“Is that so? What made you swear off? Going it pretty hard?”

“Didn’t swear off.”

“Didn’t?”

“No; I never took a drink of liquor in my life.”

Haley stared hard at Frank.

“If I were running a dime museum, I’d engage you as a freak,” he said, in a manner that brought the color to Merry’s face. “You’ll excuse me if I take a snifter. It’s my time for one.”

“Go ahead, sir,” bowed the youth.

So Haley poured out a brimming glass of the stuff and dashed it off without a “chaser.”

“Ah!” he said, smacking his lips. “That’s all right. Better than we’ll get when we get further west.”

He put away bottles and glasses. Then, turning to Frank once more, produced a cigar case, opened it and held it out.

“Have a weed?” he invited.

“Excuse me,” protested Frank.

“What? Oh, go ahead! Those are no two-fers; they’re straight tens. Needn’t be afraid of them.”

“I’m not afraid of them.”

“Not? What’s the matter, then?”

“I do not smoke.”

The manager stared harder than before.

“Don’t drink, don’t smoke, don’t——Do you swear?”

“No, sir.”

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