As you say, he didn't know anything
about cigarettes, but he made up for it by runnin' after women and
fast horses,--or maybe it was hosses and, fast women,--and cheatin'
the eye teeth out of everybody he had any dealings with."
"I don't understand how he happened to die young, If all these things
were true about him," said the other, lighting a fresh cigarette
and drawing in a deep, full breath of the pungent smoke. The old
man waited a few seconds for the smoke to be expelled, and then,
as it came out in a far-reaching volume, carrying far on the still
air, his face betrayed not only relief but wonder.
"You don't actually swaller it, do you?" he inquired.
"Certainly not. I inhale, that's all. Any one can do it."
"I'd choke to death," said the old man, shifting his cigar hastily
from one side of his mouth to the other, and taking a fresh grip on
it with his teeth,--as if fearing the consequences of a momentary
lapse of control.
"You've been chewing that cigar for nearly two hours," observed
the young man. "I call that a filthy habit."
"I guess you're right," agreed the other, amiably. "The best you
can say for it is that it's a man's job, and not a woman's," he
added, with all the scorn that the cigar smoker has for the man
who affects nothing but cigarettes.
"You can't make me sore by talking like that," said his companion,
stretching himself lazily.
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