"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. "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."