"You're to be congratulated; it's a shameful waste of time and money."
"A filthy habit," said he warmly.
"Indeed, yes," I chanted, finding my pipe and tobacco pouch.
He caught my twinkle as I filled and lighted, and looked away, the
shadow of a smile lurking beneath his small, closely clipped moustache.
"I beg your pardon," he said a moment later, regarding me with more
interest, "but--do you live here?"
"Certainly. Why?"
"I was sure of it," he replied soberly. "But don't you feel a bit
lonesome, sometimes?"
"Not in the least. Radville's one of the most interesting places on
this side of the footstool." He sighed. "Indeed," I insisted, "you
won't feel any more lonely after you've lived here a while, than I do
now, Mr. Duncan."
He opened his eyes at my acquaintance with his name, but jerked his
head at me comprehendingly.
"To be sure," he said. "You would know. But I'm only beginning to
realise what it feels like to be a marked man."
"I hear you intend to make Radville your permanent residence, Mr.
Duncan?"
"It's part of the system," he said obscurely. "It may prove a life
sentence."
"Don't you think you'll like it here?"
"Oh, I'm strong for Radville," he declared earnestly. "It's all to the
merry ... I beg your pardon."