it would show a lot more respect
on your part if a 'kid' like you would call him 'Mr. Ferrers.'
But I'll wager that Mr. Ferrers didn't smoke cigarettes at your
age."

"I'll bet he did."

"We'll see."

Tom stepped to the doorway of the tent, Alf making way for him,
and called lustily:

"Ferrers! Oh, Mr. Ferrers!"

"Here, sir!" answered the voice of a man who was invisible off under
the trees. "Want me?"

"If you please," Tom called back.

Ferrers soon appeared, puffing at a blackened corn-cob pipe. He was
a somewhat stooped, much bronzed, rather thin man of middle age.
Ferrers had always worked hard, and his body looked slightly the
worse for wear, though he a man of known endurance in rough life.

"Ferrers, do you know what ails this boy?" demanded Tom.

"Laziness," Jim answered, rather curtly. "You hired him for a
chore-boy, to help me. He hasn't done a tap yet. He's no good."

"Don't be too hard on him, Ferrers," pleaded Tom solemnly. "I've
just heard the youngster's sad story. Do you know what really ails
him? Cigarettes!"

"Him? Cigarettes!" observed Ferrers disgustedly. "The miserable
little rascal!"

"You see," smiled Tom, turning to the boy, "just what men think
of a lad who tries to look manly by smoking cigarettes."

"Cigarettes? Manly?" exploded Jim Ferrers, with a guffaw. "_Men_
don't smoke cigarettes. That's left for weak-minded boys."

"Say, how many years you been smoking, Jim Ferrers?" demanded Alf,
rather defiantly.

"Answer him, please," requested Tom, when he saw their guide and
cook frown.

"Lemme see," replied the Nevada man, doing some mental arithmetic
on his fingers. "I reckon I've been smoking twenty-three years,
because I began when I was twenty-four years old. Hang the stuff,
I wish I had never begun, either. But I didn't smoke at your
age, papoose. If I had done so, the men in the camps would have
kicked me out. Don't let me catch you smoking around any of the
work you're helping me on! Is that all, Mr. Reade? 'Cause I've
got a power of work to do."

"That's all, thank you," Tom assured him. "But, Ferrers, we'll
have to take young Drew in hand and try to win him back to the
path of brains and health."

"Say, I don't believe I'm going to like this job," muttered Alf
Drew. "I reckon I'll be pulling my freight outer this camp."

"Don't go until tomorrow, anyway," urged Tom. "You'll have to go
some distance to find other human beings, and grub d