The Young Engineers in Nevada

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Say, got the makings? Eh? inquired Tom Reade, glancing up in mild astonishment. Got the makings? persisted the thin dough-faced lad of fourteen who had come into the tent. I believe we have the makings for supper, if you mean that you’re hungry, Tom rejoined. But you’ve just had your dinner.
I know I have, replied the youngster. That’s why I want my smoke.
Your wha-a-at? insisted Tom. By this time light had begun to dawn upon the bronzed, athletic young engineer, but he preferred to pretend ignorance a little while longer. Say, don’t you carry the makings? demanded the boy.