The Rover Boys Down East: or, The Struggle for the Stanhope Fortune

“I expect them today.”

“Have you got enough?” asked Sam.

“As many as we had at Brill.”

“That will be plenty.”

“I ordered some powder, too, for use in the old cannon,” went on Tom. “We’ll wake up the natives this Fourth all right!”

“You look out that you don’t blow yourself up,” warned Dick, for he knew his fun-loving brother could get rather reckless at times.

“Oh, I’ll be on guard,” was Tom’s answer.

When Tom went to Oak Run to get the fireworks old Ricks was decidedly grouchy.

“I’ve got a good mind not to let you have ’em,” growled the station master. “You didn’t have no right to play that trick on me with that cigar.”

“What trick?” demanded Tom, innocently.

“Oh, you know well enough, you scamp! Think it’s smart to put off a cigar on me thet swells up and busts out worms! Bah! you keep your cigars to yourself after this.”

“All right, if you want me to,” answered Tom, meekly, and then, watching his chance, he placed another of the “doctored” cigars in Ricks’ office, where he had a cigar box with tickets in it. Then he, with Jack Ness’ aid, loaded his fireworks and the small box of powder on the farm wagon.

As Tom worked he watched Ricks narrowly and saw the station agent enter his office to sell tickets. While he was making change he chanced to look into the cigar box with the tickets, and Tom, peeping through a crack of the door, saw him take up the cigar and look at it wonderingly.

“Hum!” murmured Ricks. “I thought that box was empty. Sallers must have left this in it when he gave it to me. That’s one on Bob. Guess I’ll smoke it up before he comes an’ asks me about it.” The man he mentioned was a storekeeper of the vicinity, who had given him the cigar box the evening before.

Ricks struck a match and commenced to puff away with satisfaction. By this time the wagon was loaded and Tom directed Jack Ness to drive off to the bridge and wait for him.

“Well, good-bye, Mr. Ricks,” said the fun-loving youth, as he stepped up to the ticket window. “Hope you don’t hold any hard feelings.”

“You quit your foolin’!” growled the station master.

“I see you’re smoking another cigar.”

“What if I am? Ain’t I got a right to smoke if I want to?”

“Not if you see things when you do it.”

“See things? Wot do you mean, Tom Rover?”

“They tell me that you imagined you saw snakes the other day when you were smoking.”

“You go on about your business! You played me a trick, that’s what you did!”

“It’s queer how cigars affect some people. They get nervous and think the end of the cigar is crawling,” went on Tom, earnestly. “Now, if I was affected that way I wouldn’t smoke.”

“Say, Tom Rover, I want you to understand – ”

What the station agent wanted Tom to know was never divulged, for at that instant the cigar commenced to swell at the lit end and then an ashy-colored “worm” commenced slowly to uncurl, reaching a length of a foot or more. Ricks took the cigar in his hand, held it at arm’s length and viewed it with horror.

“It’s another one of ’em!” he groaned.

“What’s the matter, Mr. Ricks?” asked Tom, calmly.

“This cigar! Did – did you play this trick on me?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Look at the end o’ this cigar.”

“I don’t see anything wrong. It looks like a fine cigar, and it seems to burn well,” answered Tom, as soberly as a judge.

“Don’t you see the – the worms?”

“Worms! Mr. Ricks you are dreaming!”

“Ain’t that a – er – a worm?” shouted the station master, pointing with his finger at the thing dangling at the end of the cigar.

“Mr. Ricks, you must have ’em again,” answered Tom, and looked deeply shocked. “You had better go and see a doctor. This cigar smoking has got on your nerves.”

“It ain’t so! I see the worms! There they are!” And the station master poked his finger into the mass.

Now, as those who are acquainted with the fireworks known as Serpent’s Eggs, or Pharaoh’s Serpents, know, the “worms” or “serpents” are very fragile and go to dust at the slightest touch. Consequently when Ricks placed his finger rudely on those at the end of the cigar they were knocked off, and falling to the floor, were completely shattered to dust. At this the station master started in amazement.

“Where are the worms?” asked Tom. “I don’t see them?”

“Why – I – er – that is – they were here!” stammered Ricks.

“Where?”

“On the end o’ the cigar.”

“Then where are they now?” demanded Tom. “Give me one, till I examine it.”

“Why they – they are – er – gone now.”

“Gone?”

“Yes. Say, I don’t know about this!” And the old station master commenced to scratch his head. He looked at the cigar wonderingly. But no more “worms” were forthcoming, for the reason that the pellets Tom had placed within had burnt themselves out.

“You certainly ought to see a doctor – or else give up smoking cigars,” said Tom, as soberly as ever.

“Tom Rover, ain’t this no trick o’ yours?”

“Trick? Do you think I am a wizard? I find you smoking a cigar and you go and see worms, or snakes, just as if you had been drinking. Maybe you do drink.”

“I don’t. I ain’t teched a drop in six months.”