I thought I was only burned. Then I recognized
the taste and burn of the acid and knew something was wrong. Picking up
the tin, I examined it, smelled the pungent odor and felt a queer numb
sense of fear. This lasted only for a moment, as I well knew the use
and power of the acid, and had not swallowed enough to hurt me. I was
about to make known my mistake in a matter-of-fact way, when it flashed
over me the accident could be made to serve a turn.

"Jones!" I cried hoarsely. "What's in this butter?"

"Lord! you haven't eaten any of that. Why, I put carbolic acid in it."

"Oh--oh--oh--I'm poisoned! I ate nearly all of it! Oh--I'm burning up!
I'm dying!" With that I began to moan and rock to and fro and hold my
stomach.

Consternation preceded shock. But in the excitement of the moment,
Wallace--who, though badly scared, retained his wits made for me with a
can of condensed milk. He threw me back with no gentle hand, and was
squeezing the life out of me to make me open my mouth, when I gave him
a jab in his side. I imagined his surprise, as this peculiar reception
of his first-aid-to-the-injured made him hold off to take a look at me,
and in this interval I contrived to whisper to him: "Joke! Joke! you
idiot! I'm only shamming. I want to see if I can scare Jones and get
even with Frank. Help me out! Cry! Get tragic!"

From that moment I shall always believe that the stage lost a great
tragedian in Wallace. With a magnificent gesture he threw the can of
condensed milk at Jones, who was so stunned he did not try to dodge.
"Thoughtless man! Murderer! it's too late!" cried Wallace, laying me
back across his knees. "It's too late. His teeth are locked. He's far
gone. Poor boy! poor boy! Who's to tell his mother?"

I could see from under my hat-brim that the solemn, hollow voice had
penetrated the cold exterior of the plainsman. He could not speak; he
clasped and unclasped his big hands in helpless fashion. Frank was as
white as a sheet. This was simply delightful to me. But the expression
of miserable, impotent distress on old Jim's sun-browned face was more
than I could stand, and I could no longer keep up the deception. Just
as Wallace cried out to Jones to pray--I wished then I had not weakened
so soon--I got up and walked to the fire.

"Jim, I'll have another biscuit, please."

His under jaw dropped, then he nervously shoveled biscuits at me. Jones
grabbed my hand and cried out with a voice that was new to me: "Y