INTERESTING
I ROWED her out on the broad bright sea,
Till the land lay purple upon our lee.
The heavens were trying the waves to outshine,
With never a cloud to the far sea-line.
On the reefs the billows in kisses broke—
But oh, I was dying for one small smoke.
She spoke of the gulls and the waters green—
But what is nature to Nicotine?
She spoke of the tides, and the Triton myth;
And said Jones was engaged to the blonde Miss Smith.
She spoke of her liking lemon on clams;
And Euclid, and parallelograms.
For her face was fair and her eyes were brown,
And she was a girl from Boston town.
And I rowed and thought—but I never said—
“Does Havana tobacco trouble your head?”
She talked of algæ—she talked of sand—
And I thought: “Tobacco you cannot stand.”
She talked of the ocean-steamer’s speed—
And I yearned for a whiff of the wicked weed.
And at last I spoke, between fright and fret:
“Would you mind if I smoked a cigarette?”
She dropped her eyes on the ocean’s blue,
And said: “Would you mind if I smoked too?”
H. C. Bunner.