "Assassins!" "Two cigars." "Never! I'll starve to death first!" "All right. Keep on sitting there." "But this is a crime! Police!" "There are other crimes, Dopey." "Hold up," said McNab, frantically, as he perceived the cigar being prepared. "I've got to dine over at the Story's at one o'clock." "So have we," said Hungerford, "but McCarthy will watch you for us." "I will," said McCarthy, licking his chops. "I've got to be there," said McNab, wriggling in a frenzy. "Smoke right up, then. You can smoke them in twenty minutes." "Police!" "I say, Dink," said Hungerford, as McNab's head whipped from side to side like a recalcitrant child's. "Perhaps we'd better get in all the crowd who fell for the cigars--round 'em up." "I'll smoke it," said McNab instantly. "I thought you would." They sat around, unfeelingly, grinning, while McNab, strapped in like a papoose, rebelliously, with much sputtering and coughing, smoked the cigar that Dink fed him like a trained nurse. "Fellows, I've got to get to that dinner." "We know that, Dopey--but there's one thing you won't do there--tell the story of the _Cuba libre_ cigar." "Say, let me off and I'll put you on to a great stunt." "We can't be bought." "I'll tell you, I'll trust you! We're going to have a cop-killing over in Freshman row. We've got a whole depot of Roman candles. Let me off this second cigar and I'll work you in." "We'll be there!" "You bandits, I'll get even with you." "You probably will, Dopey, but you'll never rob us of this memory." "Curse you, feed it to me quickly." The cigar consumed to the last rebellious puff, McNab was released in a terrific humor, and departed hastily to dress, after remarking in a deadly manner: "I'll get you yet--you brutal kidnappers." "I think it's a rather low trick of Bob Story's," said Stover, considering surreptitiously in the mirror the effect of his new color scheme. "Ditto here," said Hungerford. Now Stover was in a quandary. He was divided between two emotions. He firmly thought that he had never looked so transcendingly the perfect man of fashion, but he had numerous busy doubts as to whether the exquisite costume was as appropriate at a quiet Sunday dinner as it undoubtedly would have been in a sporting audience. Still, to make a change now, under the malicious inspection of Tough McCarthy, would be to invite a storm of joyful ridicule, so he said hopefully. "Think it all right to go in this?" "Why not?" As this put the burden of the proof on him, Stover remained silent, but compromised a little by exchanging a rather forward vest for one of calmer aspect. "Well," he said, at last, with something between a gulp and a sigh, "I suppose we'd better push along." "I suppose so," said Hungerford, who brought a strangle hold to bear on his necktie and shot a last look down at the slightly wavering line of his trousers.