Part 59 (1/2)
d.i.n.k approached the ominous black cigar to his nose, sniffed it rapturously and c.o.c.ked a knowing eye.
”Aha!”
”Real Havanas!”
”They certainly smell good!”
”Swiped 'em off my brother-in-law, forty-five centers.”
”I believe it. Say, what do you call 'em?”
”Invincibles.”
The name threw a momentary chill over Stover, but he instantly recovered.
”I say, we ought to have a couple of hatpins,” he said, turning the cigar in his fingers.
”What for?”
”Smoke 'em to the last puff!”
”We'll use our penknives.”
”All right--after you.”
Stover cautiously drew in his first puff. To his surprise nothing immediate happened.
”How is it?” said McCarty.
”Terrific!”
”Do you inhale?”
”Sometimes,” said Stover, with an inconsequential wave of his hand.
This gave McCarty his opening; besides, he was deceived by Stover's complete manner.
”d.i.n.k, I'm afraid you're smoking too much,” he said earnestly, puffing on his cigar.
”Oh, no,” said d.i.n.k, immensely flattered by this undeserved accusation from McCarty, who smoked forty-five-cent cigars.
”Yes, you are. I know it. Trouble with you is, old boy, you never do anything by halves. I know you.”
”Oh, well,” said Stover loftily.
”You're smoking too much, and that's not all, d.i.n.k. I--I've wanted to have a chance at you for a long while, and now I'm going for you.”
”h.e.l.lo----”
”Now, look here, boy,” said Tough McCarty, filling the air with the blue smoke, ”I'm not a mammy boy nor a goody-goody, and I don't like preaching; but you've got too much ahead of you, old rooster, to go and throw it away.”