Part 55 (1/2)
But between smoking under permission and squeezing close to a cold-air ventilator, stealthily, in the pin-drop silences of the night, with frightful risks of detection, was all the difference in the world. One was a disagreeable, thoroughly unsympathetic exercise; the other was a romantic, mediaeval adventure.
So when Slops Barnett, who roomed below and was the proprietor of a model air flue with direct, perpendicular draught, said to him with an air of mannish _insouciance_:
”I say, old man, I've got a fat box of 'Gyptians. Glad to have you drop in to-night if you like the weed.”
d.i.n.k answered with blase familiarity:
”Why, thankee, I've been aching for just a good old coffin-nail.”
He slipped down the creaking, nervous stairs, and found Slops luxuriously reclining before the ventilator, on a mattress re-enforced by yellow and green sofa pillows, that gave the whole somewhat of the devilishly dissipated effect of the scenes from Oriental lands that fascinated him on the covers of cigarette boxes.
Slops made him a sign in the deaf-and-dumb language to extinguish the light and creep to his side.
”Comfy?” said Slops, whispering from the darkness.
”Out of sight!”
”Here's the filthy weed.”
”Thanks.”
”Always keep the cig in front of the ventilator,” said Slops, applying his lips to d.i.n.k's ear. ”Get a light from mine. Talk in whispers.”
Stover filled his cheeks cautiously and blew out after a sufficient period.
”You inhale?”
”Sure.”
”Inhale a cigar?”
”Always.”
”It's awful the way I inhale,” said Slops with a melancholy sigh. ”I'm undermining my const.i.tution. Ever see my hand? Shakes worse'n jelly.
Can't help it, though; can't live without the weed. I'm a regular cig fiend!”
Stover, holding his cigarette gingerly, keeping the sickly smoke at the end of his tongue, looked over at Slops' stupid little face, flas.h.i.+ng out of the darkness at each puff. He was no longer the useless Slops Barnett, good only to fetch and carry the sweaters of the team, but Barnett, man of the world, versed in deadly practices.
”I say, Slops----”
”Hist--lower.”
”I say, Slops, what would they do if they caught us?”
”Bounce us.”
”For good?”
”Sure! P. D. Q.”
The cigarette suddenly had a new delight to d.i.n.k. He was even tempted to inhale a small, very small puff, but immediately conquered this enthusiastic impulse.