"WHY did you pick it up?" I asked.
"The fact was," said Charles, "I found myself one day in Lisbon
without my pipe, and so I bought that thing; I never smoke them in
the ordinary way."
"Did you smoke this?" I asked. It was obvious that SOMETHING had
happened to it.
"No, you see, I found some cigarettes at the last moment, and so,
knowing that you liked cigars, I thought I'd bring it home for you."
"It's very nice of you, Charles. Of course I can see that it has
travelled. Well, we must do what we can with it."
I took the knife and started chipping away at the mahogany end. The
other end--the brown-paper end, which had come ungummed--I intended
to reserve for the match. When everything was ready I applied a
light, leant back in my chair, and pulled.
"That's all right, isn't it?" said Charles. "And you'd be surprised
if I told you what I paid for it."
"No, no, you mustn't think that," I protested. "Probably things are
dearer in Portugal." I put it down by my plate for a moment's rest.
"All I've got against it at present is that its pores don't act as
freely as they should."
"I've got a cigar-cutter somewhere, if--"
"No, don't bother. I think I can do it with the nut-crackers.
There's no doubt it was a good cigar once, but it hasn't wintered
well."
I squeezed it as hard as I could, lit it again, pressed my feet
against the table and pulled.
"Now it's going," said Charles.
"I'm afraid it keeps very reticent at my end. The follow-through is
poor. Is your end alight still?"
"Burning beautifully."
"It's a pity that I should be missing all that. How would it be if
we were to make a knitting-needle red-hot, and bore a tunnel from
this end? We might establish a draught that way. Only there's always
the danger, of course, of coming out at the side."