oesn't grow on
trees in Nevada."

With a sniff of scorn Ferrers tramped away.

"I guess, perhaps, what you need, Drew is a friend," remarked Tom,
resting a hand on the boy's nearer shoulder. "Make up your mind
that you can't have a cigarette this afternoon, take a walk with me,
in this fresh air and the good old sunshine. Let's drop all talk of
cigarettes, and give a little thought to brains and a strong body.
They don't flourish where you find boys smoking cigarettes. Come
along! I'm going to show you how to step out right, and just how to
breathe like a human being. Let's try it."

Tom had almost to drag the boy, to make him start. But Reade
had no intention of hectoring the, dough-faced little fellow.

It was rough ground along this mountain trail in the Indian Smoke
Range of mountains, in Nevada. Soon the pulses of both began to beat
more heavily. Tom took in great breaths of the life-giving air, but
Alf was soon panting.

"Let's stop, now," proposed Tom, in a kindly voice. "After you've
rested a couple of minutes I'm going to show you how to breathe
right and fill your lungs with air."

Soon they were trying this most sensible "stunt." Alf, however,
didn't succeed very well. Whenever he tried hard it set him to
coughing.

"You see, it's mostly due to the cigarettes," said Tom gravely.
"Alf, you've simply got to turn over a new leaf. You're headed
just right to have consumption."

"Cigarettes don't give a fellow consumption!" retorted the younger
boy sullenly.

"I don't believe they do," Tom admitted, thoughtfully. "Consumption
is caused by germs, I've heard. But germs take hold best in a
weakened part of the body, and your lungs, Alf, are weak enough
for any germ to find a good place to lodge. What you've got to do is
to make your lungs so strong that they'll resist germs."

"You talk like a doctor!"

"No; I'm trying to talk like an athlete. I used to be a half-way
amateur athlete, Drew, and I'm still taking care of my body.
That's why I've never allowed any white-papered little 'coffin-nails'
to fool around me. Bad as your lungs are, Alf, they're not one
whit worse than your nerves. You'll go to pieces if you find
yourself under the least strain. You'll get to shivering and crying,
if you don't stop smoking cigarettes."

"Don't you believe it," muttered the boy, sullenly.

"Alf," smiled Tom, laying a hand gently on the boy's shoulder,
"you don't know me yet. You haven't any i