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 smok ing 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
